Blind Revenge
By: Manda and Allison
A/N: And as promised week 2, chapter 2. Thank you all for the wonderful reviews of chapter one.
Chapter 2: The Struggle
~*~*~*~
She did finally return home, after hours of pushing paper, to Grissom insistence. He'd been loathe to allow her back into the crime scenes for the evening, sending her to his office to complete paperwork which she was much more well versed to complete than he.
They'd come to that agreement once, that she would complete evaluations while he struggled with the inter-office traffic, battling Ecklie's constant interference, making visits to the morgue to check on the status of Al Robbins. Catherine knew about the cappuccino maker, though she never let on, at least allowing Grissom his one indiscretion among the perfect record.
When she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the silence was nearly deafening, and though she knew where Lindsey was- at her sister's- the silence still filled her with a terror she'd thought she'd banished long ago. The losses she'd already faced were so much to bear, and every second Lindsey was away reminded her of how she would feel were she really gone...had Eddie gotten custody, had her little girl been swept away in the waters that claimed the body of her ex-husband...
"Goddamit, Eddie." She reached into her purse and pulled out the orange bottle containing her pills, putting one onto her tongue and swallowed it dry, the tiny pill sliding easily down her throat. They were used more often now, although Grissom hadn't known that when he'd had the prescription refilled. He hadn't known that she'd already gone through a bottle and a half- that the only reason she was out of them was because Lindsey had accidentally knocked the open bottle down the drain of the bathroom sink.
For a moment afterwards, Catherine felt better. As if that tiny little pill worked magic on her soul, allowing some of the burden to lift off of her shoulders. Throwing her purse on top of the end table, she flopped onto her ivory colored sofa, letting her body sink into its plush cushions.
Closing her eyes, she tried to let the fatigue of the last few days wash over her body, in hopes that for once she'd be able to get a decent night sleep. But no matter how she tried, images of Eddie plague her thoughts.
He'd always massage her feet when she'd get home, lustful and yet so appreciative, knowing what his wife went through. He'd been a patron- he'd seen the hips undulating, the legs wrapping around the strangely hot metal poles, the feet strapped into four-inch heels. The nightly massages were one of a few things she'd missed after the divorce, and while the pills didn't replace the feel of tender ministrations, they did replace the cozy presence of his hands by giving her a tender warmth as they accompanied her drink down her throat.
Idly she wondered what it would have been like if they had tried to work it out-for Lindsey; if they could have ever been a real family again. Catherine certainly hadn't given him the chance to redeem himself after she found out he was cheating on her, though she was sure she'd given him enough second and third chances throughout the rest of their marriage. When she'd handed him those papers, she didn't think he deserved another chance. Now she wasn't so sure.
"You did have to die, didn't you? You just never made anything easy." She spoke to no one, but her eyes turned to the photograph of Lindsey and Eddie on the first day of school, the child perched on the supportive shoulders of Eddie at his finest- as a dad. One hell of a shitty spouse, but when it had come to fatherhood, he'd been better than Catherine would have imagined.
The bottle was at her fingertips, and she toyed with it as her eyes met his photographic representations, fatigue and prescription drugs drawing her into a state of wishful thinking, and she spoke to him again. "You should have been here."
"I know." He sat beside her on the sofa, and she could feel the cushions sag under his weight. "Cath- I had to work late."
"You always have to work late- I know you, Eddie. Fucking those whores in the back of the club- you never were a good liar." The anger was there, her face hot with the truth, seeking it in his eyes and seeing it as clear as day. "You bastard- bringing them home when I wasn't here..."
"Don't you fucking call me that, Catherine." He grabbed at her, and she pulled away, sinking back against the cushions behind her, glaring at him fiercely. "Don't you fucking call me-"
"A bastard? A lying, cheating, son-of-a-bitch?" The tears were hot; too, but strangely cool as they trailed down her face, dripping onto her jeans. "Fuck you, Eddie Willows- get out of my sight!"
