Catherine woke up several hours later. Gil was spooned against her. His
face was buried in her hair. It felt nice. She enjoyed it for a few
minutes, listened to his steady deep breathing. She looked at the clock
and knew she had to get up. Lindsey would be home soon.
It was 8 p.m. before she knew it. Grissom was still sleeping. When he did wake, he would feel terrible. It was her night off so someone needed to take shift. She considered whom to call and settled on Warrick. She trusted him.
She got Lindsey tucked in and sat on the sofa flipping channels. She ended up on one of the many news magazine shows. She wasn't particularly interested in the stories portrayed with so much drama and angst by flashy reporters. She turned the volume down and allowed her mind to wander back to the story Gil told her.
She wondered if Sara resembles Liz. She suspected not, because he usually went for blonde or light brown hair and blue or green eyes. But, then again, maybe that was another avoidance reaction. Avoidance is one of his strong suits.
Generally, the women he dated volunteered very little about their relationship with him. The one who had confided in Catherine concerning her brief affair with him basically said "He's great in the sack but; otherwise, not much is there. He's so closed off. You know him better than I do."
She considered the last words he said. "Maybe I don't want to be safe anymore." Was it the subconscious rambling of a mind that had been awake too long coupled with a healthy dose of alcohol or was he telling her he truly wanted more, with her. She could still feel his mouth on her neck; yet, he had left no mark. She rubbed her neck where his mouth had been. She could swear it still felt warm. Letterman was counting down the top ten list when Grissom finally stumbled down the stairs.
"Who's got shift?" He croaked.
"Warrick. I'll start some coffee. Headache?" She asked. He nodded. "Sit. I'll be right back."
She had the coffeepot ready to go. She pushed the brew button. She drew a glass of water, picked up the bottle of Motrin, and headed back to living room. He swallowed a couple of pills, sipped some water and sat back. Catherine watched him until the coffee was finished, then brought him a cup with cream and sugar in it. Black coffee on a stomach that had been empty too long was just inviting trouble. She had selected a nice mild breakfast blend.
"I found that duffle in your Denali. Why don't you get a shower? I'll fix you some soup." Catherine indicated a bag on the floor in which Grissom had some spare clothes stowed.
After his shower they sat at the kitchen table. He slowly ate soup, an occasional cracker and drank more coffee. Catherine sipped coffee. When the soup was finished he stretched and rolled his neck and shoulders in a futile effort to work out the kinks.
"I don't suppose I could get that neck massage now, could I?" He asked.
"Maybe." She answered.
They settled on the sofa. Some infomercial was on so Grissom located the remote and flipped on the Discovery Channel. It was a show about ancient Greece, fairly satisfactory, so he settled against her to enjoy the neck and shoulder massage. When her hands began to tire, she stopped then realized he had fallen asleep. She arranged a pillow more comfortably behind her head and drifted off to sleep as some archeologist rambled on about the Parthenon and mythology.
It was 8 p.m. before she knew it. Grissom was still sleeping. When he did wake, he would feel terrible. It was her night off so someone needed to take shift. She considered whom to call and settled on Warrick. She trusted him.
She got Lindsey tucked in and sat on the sofa flipping channels. She ended up on one of the many news magazine shows. She wasn't particularly interested in the stories portrayed with so much drama and angst by flashy reporters. She turned the volume down and allowed her mind to wander back to the story Gil told her.
She wondered if Sara resembles Liz. She suspected not, because he usually went for blonde or light brown hair and blue or green eyes. But, then again, maybe that was another avoidance reaction. Avoidance is one of his strong suits.
Generally, the women he dated volunteered very little about their relationship with him. The one who had confided in Catherine concerning her brief affair with him basically said "He's great in the sack but; otherwise, not much is there. He's so closed off. You know him better than I do."
She considered the last words he said. "Maybe I don't want to be safe anymore." Was it the subconscious rambling of a mind that had been awake too long coupled with a healthy dose of alcohol or was he telling her he truly wanted more, with her. She could still feel his mouth on her neck; yet, he had left no mark. She rubbed her neck where his mouth had been. She could swear it still felt warm. Letterman was counting down the top ten list when Grissom finally stumbled down the stairs.
"Who's got shift?" He croaked.
"Warrick. I'll start some coffee. Headache?" She asked. He nodded. "Sit. I'll be right back."
She had the coffeepot ready to go. She pushed the brew button. She drew a glass of water, picked up the bottle of Motrin, and headed back to living room. He swallowed a couple of pills, sipped some water and sat back. Catherine watched him until the coffee was finished, then brought him a cup with cream and sugar in it. Black coffee on a stomach that had been empty too long was just inviting trouble. She had selected a nice mild breakfast blend.
"I found that duffle in your Denali. Why don't you get a shower? I'll fix you some soup." Catherine indicated a bag on the floor in which Grissom had some spare clothes stowed.
After his shower they sat at the kitchen table. He slowly ate soup, an occasional cracker and drank more coffee. Catherine sipped coffee. When the soup was finished he stretched and rolled his neck and shoulders in a futile effort to work out the kinks.
"I don't suppose I could get that neck massage now, could I?" He asked.
"Maybe." She answered.
They settled on the sofa. Some infomercial was on so Grissom located the remote and flipped on the Discovery Channel. It was a show about ancient Greece, fairly satisfactory, so he settled against her to enjoy the neck and shoulder massage. When her hands began to tire, she stopped then realized he had fallen asleep. She arranged a pillow more comfortably behind her head and drifted off to sleep as some archeologist rambled on about the Parthenon and mythology.