Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own them. If I did, Greg would spend less time in the lab and more in my bed with a substantially smaller amount of clothing involved. They belong to Jerry Bruckheimer and all those other insanely cool people at CBS and such.
More Than This
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Greg was back at work, but he wasn't the same. He was quieter and more subdued, and she hated it. Hated that it was all her fault that he wasn't bouncing around in stupid hats, hitting on every girl in sight. But she couldn't really be upset about the last part because she hadn't forgotten the thoughts of that night.
No one came out and blamed her, but she could see it in their eyes. Every time they passed her in the hallway, it got a little quieter and the looks grew a little colder. She could deal with that, but not from him. Never from him.
"Greg, how are my results coming?" He jumped as if startled from an awful dream and spun around to look at her. He sighed a little and turned back toward his microscope once more. She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing else, leaning against a counter in wait.
It was a few minutes before he backed away again. This time, he was holding up a paper for her to look at. She wanted to read it, tried to will herself to do so, but all she could really do was watch the way that it shook in his hands. If she focused solely on the paper, it appeared that the entire world was shaking, but really, it was just him. She took the paper from him, but set it down on the countertop without another thought.
He jumped a little when she rested her hand on his shoulder, but it was just a little flinch and then he was relaxed again and looked at her with wide eyes. He seemed afraid, but not because of his proximity to the charred remains of what had once been his lab. No, she knew that it was really because of the intensity that her eyes held. She couldn't see them, but she knew it was there. And she knew that he realized what it meant.
"Cath... do you think that..."
"Catherine, I need you. We just got a break on the case." Grissom poked his head in the doorway, and she felt compelled to strangle him into unconsciousness. He seemed not to notice the tension radiating from Greg and herself, but instead just retracted his head without another word and headed back down the hallway.
She looked back at Greg and saw that his face fell noticeably. He was shaking again, and she just wanted it all to stop. "Have breakfast with me when shift is done."
He looked up at her, that wide-eyed, childlike look on his face again. He hadn't been expecting that. She didn't wait for his answer, because she already knew what it would be.
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Offer me the world
And how can I resist
Something more than this
-The Cure - 'More Than This' -
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He sat across from her, a glass of orange juice shaking in his hand as he brought it to his lips. She had stood outside the door when Grissom told him it would stop, but it had been a month and it was still there.
How long do these things take? How long before he's whole again?
He must have noticed her staring at him because he smiled shyly and took another sip. She knew that this was what he wanted, and she was glad to give it to him. She would be glad to give him everything, if he wanted it at all.
"Thanks for this, Cath..."
She shrugged like it was no big deal, but knew that it wasn't the case. To him, this was probably like offering him the world and everything in it. Despite his contagious optimism and perkiness, Catherine didn't think that he had many friends. It wasn't the way that he talked or carried himself. Judging from those characteristics alone, one could classify him as the crime lab's social butterfly. No, it was in his eyes that the truth was hidden, and not many really took the time to pay attention. She could tell because she had and it had opened up a new world of emotions toward the younger man.
He was still smiling, and she realized that his optimism wasn't the only thing about him that was catching. "I haven't seen you really smile in a long time." He set his glass down, ignoring the little droplets that splashed over the edge from the nervous shake. "I'm glad I can still make you do that."
She studied the droplets with intense concentration, willing them to slip back up into the glass so his nightmare would be over. But she knew that the drops spotting the crisp, white tablecloth would not be going anywhere until the linen was tossed in her washing machine. Then it would look brand new.
Why can't life be that easy?
She shook her head, pushing such dismal thoughts away. This was a time to be happy, for his sake if no one else's. "You'll always make me smile, Greg."
He seemed pleased by this fact, and she could almost see his chest swelling with pride. And she knew that he was thinking he could be the man she needed, if only for a good laugh now and then.
But I want so much more. Can you be that man too?
"Catherine, can I ask you something?"
She sighed. The smile on his face was still there, but it had abandoned his eyes. Instead, they were focused on a point somewhere around her left hand, which sat on the tabletop, unused. Something was happening, and Catherine didn't like the chill that had fallen over their conversation and the room itself. He was getting serious, and she couldn't help but think that she liked him better before.
He's trying so hard to be what he thinks I want. It's going to destroy him.
But she couldn't tell him to stop trying and to just be himself. And somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, Catherine thought that maybe that was exactly what she wanted. "Anything."
Greg nodded, but she wasn't sure why. Maybe an internal conversation with himself that had seeped out into his consciousness. His gaze focused on her for a moment, but flickered away quickly. "Do you think about me?"
The first sign of trouble was the little skip that her heart gave. Catherine convinced herself that it was just her imagination, but the sweaty palms were another sign that things were not going her way. She was losing her cool, and that was dangerous territory to encroach on. "Greg, I..."
His face fell as he gripped the glass tightly and more droplets splashed over onto the white. It was stained -it's innocence lost- and she couldn't help but think that it was tragically like him.
The cloth can be bleached, but what about Greg's life? No bleach can undo what's been done to him.
And Catherine felt tears well up in her eyes for the first time in a long while. Greg caught her eye and she looked away, ashamed. He wasn't supposed to see her so weak like this. It wasn't how this was meant to be.
