TITLE: Value
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K
TYPE: GCR (what else?)
RATING: R (some sexual themes)
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
SUMMARY: Catherine worries over a rather distracted Grissom.
NOTES: This might get a little complicated later on in the story, so my apologies. My brains often reassemble scrambled eggs . . .
----------Value - Part Six----------
Catherine heard the click of the gun and felt the cold barrel press against the back of her head.
"Sit." The voice instructed her. She sat beside Grissom, keeping eye contact with him. Her thoughts fluttered back to the conversation she recently had with Greg, in her car.
***
"Hey. I got the DNA results back a while ago. Get this, the spit from the table doesn't match Timothy Hales - he doesn't exist."
"What?!" Catherine yelled in the phone.
"It did however match a Justin Lemox, twice convicted of battery and assault, charged with murder but the case was dropped due to insignificant amounts of evidence."
Catherine paused. "But surely someone had to know - why wasn't this mentioned?" She bit.
Greg hesitated. "W-well, I figured Grissom would recognize the guy; I mean he did testify in court."
Catherine sighed. "Well, I'm heading over there now. I'll call you in about an hour." She was about to hang up. "Thanks Greg." She could feel him smile.
***
Catherine finally looked at the stranger. "Justin."
Timothy's head shot up. "It's Tim. Justin is dead . . . or will be." He muttered the last part.
"Timothy, why don't you sit down and talk." Catherine motioned the chair near the round table that rested in Gil's sitting room.
"Shut up! I give the orders." He barked. An evil gleam flickered in his eye as his gaze moved to Catherine. "What would you do if I touched her . . . felt her?" His eyes stayed on Catherine but his question was directed to Gil.
Catherine felt Gil tense, despite not having any physical contact. Psychologically though, she knew they were two in the same. Gil might not show his emotions but she knew the passion that had been violently locked away. When Gil cared - he cared deeply. She only wished that she could be, one day, on the receiving end of such feelings. She would always picture him when she was pleasuring herself, feeling him between her legs, never wanting to break the magical connection that would form when they would become one. A single tear trickled down her cheek; she would never have that chance.
Gil chewed on his lower lip. It was his job to protect . . . especially Catherine. He had made a silent promise to himself to never let any harm come her way and he felt the frustrations build as his vow was being destroyed. He felt the tear slip from her eye; the bond they shared being incredibly sensitive.
Catherine felt a warm hand cup her cheek and absorb the tear. She looked at Gil.
Gil took a breath. "Let her go." He turned to Timothy who had been watching the scene with malevolent amusement.
Catherine cleared her throat. "It doesn't matter, Gil. I saw the letter, I cleared the lab." She leaned into his hand. "Everyone is safe."
Timothy laughed and held Gil's stare. "The one thing you value -"
"- yes, the lab. And it's cleared!" Catherine interjected.
Timothy ignored her. "Mr. Grissom? Do *you* believe the one thing you most value is safe?" He asked, deliberately.
Catherine looked from Gil to Timothy. «His house? His sense of security? Privacy?» She tried to decipher what Gil valued most. "If it's not the lab - then what?" She asked Timothy.
His eyes fell on her and he raised both eyebrows.
Catherine looked at Gil, but he kept staring at Timothy.
"And then you fell into my lap, making my job a whole lot easier." Timothy grinned, waving the gun.
Catherine looked at him. "How did you know?" She whispered.
"The eyes never lie, Miss Willows." Timothy leaned back on his heels. "The way he looks at you." He dug into his jacket pocket and tossed a wallet on the ground. "The pictures in his wallet."
Catherine picked up the wallet with curiosity. First thing she saw was Gil's driver's license. His badge, some other identification, credit cards and then her eyes skimmed through various pictures of her at different moments of her life. A small smile escaped when she noticed a few pictures of Lindsey as well.
"Creepy, don't you think?" Timothy laughed.
She saw Gil's embarrassed look, as he focussed his gaze on the ground. "I think it's perfectly normal for someone to have pictures of their family." Her eyes met Gil and she gave him a supportive smile. Her heart raced, enumerating the reasons why Gil would have pictures of her in his wallet. They had looked used - as if they had been handled often. Did he look at them a lot? Run his fingers across them, memorizing each feature?" She looked back at Timothy. "Why Gil? Why go after him?"