"Cath-"
She slapped him, the sound and the feel of her palm against flesh so real, so painfully real...and she felt so caught up in the anguish, blinking back tears to see through them, and into the eyes of someone...
Who wasn't Eddie.
~*~*~*~
In seconds, his hands were around her wrists, his eyes locked with hers. The spot where she had slapped was already bright red, the outer edges slowing turning into rather nasty black and blue bruise.
"Cath, calm down. It's just me. Grissom." He felt her body start shaking for the second time that evening; her skin pale and her features distraught. He'd come in only moments before to find Catherine pacing around her living like some caged animal. When she spotted him, she'd launched a verbal assault on him that he'd barely been able to make out. Next thing he knew, her hand had connected with his jaw-now he knew why nobody ever messed with her during her dancing days. She really packed a punch when she wanted too. "It's okay Cath...just calm down for a second."
A flash of recognition traveled over her face, dancing in her eyes for just a moment before he felt her body tense up again. It caught him off guard, and in one swift, jerking motion, she was free from his grasp.
"Don't tell me to calm down! I'll calm down when I'm damn good and ready!"
"Cath, you're not being rational." He stepped back to allay her fears, and yet she didn't calm, spinning with a dancer's grace to flee into the kitchen, and he followed.
"Eddie used to tell me that. 'You're not being rational, Catherine', every time I'd pack up his things and leave them on the sidewalk. 'Be rational, Cath.', every time I'd accuse him of taking out one of his music whores, and he'd deny it. Rationality is what got me into that mess, Grissom."
"And vodka isn't going to get you out of it, Catherine." He watched her step onto a wooden footstool, rising onto her toes to feel behind cookbooks and canisters stacked above the refrigerator.
"Says the man who supposedly knows everything." Catherine pulled out the vodka and stepped down once more. Crossing the kitchen, she grabbed a glass tumbler from the sideboard and filled it three quarters the way full. Opening the fridge and reaching into it, she pulled out the orange juice -opening it up and adding a splash to her drink, for color. "Gil, I can take care of myself, I'm a big girl."
"Obviously not, if you think vodka is going to make your problems just go away." He watched as Catherine downed her drink in two swallows, wincing as the liquid burned her throat.
"Fuck you."
"Cath..."
"Don't 'Cath' me, Gil. This is my goddamned house. Not yours. And I'll do as I please in it. So fuck you. I get enough flack everywhere else; I don't need it in my own house." Catherine poured herself a second drink, downing it with as equal speed as the first.
"You're drunk." He stated.
"And you're overdressed," she replied nonchalantly.
Grissom raised his eyebrow in shock. "You just told me to fuck off, and now I'm overdressed?"
"You said it yourself, I'm drunk." Raising a third glass in the air, she smiled, "and you look mighty handsome to me-in my inebriated state."
Eyeing her, he decided to play along, an idea toying at the back of his mind. "Well, in my eyes, you're always beautiful, whether I'm drunk or not."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
She moved closer to him, stumbling slightly- her drink sloshing out of the glass and onto the stark white kitchen tile floor. Collapsing into his arms, she giggled, blonde hair flying into her face. Wrapping her in his arms, he swept her up off of her feet - and started carrying her towards the door.
"Gonna carry me over the threshold?"
"I want to show you something."
"Outside?"
"Yes, Catherine, outside."
"You don't need to carry me out there, then. I can walk myself." Catherine squirmed in Gil's grasp, trying to get free of his hold. "Gil, let me go."
"If I set you down, you'll fall over. You can barely walk. Just let me carry you."
"Let me go!" she continued squirming, scratching Gil's arms, hitting him -anything to get him to let her go. "Where the hell are you taking me!?"
"To the hospital, Cath you need some help. Help that I can't give you."
"I don't need help...from you, or anyone else!"
"Cath, stop fighting me! Please!" At that moment, Catherine broke free, if only for a moment, and Gil scrambled to get a hold of her. But as the two tussled in Catherine's front hall, and Gil was getting the upper hand, he heard a sickening crunch.
