PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the CSI characters. They belong to CBS, Jerry Bruckheimer and the rest of TPTB. I'm only borrowing them for my own fun, and promise to return then relatively undamaged.
Summary: Sometimes you forget your actions affect more than just yourself. One problem, three people, three povs. But how many does it take to fix things? CG
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Three days ago, speaking to his mother back home in Vancouver, he'd been asked the usual question of whether he was dating anyone. He'd followed with his standard reply of no-one special. It's the answer he always gives, and it's always the truth. He's lost count of the number of years it's been since he gave a different response, his mother would say too many. He counts to three, knowing the exact length of time she waits before delivering her next line. "Chris, honey, when will you find a nice girl and settle down?" Sticking to the script, he starts with the excuses about how he doesn't have the time to spare, before moving onto promises that one day it'll happen. Her silence tells him she doesn't believe that any more than he does. He's just never been interested in 'nice' girls or long-term relationships, probably because of the fear of commitment that had gripped him as a teenager and never let go.
This morning however, as he sits on the floor of his bedroom, making sure the steady rise and fall of her chest continues, he's left wondering if it's time to rethink that philosophy. Something tells him Catherine wouldn't be what his mom would class as a nice girl. Single-mom, ex-stripper. Though maybe being a criminalist would win her some brownie points. It's all kind of a mute point now anyway. After last night, he wants out of this relationship. It was just a bit of fun, for both of them, but now things are going to get complicated. He doesn't want to get involved and she wouldn't want him to.
He rubs his eyes, shifts over to the bed, and sits beside her unconscious form. It's taken him a few weeks to realise just how out of control she is. Somehow she's managed to hold things together up until now, but last night finally destroyed her façade. "Cocaine'll do that" he mutters. He worries that he doesn't feel much guilt about his reluctance to help her out, but he's not a superhero, he's never claimed to be. He has no interest in spending his spare time rescuing damsels in distress, and if that makes him a bad guy then so be it.
He doesn't know what started her on this downward spiral, doesn't really care if he's honest, but there is one person he's sure plays some role in this self-destruct mission of hers. Grissom. A man he's never met, but from the amount she's talked about the guy, he feels he knows him all the same. The frequency the name comes up in conversation tells him the two of them are on a collision course and he's about to get caught in the crossfire. Not something he's looking forward to. Especially as he's the one who's brought them to this point. She was going over the edge sooner or later, he knows that, he's just made sure it's sooner. She'd been so lifeless last night that he'd insisted she join him at a party, hoping she'd enjoy her night off. Some of the guests had been cutting lines of coke, and he made the mistake of suggesting she take some, help her relax. She'd said no, quickly and vehemently but he hadn't missed the flash of emotion dance across her face, her eyes darkening, her attention never leaving the group crowded around the table. He'd been impressed that it took ninety minutes for her to give in and join them for a line. But it hadn't stopped at one. He had lost count of how much she'd taken, and is sure she had too. He was going to leave without her, but something stopped him. Ditching her, stoned out of her mind, with people she didn't know would have been low even for him. She had passed out during the car journey, so he had put her to bed, then stayed up all night watching her, worried that otherwise he'd wake to find her dead and be forced to give an explanation to the cops and several pissed off CSIs.
Finally deciding that if the drugs were going to kill her they'd have done it by now, he leaves the bedroom and grabs her cell phone, scrolling through the stored numbers. In his haste, he passes the name and is forced to go back. He hits dial and waits for an answer. "Is that Gil Grissom?" He's succeeded in pushing her over the edge, now he needs to make sure there's someone there to catch her.