"His so called evidence was nothing but his observational skills ratted me out, but leaving Justin innocent." He said. "But Justin made me do it!"
Catherine cocked her head to the side. "But the charges were dropped . . . " Catherine rationalized.
"Charges can be dropped, but branding can't be erased." Timothy paced.
"You were institutionalized."
"*Justin* was institutionalized." Timothy argued. "I was dragged along for the ride." He pulled his hair in anger. "He just hit them. Pummelled them mercilessly. I could only watch their bodies convulse each time the shock of his punch came down. But he knew went to stop; the fine line between battery and murder." He looked at the two CSIs. "The fine line between bruises that heal and corpses that aren't afraid to talk." He added as an afterthought.
"Bruises heal . . . souls don't." Gil said softly.
"Shut up!" Timothy pointed the gun to Gil's temple. "Just shut up! You got me in this mess! You brought me in! You should have just sentenced Justin!" His finger trembled on the trigger.
"So why do you need her? Kill me - that's all you need." Gil pleaded.
"I want you to feel what it's like to lose something you value, Mr. Grissom." He backed up slightly. "My house, my car, my job, my family . . . my identity." He let out a sad laugh. "Gone. Thanks to Justin and you."
"Your materialistic world . . . that's what you value most?" Gil asked, intently.
"What?" No . . . my family . . . you took them away from me!"
"House, job, car - all those are items, Mr. Hales. Could it be that your family left because of your reputation?"
"She loved me!" Timothy screamed.
"Or did she love Justin?" Gil asked calmly, sparking incomprehension from Catherine, wondering why her supervisor was taunting the suspect.
"Justin *seduced* her!" Timothy yelled. "She didn't mean to say his name in bed . . . " He began pacing again.
Catherine leaned over to Gil, while Timothy walking about, muttering to himself. "What are you doing?" She whispered.
"If my calculations are correct," Gil tried desperately not to move his lips too much, "pushing him might purge Timothy from Justin."
"You think Justin is still alive?" Catherine said, a little too loud.
Timothy whipped his head around. "He's dead." He snapped. "I think that'd be a good look for the both of you." He held the gun level with her forehead. A smile dawned on his sharp features. "Say goodbye to value, Mr. Grissom."
Gil's eyes shot to Justin's. "No . . . " but it was barely a whisper; emotion rising up like bile, burning his esophagus. "Don't . . . please." He could feel moisture dampen his eyes. Life without Catherine wouldn't be worthy of such title. "Just take me." He begged.
"Oh, I will." A smirk. "But I'll let you watch her die first as I have watched my life crumble before my eyes. Let her represent all you and Justin have taken away from me . . . my power." His eyes softened for a mere second. "I'll give you a minute to bid her farewell." He stepped back, sitting in the chair placed opposite the couch.
Gil stood up and knelt down before Catherine. His bit his trembling lip as her hand cupped his face. "I didn't tell you - I didn't want to put your safety in jeopardy." He looked up at her with glassy eyes. "Please don't hate me."
"I don't hate you." She whispered, crushing him in an embrace."
He pressed his forehead against her neck, hurting that he would never again feel her in his arms, against his body. "It's my fault, I'm so sorry." He rested his hand in her hair, memorizing the silky softness caressing him.
"No, it's not Gil." Catherine said softly. "I chose to come."
"And I chose to love you!" He shot back, tears threatening to spill. "If it wasn't for my selfish actions to quench this thirst I have for you, you wouldn't be here . . . "
"You don't chose who you love, Gil." Catherine pressed on. She took a chance; grabbing his right hand that was gripping her waist, she guided it down to her right calve. She sighed as his warm hand caressed her skin. She silently glided his hand up to her knee, urging him with her eyes to continue further.
"Sure." Timothy's voice exploded behind them, but the two never broke gaze. "Cop a feel - pleasure her before she can't feel anything."
Gil ignored Timothy's comment. His hand slid past her knee, feeling her smooth, toned thigh. His hand, now under her skirt, caressed caused Catherine to squirm, pushing herself closer to his hand. Then he felt it. "Oh Cath . . ." He breathed. He toyed with it.
