LATE NIGHT WITH GIL GRISSOM

Gilbert Grissom could rarely ever be found at home, but Catherine knew he would be there tonight. He had told her that he wanted a night off. It struck her as odd at first, but she often forgot that Grissom was human like the rest of the team. She pulled up to his place and got out of her car. It was a nice place; not too big or too small. It was the kind of place she would want to live if she ever found herself alone. She suddenly wondered if Grissom ever felt lonely.

She knocked on his door and there was no answer. She knocked much harder the second time and he came to the door, his expression revealing both surprise and concern. He was wearing dark pants and a grey t-shirt. It was strange to see him out of his work clothes, but once again she remembered that he was human too.

"Hi, Catherine. Everything all right?" Grissom asked.

"Uh, sure," she said unconvincingly. "Can I come in?" He stepped back and extended his arm towards the inside of his house. They walked together into his sitting room where Catherine sat down on some cushy upholstery.

"Can I get you something?" Grissom asked feeling slightly exposed in his dress-down attire.

Catherine sucked on her lower lip. "Nah, I'm fine. I just want to talk."

Grissom's mouth twitched and he sat on the armchair across from Catherine. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Well," Catherine said, "first of all you left your office door open."

He sighed and leaned back into his chair as he reached for the phone on the table beside him. He dialled a number and held the receiver to his ear. Catherine could hear the voice answer on the other end from where she was sitting on the other side of the room. "Hi, Warrick," Grissom said. "Would you mind closing my office door for me?" He waited. Catherine thought she heard Warrick's voice say, "I already did." Grissom half-smiled. "Thanks." He hung up the phone and looked at Catherine. "Anything else on your mind, or did you come all this way just to tell me my door was open?"

"We haven't solved the Eve Romero case. We've ruled out our two major suspects, plus everyone else in the area. There's no determinable cause of death and as far as we know, there was no one but Eve at the house when she died."

"Bruce Romero and Ava Laerton were having an affair, right? Did you confirm that?" Grissom asked.

"We did," said Catherine. "Ava bought the bracelet to give to Bruce who was supposed to give it to Eve. The bracelet was coded and 'Shadow Velter' told Bruce where Ava was staying. Beyond that, I can't link them or anyone or anything back to the death of Eve."

Grissom looked equally as frustrated as Catherine. He understood the anxiety that came with not being able to solve a case. "At this point, though," he said, "there's not much else we can do. You did your job. You processed the evidence and it told you all it had to say." A tear slid down Catherine's face and Grissom watched it drip onto her lap. "This can't be about the case, Catherine. There's more going on inside you than just the after effects of a cold case."

She looked at him with reddened eyes. "I did my job, but did I do a good job? I've worked so hard to get to where I am but sometimes I question my own technique. Am I really working up to where I should be if I want to be promoted?"

Grissom could not think anything to say. Everyone questions him or herself, he thought. They usually end up revising and changing for the better.

"There's more," Catherine continued. "Lindsay hasn't been talking to me for a while. She's been isolated for a long time now and she says it's because I'm never around to see her. I want to give her everything, but I need that promotion to do that, and I know the promotion will just keep me away from her even more. And if I'm suddenly not solving cases, I can kiss the promotion goodbye altogether. I'm stuck here, Gris. She hates me having this job, or so she tells me. I wonder if she'd be happier if I went back to being a dancer." Catherine's voice revealed a hint of bitter sarcasm. "I just don't know how to manage everything at once."

Grissom leaned forward on his elbows and watched as Catherine buried her face in her arms. "Where's Lindsay tonight?" Grissom asked as he got up and walked over to her.

"She's at a friend's house," she replied between sobs. He put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Oh, Grissom, I don't know what I'm doing here," she said and continued sobbing quietly. He tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows arched sympathetically.

He went out of the room and returned after a few minutes with a mug of hot tea. Catherine had stopped crying and had fallen asleep on his couch, her head resting on the arm. Her face was warm and damp, her hands balled up into fists so that her tendons appeared clearly defined on the surface of her skin. Grissom left the mug on the table beside the couch and scribbled something on a piece of paper which he left alongside the mug. He went across the room to grab a blanket and hedraped it overCatherine's sleeping figure. He then went to a nearby light-switch, switched it off, and immersed his house in darkness as he himself stumbled into bed.