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Opening her eyes, she's greeted by a hazy world of unintelligible shapes and blurry patches of color. Her body's lethargic, but she finds it will agree to move after a brief protest if her mind puts enough pressure on it. It seems like a lot of effort though and for now she's comfortable lying where she is. Trying to focus on her surroundings is starting to make her nauseous, so she gives up, squeezing her eyes shut and welcoming the darkness that follows. Part of her wishes she would pass out again, as while her body isn't co-operating, her mind is functioning fine, so fine that it's about to overload. There are thoughts bouncing around in there that she has no control over, something she suspects is the cause of her throbbing headache. The image of a game of pinball taking place inside her head, thought bubbles ricocheting off her skull, causes a short laugh to escape her mouth. A laugh that quickly becomes a steady giggle, something else she can't seem to stop. Thankfully, her body is still objecting to any serious action, so the laughter is short lived, leaving her to the silence once more. She takes advantage of the quiet to try and focus, push all the random ideas out of her mind, concentrate on reality.
Unfortunately, that leads her to realise she isn't at home, causing a brief moment of relief that Lindsey won't have seen her in this state, followed by panic that she isn't quite sure where she is. She opens her eyes again, finds her vision has cleared slightly and is thankful to recognise Chris' bedroom, though something tells her he might not share that elation.
Good work, Cath. You've managed to screw up yet another relationship. Only took you three weeks this time.
That internal voice is back, the one that seems to exist solely to point out her mistakes, is constantly introducing her to logic and draws her attention to anything she makes a point of ignoring. She wonders if she's still tripping slightly though as it sounds eerily like Grissom. Or maybe it's simply decided she'd be more likely to listen if it took on Gil's voice. Whatever its strategy, it had been working fine until it had gone on strike. Or maybe it had eloped with the morals that had run away around the time Eddie died and hadn't been seen since. At least the voice had returned. One out of two is a start. Now if only she could track down those morals, she might find her self-respect as well.
She closes her eyes again, knowing she needs to figure out what to do next, though lying here feeling sorry for herself seems like a good way to spend the next few hours.
Oh, no you don't. You've only yourself to blame for this, so get up and do something about it.
She isn't surprised the voice doesn't like her plan, it never does, and she prays it'll go on vacation again, take the week off, or at least disappear until the pounding in her head leaves her alone.
You're playing a dangerous game here, Catherine.
It doesn't seem ready to give up just yet though. "You think?" She's answered and rolled her eyes before she realises it's not actually possible to have a conversation with herself, at least not without people thinking she's mad. She hasn't heard Chris moving around the apartment though so she guesses she's safe from being thrown into the loony bin for the time being. Well, safe until Grissom finds out she's back on the cocaine. She still hasn't forgotten the disappointment in his eyes the first time. He didn't walk away then though and that gives her hope. Maybe she should just tell him the truth.
Ten bucks says he fires you. I mean, look at your work record recently. You've become a liability. Blowing up the lab, compromising cases, accepting money from your murdering son of a bitch father. As soon as the Sheriff notices, Grissom will have to get rid of you. Well, congratulations, you've given him a nice solid reason to do so.
It would be a gamble, she'd give it that, and the odds might not be in her favour, but she thinks it's worth taking a chance. Maybe. She buries her face in the pillow, and briefly considers phoning Warrick, asking him to calculate the actual odds. She doesn't need the voice to tell her he wouldn't appreciate that call.
You do know that this has all been about Grissom? Not to start with, but now it is. You want him to save you.
She worries that the voice has started making accusations, ones she doesn't even believe are justified. She's never wanted a white knight, someone to sweep in and save her, the thought of Grissom playing that role makes her laugh. She wonders if he's ever even ridden a horse in his life. She's prided herself on her independence, that's why she couldn't ask for help when Eddie died. Losing him had left a hole she never thought possible, one she would never admit to anyone. Even after all the pain he had inflicted on her over the years, she hadn't hated him. A certain nine year old made sure she never could.
Oh right, now you think about your daughter. Didn't do that last night, did you?