"C'mon!" Timothy stood up and stepped beside Gil. "Now - up!" He ordered.
Catherine leaned in to a grasp Gil's lips with hers as his hand travelled deeper, out of view, masked by the skirt's material. Catherine gasped, inching closer to Gil; Timothy's sharp orders fading out into background noise.
Gil moistened his lower lip, anticipating Catherine's lips. As their lips were but a breath from touching, he grabbed the concealed service gun hidden in her thigh holster. He stood up, spun around and shot once, blindly, hoping that it hit his target. He remembered oddly hearing two shots before a searing pain in his shoulder caught him careening backwards to the floor. Another "thud" followed shortly, leaving the room in a dusty silence. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.
Catherine opened her eyes and unfolded herself from the refuged position she took on the couch. "Gil?" She called out cautiously. She glanced on the floor, seeing Timothy still clutching the gun. Her eyes turned to the right of her. "Gil!" She rushed to his side, her eyes falling on the blood near his body.
"Cath . . ." He paused, and exhaled, "God." His breathing was economical, focussed on his wound. "Go . . . go check on . . . "
She got up, though not wanting to leave Gil's side. She slowly bent down near Timothy; her skirt creeping up a bit. She removed the gun from his hand and checked for a pulse.
Gil raised his head and let his eyes roam her now exposed thigh, cursing himself for his evident lust for the strawberry-blond. «You're probably on your way out, old man, and *that's* all you can think of.» He berated himself. He dropped his head back on the floor with a groan. She clutched his shoulder, the pain sending off tingling shocks of agony. He closed his eyes, noise dissipating.
"Gil?"
He tried to focus his eyes but to no avail. Suddenly, he felt really cold. He then began to feel motion. He struggled a bit, then felt a comforting hand on his chest. He ceased attempts. "Cath?" He closed his eyes again.
"I'm here." She merely said, watching his unconscious form being loaded up into the ambulance. She stood beside Jim and watched the ambulance drive off.
"You want to follow him?" He asked, eyes never leaving the horizon.
She nodded. "I want to be with him."
–TBC–
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K
TYPE: GCR (what else?)
RATING: R (some sexual themes)
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
SUMMARY: Catherine worries over a rather distracted Grissom.
NOTES: This might get a little complicated later on in the story, so my apologies. My brains often reassemble scrambled eggs . . .
----------Value - Part Six----------
Catherine heard the click of the gun and felt the cold barrel press against the back of her head.
"Sit." The voice instructed her. She sat beside Grissom, keeping eye contact with him. Her thoughts fluttered back to the conversation she recently had with Greg, in her car.
***
"Hey. I got the DNA results back a while ago. Get this, the spit from the table doesn't match Timothy Hales - he doesn't exist."
"What?!" Catherine yelled in the phone.
"It did however match a Justin Lemox, twice convicted of battery and assault, charged with murder but the case was dropped due to insignificant amounts of evidence."
Catherine paused. "But surely someone had to know - why wasn't this mentioned?" She bit.
Greg hesitated. "W-well, I figured Grissom would recognize the guy; I mean he did testify in court."
Catherine sighed. "Well, I'm heading over there now. I'll call you in about an hour." She was about to hang up. "Thanks Greg." She could feel him smile.
***
Catherine finally looked at the stranger. "Justin."
Timothy's head shot up. "It's Tim. Justin is dead . . . or will be." He muttered the last part.
"Timothy, why don't you sit down and talk." Catherine motioned the chair near the round table that rested in Gil's sitting room.
"Shut up! I give the orders." He barked. An evil gleam flickered in his eye as his gaze moved to Catherine. "What would you do if I touched her . . . felt her?" His eyes stayed on Catherine but his question was directed to Gil.
Catherine felt Gil tense, despite not having any physical contact. Psychologically though, she knew they were two in the same. Gil might not show his emotions but she knew the passion that had been violently locked away. When Gil cared - he cared deeply. She only wished that she could be, one day, on the receiving end of such feelings. She would always picture him when she was pleasuring herself, feeling him between her legs, never wanting to break the magical connection that would form when they would become one. A single tear trickled down her cheek; she would never have that chance.