TBC.
By: Manda and Allison
A/N: And as promised week 2, chapter 2. Thank you all for the wonderful reviews of chapter one.
Chapter 2: The Struggle
~*~*~*~
She did finally return home, after hours of pushing paper, to Grissom insistence. He'd been loathe to allow her back into the crime scenes for the evening, sending her to his office to complete paperwork which she was much more well versed to complete than he.
They'd come to that agreement once, that she would complete evaluations while he struggled with the inter-office traffic, battling Ecklie's constant interference, making visits to the morgue to check on the status of Al Robbins. Catherine knew about the cappuccino maker, though she never let on, at least allowing Grissom his one indiscretion among the perfect record.
When she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the silence was nearly deafening, and though she knew where Lindsey was- at her sister's- the silence still filled her with a terror she'd thought she'd banished long ago. The losses she'd already faced were so much to bear, and every second Lindsey was away reminded her of how she would feel were she really gone...had Eddie gotten custody, had her little girl been swept away in the waters that claimed the body of her ex-husband...
"Goddamit, Eddie." She reached into her purse and pulled out the orange bottle containing her pills, putting one onto her tongue and swallowed it dry, the tiny pill sliding easily down her throat. They were used more often now, although Grissom hadn't known that when he'd had the prescription refilled. He hadn't known that she'd already gone through a bottle and a half- that the only reason she was out of them was because Lindsey had accidentally knocked the open bottle down the drain of the bathroom sink.
For a moment afterwards, Catherine felt better. As if that tiny little pill worked magic on her soul, allowing some of the burden to lift off of her shoulders. Throwing her purse on top of the end table, she flopped onto her ivory colored sofa, letting her body sink into its plush cushions.
Closing her eyes, she tried to let the fatigue of the last few days wash over her body, in hopes that for once she'd be able to get a decent night sleep. But no matter how she tried, images of Eddie plague her thoughts.
He'd always massage her feet when she'd get home, lustful and yet so appreciative, knowing what his wife went through. He'd been a patron- he'd seen the hips undulating, the legs wrapping around the strangely hot metal poles, the feet strapped into four-inch heels. The nightly massages were one of a few things she'd missed after the divorce, and while the pills didn't replace the feel of tender ministrations, they did replace the cozy presence of his hands by giving her a tender warmth as they accompanied her drink down her throat.
Idly she wondered what it would have been like if they had tried to work it out-for Lindsey; if they could have ever been a real family again. Catherine certainly hadn't given him the chance to redeem himself after she found out he was cheating on her, though she was sure she'd given him enough second and third chances throughout the rest of their marriage. When she'd handed him those papers, she didn't think he deserved another chance. Now she wasn't so sure.
"You did have to die, didn't you? You just never made anything easy." She spoke to no one, but her eyes turned to the photograph of Lindsey and Eddie on the first day of school, the child perched on the supportive shoulders of Eddie at his finest- as a dad. One hell of a shitty spouse, but when it had come to fatherhood, he'd been better than Catherine would have imagined.
The bottle was at her fingertips, and she toyed with it as her eyes met his photographic representations, fatigue and prescription drugs drawing her into a state of wishful thinking, and she spoke to him again. "You should have been here."
"I know." He sat beside her on the sofa, and she could feel the cushions sag under his weight. "Cath- I had to work late."
"You always have to work late- I know you, Eddie. Fucking those whores in the back of the club- you never were a good liar." The anger was there, her face hot with the truth, seeking it in his eyes and seeing it as clear as day. "You bastard- bringing them home when I wasn't here..."
"Don't you fucking call me that, Catherine." He grabbed at her, and she pulled away, sinking back against the cushions behind her, glaring at him fiercely. "Don't you fucking call me-"
"A bastard? A lying, cheating, son-of-a-bitch?" The tears were hot; too, but strangely cool as they trailed down her face, dripping onto her jeans. "Fuck you, Eddie Willows- get out of my sight!"