She ignores it, not wanting to give her poor parenting skills much thought, instead trying to work out how she ended up here, lower than she's ever been, and that's saying something. There's been too much to cope with in too short a time though. Lindsey, work, everything had started to take its toll, but still she hadn't wanted to show any weakness, that damn pride insisting she manage on her own. She wonders if this is finally rock bottom, she won't survive falling any further. Climbing back up from here is going to be hard enough. She's not sure she can do it alone, which brings her back to Grissom. In the past he would have been the first person she'd turn to, and she's not sure why or when that changed. She'd like to be able to blame it all on Sara's appearance in their lives but knows that isn't either fair or accurate. She and Grissom have done a great job of killing their friendship themselves, no help necessary. A relationship lasting nearly two decades all but destroyed. They'd been content to let themselves drift apart, shutting the other out when they needed them the most. She's not sure that kind of damage can be undone.
I wouldn't blame him if he never spoke to you again. You're gonna have fun explaining why you let this happen, aren't you? Telling him how you've screwed up again.
She always used to rationalise her behaviour by saying it was all for Lindsey's benefit, but that excuse has worn thin. Even she can't use Lindsey as the reason she threw herself at Chris, or why she snorted several lines of coke last night. That leaves her thinking the voice might be right. Maybe this has been about Gil, some pathetic attempt to try and save their friendship, to see how far she could go before he stepped in and pulled her back.
Well, guess you found out, Cath. Far, very far.
She makes a silent oath that while she'll put up with the voice mocking her, at least as long as she deserves it, the minute it starts to make sense she'll have herself committed, save someone else the job. It's taken falling so far to make her realise just how deep she's in and that she has to end it.
Oh yeah, you've done such a good job so far. Look at the state you're in. Job on the line, taking drugs to get through the night. What makes you think you can straighten this mess out?
"Fuck you." She's had enough, and while she isn't sure it'll actually make the voice shut up, it does makes her feel better.
"What, no hello?"
She can't stop her eyes flying open and her head snapping towards the doorway, needing to be sure he's really there and that the voice hasn't simply taken to sounding like him again, payback for insulting it. She blinks a few times before bringing her eyes up to meet his.
Oh, now this is going to go well. A perfect end to the whole sorry situation.
For once she agrees with it.
****************
How do you stand back and watch your best friend slowly destroy their life? It's a question he doesn't have a real answer for, even though Catherine has given him plenty of practice at doing just that very thing. He's stood on the sidelines through her abusive marriage, cocaine, a series of career threatening decisions and now cocaine again. He curses as yet another traffic light changes to red and he's forced to slam on the breaks, coming to a grinding halt just before running the light. The journey is taking too long, giving him too much time to think, something he really doesn't want right now. He takes his frustration out on the dashboard, ramming his fist into the plastic, only succeeding in bruising his knuckles. What makes him feel worse is he isn't sure where he should be directing his anger. At first he'd jumped to blame the new boyfriend, muttering several curses and insults as he had dressed and left his townhouse.
Four red lights later, he had changed to being mad at Catherine, that she could be so stupid, willing to risk her career, her life, for a quick high.
Another red light and he had started blaming himself, that he hadn't stepped in before things got this bad. He had noticed she was falling apart but instead of offering help, support, he had simply stood back, expecting her to turn to him when she was ready. Now he knows he misjudged their friendship. Pushing her away when he was losing his hearing had done more damage than he had realised. He hadn't trusted her then and now they were at the point where she didn't trust him either. He knows he has only himself to blame for that.
Three more red lights and he doesn't know what to think, desperately needing someone to hate, somewhere to focus his anger, but he's forced to accept all three of them played a part in this.
He glances up at the latest traffic light, still red, silently mocking him, providing him more time to sit and think. He prays it'll change to green before he puts his fist through the window, something's that becoming an increasingly tempting idea, especially as he can actually damage the window. Thankfully, the light changes color before he can give it any serious thought and he's grateful he's spared a trip to the emergency room. He pulls away quickly, ignoring the looks he receives from other drivers, a speeding ticket the last thing on his mind.