Gil chewed on his lower lip. It was his job to protect . . . especially Catherine. He had made a silent promise to himself to never let any harm come her way and he felt the frustrations build as his vow was being destroyed. He felt the tear slip from her eye; the bond they shared being incredibly sensitive.
Catherine felt a warm hand cup her cheek and absorb the tear. She looked at Gil.
Gil took a breath. "Let her go." He turned to Timothy who had been watching the scene with malevolent amusement.
Catherine cleared her throat. "It doesn't matter, Gil. I saw the letter, I cleared the lab." She leaned into his hand. "Everyone is safe."
Timothy laughed and held Gil's stare. "The one thing you value -"
"- yes, the lab. And it's cleared!" Catherine interjected.
Timothy ignored her. "Mr. Grissom? Do *you* believe the one thing you most value is safe?" He asked, deliberately.
Catherine looked from Gil to Timothy. «His house? His sense of security? Privacy?» She tried to decipher what Gil valued most. "If it's not the lab - then what?" She asked Timothy.
His eyes fell on her and he raised both eyebrows.
Catherine looked at Gil, but he kept staring at Timothy.
"And then you fell into my lap, making my job a whole lot easier." Timothy grinned, waving the gun.
Catherine looked at him. "How did you know?" She whispered.
"The eyes never lie, Miss Willows." Timothy leaned back on his heels. "The way he looks at you." He dug into his jacket pocket and tossed a wallet on the ground. "The pictures in his wallet."
Catherine picked up the wallet with curiosity. First thing she saw was Gil's driver's license. His badge, some other identification, credit cards and then her eyes skimmed through various pictures of her at different moments of her life. A small smile escaped when she noticed a few pictures of Lindsey as well.
"Creepy, don't you think?" Timothy laughed.
She saw Gil's embarrassed look, as he focussed his gaze on the ground. "I think it's perfectly normal for someone to have pictures of their family." Her eyes met Gil and she gave him a supportive smile. Her heart raced, enumerating the reasons why Gil would have pictures of her in his wallet. They had looked used - as if they had been handled often. Did he look at them a lot? Run his fingers across them, memorizing each feature?" She looked back at Timothy. "Why Gil? Why go after him?"
"His so called evidence was nothing but his observational skills ratted me out, but leaving Justin innocent." He said. "But Justin made me do it!"
Catherine cocked her head to the side. "But the charges were dropped . . . " Catherine rationalized.
"Charges can be dropped, but branding can't be erased." Timothy paced.
"You were institutionalized."
"*Justin* was institutionalized." Timothy argued. "I was dragged along for the ride." He pulled his hair in anger. "He just hit them. Pummelled them mercilessly. I could only watch their bodies convulse each time the shock of his punch came down. But he knew went to stop; the fine line between battery and murder." He looked at the two CSIs. "The fine line between bruises that heal and corpses that aren't afraid to talk." He added as an afterthought.
"Bruises heal . . . souls don't." Gil said softly.
"Shut up!" Timothy pointed the gun to Gil's temple. "Just shut up! You got me in this mess! You brought me in! You should have just sentenced Justin!" His finger trembled on the trigger.
"So why do you need her? Kill me - that's all you need." Gil pleaded.
"I want you to feel what it's like to lose something you value, Mr. Grissom." He backed up slightly. "My house, my car, my job, my family . . . my identity." He let out a sad laugh. "Gone. Thanks to Justin and you."
"Your materialistic world . . . that's what you value most?" Gil asked, intently.
"What?" No . . . my family . . . you took them away from me!"
"House, job, car - all those are items, Mr. Hales. Could it be that your family left because of your reputation?"
"She loved me!" Timothy screamed.
"Or did she love Justin?" Gil asked calmly, sparking incomprehension from Catherine, wondering why her supervisor was taunting the suspect.
"Justin *seduced* her!" Timothy yelled. "She didn't mean to say his name in bed . . . " He began pacing again.
Catherine leaned over to Gil, while Timothy walking about, muttering to himself. "What are you doing?" She whispered.
"If my calculations are correct," Gil tried desperately not to move his lips too much, "pushing him might purge Timothy from Justin."
"You think Justin is still alive?" Catherine said, a little too loud.