"Cath-"
She slapped him, the sound and the feel of her palm against flesh so real, so painfully real...and she felt so caught up in the anguish, blinking back tears to see through them, and into the eyes of someone...
Who wasn't Eddie.
~*~*~*~
In seconds, his hands were around her wrists, his eyes locked with hers. The spot where she had slapped was already bright red, the outer edges slowing turning into rather nasty black and blue bruise.
"Cath, calm down. It's just me. Grissom." He felt her body start shaking for the second time that evening; her skin pale and her features distraught. He'd come in only moments before to find Catherine pacing around her living like some caged animal. When she spotted him, she'd launched a verbal assault on him that he'd barely been able to make out. Next thing he knew, her hand had connected with his jaw-now he knew why nobody ever messed with her during her dancing days. She really packed a punch when she wanted too. "It's okay Cath...just calm down for a second."
A flash of recognition traveled over her face, dancing in her eyes for just a moment before he felt her body tense up again. It caught him off guard, and in one swift, jerking motion, she was free from his grasp.
"Don't tell me to calm down! I'll calm down when I'm damn good and ready!"
"Cath, you're not being rational." He stepped back to allay her fears, and yet she didn't calm, spinning with a dancer's grace to flee into the kitchen, and he followed.
"Eddie used to tell me that. 'You're not being rational, Catherine', every time I'd pack up his things and leave them on the sidewalk. 'Be rational, Cath.', every time I'd accuse him of taking out one of his music whores, and he'd deny it. Rationality is what got me into that mess, Grissom."
"And vodka isn't going to get you out of it, Catherine." He watched her step onto a wooden footstool, rising onto her toes to feel behind cookbooks and canisters stacked above the refrigerator.
"Says the man who supposedly knows everything." Catherine pulled out the vodka and stepped down once more. Crossing the kitchen, she grabbed a glass tumbler from the sideboard and filled it three quarters the way full. Opening the fridge and reaching into it, she pulled out the orange juice -opening it up and adding a splash to her drink, for color. "Gil, I can take care of myself, I'm a big girl."
"Obviously not, if you think vodka is going to make your problems just go away." He watched as Catherine downed her drink in two swallows, wincing as the liquid burned her throat.
"Fuck you."
"Cath..."
"Don't 'Cath' me, Gil. This is my goddamned house. Not yours. And I'll do as I please in it. So fuck you. I get enough flack everywhere else; I don't need it in my own house." Catherine poured herself a second drink, downing it with as equal speed as the first.
"You're drunk." He stated.
"And you're overdressed," she replied nonchalantly.
Grissom raised his eyebrow in shock. "You just told me to fuck off, and now I'm overdressed?"
"You said it yourself, I'm drunk." Raising a third glass in the air, she smiled, "and you look mighty handsome to me-in my inebriated state."
Eyeing her, he decided to play along, an idea toying at the back of his mind. "Well, in my eyes, you're always beautiful, whether I'm drunk or not."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
She moved closer to him, stumbling slightly- her drink sloshing out of the glass and onto the stark white kitchen tile floor. Collapsing into his arms, she giggled, blonde hair flying into her face. Wrapping her in his arms, he swept her up off of her feet - and started carrying her towards the door.
"Gonna carry me over the threshold?"
"I want to show you something."
"Outside?"
"Yes, Catherine, outside."
"You don't need to carry me out there, then. I can walk myself." Catherine squirmed in Gil's grasp, trying to get free of his hold. "Gil, let me go."
"If I set you down, you'll fall over. You can barely walk. Just let me carry you."
"Let me go!" she continued squirming, scratching Gil's arms, hitting him -anything to get him to let her go. "Where the hell are you taking me!?"
"To the hospital, Cath you need some help. Help that I can't give you."
"I don't need help...from you, or anyone else!"
"Cath, stop fighting me! Please!" At that moment, Catherine broke free, if only for a moment, and Gil scrambled to get a hold of her. But as the two tussled in Catherine's front hall, and Gil was getting the upper hand, he heard a sickening crunch.
TBC.