She lowered her eyes, staring at the paper napkin that was bunched up in her left hand. She thought about tearing at it, but decided that it would be best to look as calm as possible despite the tears. Catherine heard him get up and thought that he was leaving. She wanted to cry harder for all the pain that she had caused him, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She didn't cry easily, and this was killing her.
His arms were the first things that she felt. Then it was his head as it found a place beside hers, his chin resting on her right shoulder. His left hand went to play with the hem of her shirt while the other found a place wound amongst the hair at the base of her head. She let out a guilty sigh and clung to him, pressing her face into his neck and just taking him in. He smelled vaguely of aftershave and cleaning solvents, and it tickled her nose. It struck her that she found it odd that he even needed to shave, but reminded herself that he was, in fact, a man. The little kid he had been once was nowhere to be found just then, and she couldn't say that she was sorry.
He pulled back and looked at her face, studying it carefully. The hand playing with her shirt carefully slid up her back, then around so that he could trace the curve of her cheek with a fingertip. Catherine took in a shallow, shaky breath and stared back at him with the same intensity that was evident in his eyes.
Her mind screamed at her to "stop this now," but she continued staring as if she could fall into the depths of those eyes and finally meet the real Greg Sanders. She could finally see his soul.
Greg let his exploring fingers leave her face and settle on her shoulder, then slip down her arm until they finally met her own. She wrapped hers around his and smiled a little, embarrassed in front of his roving eyes.
I was a stripper, yet I'm blushing at a thirty year-old.
But that wasn't true. He was twenty-nine and beautiful and so much more than those other men had been.
She looked down at her feet and realized that his skinny knees were resting on her hardwood floor and knew that that wasn't going to work at all. Catherine pulled him up with her, then wrapped her arms around his waist and settled her cheek against his chest. Something felt right, but there was so much that could be wrong, and she wondered if it was really worth it.
"You never answered my question."
She laughed and the airiness seemed to clear the room of some of the weight that had settled over it. "No, I suppose I didn't."
"You don't have to answer if you don't want to." His voice was soft and his tone playful -just like always. But with her ear pressed into his chest, she could hear the rumbling of it in his throat and smiled at the comfort that such a peculiar sound could bring her. She could wake up to it every morning right now and not mind at all.
That's ridiculous. It's Greg. I can't wake up with him ever.
She may have thought it, but she wasn't sure why.
"I think about you all the time." She looked up at him and smiled, allowing him to believe that by answering his own question, it had given her the courage she needed to do so herself. He was still naive. Still just a boy.
But he isn't. He's so much more than I see; than anyone sees.
"I think about you sometimes, but I also have to think about Lindsey too."
And he nodded in understanding, and she knew that he would never ask her to forget that she had a daughter at home. She looked toward the living room door, glad that she hadn't picked her up from her sister's house that morning. "What are we doing, Catherine?"
The question caught her by surprise, and she almost laughed out loud. Almost. But she couldn't because it was completely valid, despite what she wanted to believe. "I don't know."
Greg nodded again, as if that were a good answer, when even she knew that it was horribly lacking in any real and tangible information. He seemed satisfied though and went back to holding her, as if that were the most natural thing in the world for the two of them. She wanted to shove him away and see if she got some other kind of reaction aside from this raw trusting and honesty, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She wanted this as much, maybe more, than he did.
It's not enough. It's never enough.
"We can't do this, Greg." He gazed at her for a moment, but brought his lips down to meet hers anyway. Catherine shivered at the sheer oddness of it all, but tried to fight the urge to give in to his lips despite herself. It was difficult, but for a moment she gained the upper hand and used it to push him back.
"You want this as much as I do." And there was bitterness in his voice, and she knew that he could see right through the defenses she had so carefully built up around her over the years. Of all the people to understand, it was this quirky, spiky-haired young man.
He stepped closer to her, reaching out a hand toward her arm.
The door opened and they both jumped back. Lindsey bounced in with her aunt in tow, grinning at some private joke that Catherine was never meant to understand and be privy to. "Hi Mommy." She seemed to study Greg with great care, then smiled at him brightly. "I've seen you before. You put on that funny hat and tried to make me smile when Mommy brought me to work with her."
Catherine was surprised that she remembered. It had been four years.
Greg knelt down and smiled at her. "That's right. If I remember correctly, it worked too." Lindsey nodded before fluttering past them into the kitchen. Greg looked up at her, then straightened so that he was hovering just around her, out of reach.
Why are you always so far away? But it's my fault, isn't it.
"I have to go. I'll see you at work tonight."
And he was gone, leaving Catherine to her thoughts for a little while longer. Leaving her to long for something that she hadn't felt in a long time. The thought scared her, but there were things to do, and she had to carry on like normal. Like he had no effect on her at all.
But still she wanted something. Wanted him. Something better. Something more. Something.
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On your lips lies a secret
A promise of what is
Something more than this
-The Cure - 'More Than This' -
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Author's Note: I was expecting this to be the last chapter, but it's going to continue on. Don't expect actual casework. This is strictly Catherine/Greg angst in its purest and simplest form. I hope you're enjoying it, and please consider reviewing so I know what to improve upon and such.