Timothy whipped his head around. "He's dead." He snapped. "I think that'd be a good look for the both of you." He held the gun level with her forehead. A smile dawned on his sharp features. "Say goodbye to value, Mr. Grissom."
Gil's eyes shot to Justin's. "No . . . " but it was barely a whisper; emotion rising up like bile, burning his esophagus. "Don't . . . please." He could feel moisture dampen his eyes. Life without Catherine wouldn't be worthy of such title. "Just take me." He begged.
"Oh, I will." A smirk. "But I'll let you watch her die first as I have watched my life crumble before my eyes. Let her represent all you and Justin have taken away from me . . . my power." His eyes softened for a mere second. "I'll give you a minute to bid her farewell." He stepped back, sitting in the chair placed opposite the couch.
Gil stood up and knelt down before Catherine. His bit his trembling lip as her hand cupped his face. "I didn't tell you - I didn't want to put your safety in jeopardy." He looked up at her with glassy eyes. "Please don't hate me."
"I don't hate you." She whispered, crushing him in an embrace."
He pressed his forehead against her neck, hurting that he would never again feel her in his arms, against his body. "It's my fault, I'm so sorry." He rested his hand in her hair, memorizing the silky softness caressing him.
"No, it's not Gil." Catherine said softly. "I chose to come."
"And I chose to love you!" He shot back, tears threatening to spill. "If it wasn't for my selfish actions to quench this thirst I have for you, you wouldn't be here . . . "
"You don't chose who you love, Gil." Catherine pressed on. She took a chance; grabbing his right hand that was gripping her waist, she guided it down to her right calve. She sighed as his warm hand caressed her skin. She silently glided his hand up to her knee, urging him with her eyes to continue further.
"Sure." Timothy's voice exploded behind them, but the two never broke gaze. "Cop a feel - pleasure her before she can't feel anything."
Gil ignored Timothy's comment. His hand slid past her knee, feeling her smooth, toned thigh. His hand, now under her skirt, caressed caused Catherine to squirm, pushing herself closer to his hand. Then he felt it. "Oh Cath . . ." He breathed. He toyed with it.
"C'mon!" Timothy stood up and stepped beside Gil. "Now - up!" He ordered.
Catherine leaned in to a grasp Gil's lips with hers as his hand travelled deeper, out of view, masked by the skirt's material. Catherine gasped, inching closer to Gil; Timothy's sharp orders fading out into background noise.
Gil moistened his lower lip, anticipating Catherine's lips. As their lips were but a breath from touching, he grabbed the concealed service gun hidden in her thigh holster. He stood up, spun around and shot once, blindly, hoping that it hit his target. He remembered oddly hearing two shots before a searing pain in his shoulder caught him careening backwards to the floor. Another "thud" followed shortly, leaving the room in a dusty silence. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.
Catherine opened her eyes and unfolded herself from the refuged position she took on the couch. "Gil?" She called out cautiously. She glanced on the floor, seeing Timothy still clutching the gun. Her eyes turned to the right of her. "Gil!" She rushed to his side, her eyes falling on the blood near his body.
"Cath . . ." He paused, and exhaled, "God." His breathing was economical, focussed on his wound. "Go . . . go check on . . . "
She got up, though not wanting to leave Gil's side. She slowly bent down near Timothy; her skirt creeping up a bit. She removed the gun from his hand and checked for a pulse.
Gil raised his head and let his eyes roam her now exposed thigh, cursing himself for his evident lust for the strawberry-blond. «You're probably on your way out, old man, and *that's* all you can think of.» He berated himself. He dropped his head back on the floor with a groan. She clutched his shoulder, the pain sending off tingling shocks of agony. He closed his eyes, noise dissipating.
"Gil?"
He tried to focus his eyes but to no avail. Suddenly, he felt really cold. He then began to feel motion. He struggled a bit, then felt a comforting hand on his chest. He ceased attempts. "Cath?" He closed his eyes again.
"I'm here." She merely said, watching his unconscious form being loaded up into the ambulance. She stood beside Jim and watched the ambulance drive off.
"You want to follow him?" He asked, eyes never leaving the horizon.
She nodded. "I want to be with him."
–TBC–