The next set of traffic lights shows green, but with his recent success rate, he knows it'll change before he gets much nearer. He considers hitting the accelerator, going through anyway, but he's spent too many years as a CSI, seen too many car wrecks, so he gives in, slowing down in anticipation. Besides, he'll be no use to Catherine if he's in a coma. As he suspected the light blinks to red just before he reaches it.
Never doubt. Never look back. It's how I live my life.
I admire that.
He had meant it. He envied her taking that attitude, an outlook he had never been able to adopt. He has regrets, too many of them. He couldn't say how many nights he's spent playing out 'What if' scenarios in his head, a lot involving her. It's not the things he's done though, it's what he didn't do. Number one would be not telling her about his deafness, it's what brought them here and he's only now starting to realise how much he must have hurt her.
How long have we known each other?
In days, months or years?
Then after everything, she still had supported him throughout his recovery. Something he didn't do for her when Eddie died, instead he had stuck to his role as supervisor. While Nick and Warrick offered hugs and concern, he'd simply offered time off work. He should have been honest with her then as well, that it wasn't that he didn't care, it was just that he didn't know how to comfort her. He had been glad the bastard was dead, glad he could never hurt her again, so he didn't think he could've sat there, seeing her in pain, knowing this was what he had wished for so many times over the years, for Eddie to be out of her life for good.
He's not paying attention to the road, driving on autopilot. He's halfway to the lab before he realises that isn't where he's meant to be going and has to circle the block to get back on course. The lab. Along with her, it's the only thing in his life he values. And there's another regret. He's never once told her how much he cares, how much he respects her. He'd just assumed she knew, something he now knows he shouldn't have taken for granted.
He'll never forget the first time she turned up at his place all those years ago, split lip and bruised wrists. She hadn't told him what had happened, she hadn't needed to. He'd been furious, threatened to go and confront Eddie. She'd been quicker than he was, moving to block his path to the door, begging, no, ordering him to let it go. And he'd obeyed, trusting her assurances that she would sort it out on her own. He'd always admired her strength, her independence, and so apart from an occasional request for her to leave him and the odd muttered comment that she deserved better, he had stood back. He learned all he could do was be there, provide a shoulder to cry on, a well stocked first aid kit and a steady supply of vodka. That was all she would let him do. It didn't stop it tearing him apart though when she turned up on his doorstep, always apologising for waking him. He never told her those were the only times he actually got any sleep, when he knew she was safe with him. Those times she didn't show up, nightmares would always keep him awake, images of her broken and bleeding haunting him. Always waiting for the call telling him the bastard had finally killed her, hitting her just that little bit too hard or throwing her down the stairs in a drunken rage.
You going to have my back?
I always have your back.
A promise he's always kept. He'd been offended she had needed to ask. Maybe it was simply another symptom of their dying friendship he had chosen to ignore. Even now that case sends a shiver crashing through his body, reminding him of his doubts about letting her take over from Nick and Sara despite the bad feeling he knew it would cause. He can hear Sara accusing him of favouritism, that he protects Catherine more than he should. Up to a point he can rationalise that he'd do the same for any of them, but deep down he knows that's not true. She's his best friend, and he's always stood by her, always supported her. He brought her into this job and has done everything he could to make sure she stayed there, but he knows he's reached the point where that can't continue. He's been an easy touch, always willingly putting his head on the block, willing to do anything she asked with no regard for himself, and she knew it. That's always been his problem. He cares more about the people than the lab. Apart from his aversion to paperwork and the absence of any regard for the politics of the job, it's the reason why he's not a good supervisor.
Gil, I would never compromise you or the lab.
Maybe not legally, but ethically?
He wonders if he should have intervened when she told him about the check, warned her he wouldn't back her up. Maybe it would have stopped things going this far. Or maybe it would have simply made things worse, driving her to take drastic action, making sure that when the time came he'd be the last person she'd look to for help. He pulls up in front of Chris' apartment block, checking the address he had scribbled down on the crossword puzzle he'd been working on. He's managed to get lost twice trying to find the place.
