Eccentric Seeming Emotions Chapter 8: Hope, 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): S4 appearance of Grissom.

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Title: Eccentric Seeming Emotions

Author: Laeta
Email: ladylaetayahoo.com

Chapter 8: Hope

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.
The reckless tumble of eccentric-seeming emotions quake as they erupt to the surface.
We fall.
Our life is our love and we have nothing without it; a mere carcass of emptiness.
Our now broken soul cries and the tears are our last emotions.
We stay fallen, yet rummaging for hope;

He figured a radical change was due. His career was his life; suicide to think an employment change would right matters. Personality was written in stone so long ago that he failed to see how he could alter himself.

So there remained the physical: residence or appearance.

The former he rejected in his need of proximity and in hatred for the level of the drastic it produced. A nice walk in times of leisure, it was mere minutes away from Catherine's house. Both relied on the closeness, and comfort was found in the easy distance. It gave the illusion of division but hid solidarity.

He concentrated on the remaining second option, how to suit?

Gil gazed at his reflection in the mirror and examined the face that he had shown the world for so many years. Resentment spurred his fist towards the glass, but strong-willed control prevented the birth of transparent slivers. That was it; he would hide that face. In some convoluted, masquerade party way, Gil hoped it would free his inner self from the self-imposed restraints.

Maybe then he would get the girl.

.....

He ignored her pointed looks for the first hour. He avoided her during the second and gave up when the third ticked past. The raised eyebrow was the sole invitation she needed.

In the relative privacy of his office, Catherine leaned towards him, studying his face intently. She voiced one word: "Scruff."

His lips quirked in amusement.

"It's an interesting look on you."

"You think so?"

"Yeah." She studied him even closer, bringing her hand to his face. First, she gently turned his head to look at his left cheek; reversing her actions, she concentrated her gaze on his right. "You need to trim though."

He gave her a blank look.

"To keep the growth even," she explained. "Otherwise, you look a bit on the lecherous side."

Gil rubbed a hand over his cheeks in contemplation.

"You think I should just forget the beard?" he asked warily.

She laughed and asked, "Why are you asking me? It's your face."

"You're the one looking at it." He refused to let himself think as he responded.

Catherine blinked, letting the merriment fall from her eyes. He could see the questions she was too polite to voice.

"Is this about the surgery?"

"What do you mean?"

"A new life, a new look."

He shrugged. It was enough to coax Catherine into a smile.

"I think a beard would suit you," she said softly.

"I value your opinion."

"I know." She paused before she succumbed to an enormous grin. "Besides, I think every girl needs to meet at least one lecherous, charismatic professor sometime in her life."

"Why?"

Catherine wisely remained silent.

So, Grissom tried another tactic. "Have you?"

"Oh, yeah." She sighed either dramatically or dreamily; he could not tell.

"Really." The word invited her to disclose.

She grinned and sailed out the room. Her parting words floated behind her. "You're the only one I've seen with a beard whom I'd love to see with one again."

Gil leaned back in his chair, feeling the ghost of her fingers against his face. It was only a start but it was a far cry from anything he had previously. At this point, he would take anything.

He nodded, more to his thoughts than to the casual beckoning Greg pantomimed as he passed the open doorway.

Change was good.