Eccentric Seeming Emotions Chapter 3: Screams, a csi fanfic

Disclaimer: It's been a year; hopefully by now everybody knows: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation does not belong to me.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway; for b8kworm and Sun Mee who give me nothing but support. For Mark, I count everyday of my life with you in it as a blessing; always remember that. For the people who do or ought to belong to nagging.com - Angie, Manda, Marianne, and Rita. Will you ever cut me some slack? Thanks, Mena, for the song. Many, many thanks to Beth for permission to use Bleak; we did it! Thank you for inspiring me. There is no chronological order to these chapters; consider it a stream-of-thought.

Summary: Tonight, something had changed and he sincerely cursed the near perfect memory that made his job easier while his heart became a wrenched mess.

Rating: PG-13

Archives: the Graveyard, mine. Anybody else, email me.

Pairing(s): G/C

Spoiler(s): Lady Heather's Box.

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Title: Eccentric Seeming Emotions

Author: Laeta
Email: ladylaetayahoo.com

Chapter 3: Screams

Bleak and lonely, the depths of one's soul.
The deep abyss of emotion shattered before them in one explosive cry for help.
The screams - love is life; love is lost.

He was gone, truly out of her life. Cold and interred the usual six feet below a tombstone. So why did Gil not feel glad for a good riddance?

Last night, he had lost and loneliness had won. His own bed remained undisturbed as he lay in another woman's bed, in her arms. All he had to do was close his eyes and a dream came, unbidden.

She had understood, even encouraged him to role play, and she had played the role of his dream. For Gil, he should have been ashamed at how easy it was to pretend, to replace Lady Heather's face with Catherine's as the hours passed.

He knew he had called Catherine's name at the moment of climax. Lady Heather, he remembered, only smirked and nodded. He hated the feel of transparency more than he minded his own physical nakedness.

She invited him to her bed and he slept; he slept like the dead. So far gone, Gil dreamed the nightmare before he realized it as one.

.....

These days he and Catherine either argued or ignored each other. Both managed to confuse him out of his usual comfort zone. He did not understand what had happed to their relationship and ease.

He found himself across from her, blocked by a doorway; it was open but not for him. She had fire in her eyes and poison filled her words.

An infinite number of bleeding wounds ate at his patience, his reserve. What was going on?

He understood quickly when she said, "It's over."

Just like that, the relationship of his dreams became nonexistent. Heart already in pieces, it disintegrated into dust. Yet, he could not leave things, he need something - anything.

"Will we still be friends? Can we still be?" he asked quietly.

"We aren't now," she said.

Gil winced and accepted his failings as a lover, but more importantly, as a friend.

"Don't you want to know why?" Eyebrow arched, she mocked him.

Gil surrendered himself to her; he always had been under her power. Even when she did not want him any longer, he could not stop a reaction so ingrained within him. He nodded.

"I don't need you anymore. Goodbye, Gil."

She shut the door in his face; no slamming, no hesitation, just an ordinary act of closing a door. It took him a moment to see that he stared at his own door, the door to his own privately sanctuary - home. The implications heralded a rush of emotion.

He screamed, "No!" and frantically tried to gain access again. Nothing worked.

.....

Lady Heather shook him conscious and promptly returned to sleep at his assurances. He stayed awake, thinking.

She shut him out with his own door. His own door. An open door was an opportunity; had he passed one where Catherine was concerned? It would explain the closing.

What was the significance of the door being his? Well, doors separated inside from outside, public versus private. Gil's eyes widened and his heart rate increased.

Oh, his door held a secret; indeed, it did.

It kept his love for Catherine from the world. It was his one beacon in a sea of loneliness. And yet, it was something he was aware of everyday, privately acknowledging it with every breath of his life.

Was that it? Gil slid spinelessly along the warm sheets of the bed. He never had the courage to take that next step, to stop the loneliness. Had he inadvertently killed the very thing that kept him alive? Probably, his mind told him.

Regardless of when the opportunity had been, all that mattered was his lack of taking it. Regret died before it could overwhelm him.

Gil whispered her name and refused to shed a few mournful tears for his own stupidity.