He takes a moment before climbing out of the SUV, not sure how to handle the situation. He has obligations as both her boss and her friend, and doesn't think he can walk a line between them. Until she starts turning up to work stoned, he can avoid firing her, but things have grown out of control, and he can't go on giving her his unconditional support. He doesn't care about it jeopardising his career, or the lab's reputation, it's just that he knows he needs to make her take responsibility for her actions, but he's not sure he can cut her loose. He can't take the risk that she might simply decide it isn't worth fighting for and walk out of his life for good. Or maybe he couldn't cope if she proved she didn't need him anymore. After taking a deep breath, he heads up to the apartment, hoping that when he sees her, he'll know what to say. Or if he's lucky maybe she will lead the conversation.
After Chris lets him in, the two of them don't speak, just exchange looks. Grissom glaring at Chris until it has its desired effect and Chris excuses himself, muttering about having to get to work and to tell Catherine he's sorry. Grissom considers not bothering to give a response, but good manners win out and he thanks him for phoning. Once Chris has left, Gil takes another moment to collect his thoughts then moves to the bedroom, pushing the door open, but not entering. She's lying on her back, her eyes clenched shut. He can't tell if she's unconscious, asleep or just blocking out the light, but she isn't aware of his presence yet.
"Fuck you."
He reassesses that evaluation. "What, no hello?" He tries to keep his tone light, knowing a screaming match is not what either of them need. The speed her head turns in his direction, eyes snapping open, tells him she didn't know he was there after all, and he's torn between being glad her comment wasn't aimed at him and worried that she was talking to herself. She makes eye contact with him, and he holds her gaze. He can't think of what to say but knows in the past they've never needed words to communicate. He just hopes that's still true. They stare at each other for a moment, and he can't miss the dull lifeless quality to her eyes.
"Chris phoned me." He knows it's a pathetic start as soon as the words tumble out his mouth. She stays quiet, but doesn't look away, waiting for him to continue. He sighs and sits beside her, still keeping his eyes locked onto hers. "Jesus, Cath." He surprises both of them by reaching out and caressing her cheek. She breaks eye contact, letting her gaze drop to the floor, but for a second he feels her lean into his embrace before she pulls away.
He's never seen her like this, so quiet, vulnerable, and it unnerves him. He wants to break the silence but has nothing to say. He turns away, staring straight ahead, pretending be fascinated by Chris' taste in interior design. After several minutes, he can feel her eyes on him, burning into the side of his head as she waits for him to say something. He ignores her, staying focused on the wall, knowing that if he looks into her eyes he'll find anger, something he doesn't want to see, even if it is an improvement on the emptiness it's replaced.
"What happens now?"
Her question startles him and he turns back to her, offering a tired shrug. "I think that's your decision to make."
He expects a response, but she doesn't seem ready to give one yet, leaving him to end the silence this time. He could do so by giving her a lecture, but knows it wouldn't receive a positive response. So he decides on a different strategy. "You up for breakfast?"
He smiles slightly at the surprised expression his comment receives, though Catherine covers its presence quickly. "You paying?"
"Do you not think you owe me this time?"
"I suppose I could try to cook." A threat and the hint of that familiar smirk gives him hope this might not end too badly.
He considers arguing with her like he usually would, but he doesn't have the energy for their banter, and he's sure she doesn't either, so he simply gives in. "Fine, I'll pay." He stands up and offers her his hand. "Can we just get out of here?" There's a brief second of hesitation, but then she takes hold of his hand and lets him pull her to her feet. He chooses not to comment on her wince as her body objects to the movement.
Their hands are still joined, but he decides to let her be the one to break the contact for once, which she only does when they reach the door and she moves to walk a step in front of him. "We're stopping off at my place first. Give me chance to shower, change clothes."
He nods, placing a hand on the small of her back to guide her outside, concern at her sluggish movements mixing with relief she's already back to ordering him around.
"Whatever you want, Catherine." The lecture will come later, if it's needed, but he's not here as her boss right now. He's here as her friend.