The Milkshake Trilogy, Chapter Two: A Good Milkshake is Hard to Find

Rating: PG

Warning: Contents are extremely silly and may contain fluff, cliché and terrible songs. No spoilers. Does not take season 6 into consideration (or any of the many other episodes I have not yet seen ;) ).

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Catherine Willows was feeling good. Very good. Wrapping-a-tough-case good. It was close the end of shift, and she was breezing through the lab, putting the finishing touches on her report detailing the double homicide she had been working all week with Grissom and Warrick. It was a gory case: a wealthy couple found dead in their bedroom, covered in blood. Covered. The sheets, the floor and the walls were all brightly patterned with spatter, cast off and voids. She knew that it was unethical, probably even immoral, to look upon such a gruesome scene and think puzzle! But blood was what Catherine did best. She had spent the better part of the week photographing, swabbing and stringing up the crime scene, and her dogged work paid off. The couple's butler, one Mr. Stevens, had broken down beneath the weight of their forensic evidence and confessed ten minutes into his interrogation. Apparently Stevens had put in a good 40 years of dedicated service, only to wake up one morning to the sick realization that he had wasted his entire life as a butler. Catherine wasn't entirely sure she blamed him, which was also probably immoral, but at the moment she didn't care. The only thing standing between her and some well deserved rest was her report.

She sank into a chair in the break room with a satisfied sigh. No sooner had she kicked off her shoes and uncapped her pen when her cell phone began trilling on her hip. Almost simultaneously, the door swung open and Warrick Brown loped into the room, flashing her a friendly smile. She winked back and unsnapped her phone.

"Willows. Oh, hey…couple of hours, tops. Why?" She straightened in her seat and grimaced. "Did you take her temperature?" Warrick took a chair across from her and frowned sympathetically. "A hundred and two? It wasn't nearly that high last night." She exhaled slowly and rested her forehead on her palm. "Yeah, I know. It's probably strep again…yeah, I can take her. Sure. No, it's all right. I'm not that busy. Okay. I'll be home in about 20 minutes. Mm'hmm. 'Bye."

"Lindsey's sick?" Warrick asked as soon as she had shut the phone.

"Yup. Sounds like strep throat again. No rest for the weary." She glanced almost longingly at the unfinished report in front of her. "Guess I'll have to come in early tonight and finish this. Damn it, I was so close." She stood up to retrieve her shoes. Warrick slid the sheaf of paper across the table.

"I can finish this, Catherine. Don't worry about it."

"Aw, you don't have to do that. Don't you have evidence to finish processing?"

"Nah, It's almost done. I'm waiting on a tox report anyway. It'll give me something to do."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to have to stay late on account of me."

"I don't mind. I could use the overtime." He smirked and waved his hand in the direction of the door. "Go!"

Catherine laughed. "Thank you, Warrick. I owe you one."

Warrick's gaze followed her out the door and lingered in the hallway after she'd passed out of sight. After a long moment he heaved a resigned sigh and reached for her abandoned pen.

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If there was one thing Catherine Willows hated, it was waiting. Lindsey's regular doctor was booked solid, which meant the emergency room. She spent the entire morning sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair reading old issues of People while Lindsey dozed feverishly with her head in her lap. After they finally got a doctor to diagnose her (it was indeed Strep), Catherine spent another hour waiting in the pharmacy for Lindsey's medication. By the time they got home, both mother and daughter were exhausted and cranky. Lindsey drifted off to sleep around three, but the same could not be said for Catherine. She had laundry waiting and bills to pay, not to mention groceries to buy (Lindsey needed popsicles, and lots of them), and it was already 3:30. Sleep would have to wait another day.

Catherine poured herself a drink and resigned herself to her checkbook. She was signing her electric bill when the doorbell rang.

Warrick Brown stood on her porch, holding a plastic shopping bag and what looked like a giant chocolate milkshake. "Hey, Catherine."

"Hey yourself. What are you doing here?" Catherine held the door open for him.

"I just thought I'd drop this off for Lindsey. How's she doing?"

Catherine opened the shopping bag and found popsicles, ice cream and a collection of Lindsey's favorite teen magazines. She looked up at Warrick and was, for the first time in a good long while, struck completely speechless.

"You didn't have to do this."

"I know." He gave an easy shrug and held out the milkshake. "Just thought I might be able to help."

She shook her head in disbelief. "You…are amazing."

Warrick laughed. "Nah. I had strep all the time as a kid. I remember what it feels like. Milkshakes were the only thing I could swallow."

"Well, Lindsey's sleeping right now, but I'll put this in the fridge for her. She'll be thrilled when she wakes up. Can you stay for a drink? Least I can do for your trouble."

"It wasn't any trouble at all. But sure, I can hang for awhile." He followed her into the kitchen. Catherine noticed that he'd changed into a forest green t-shirt that set off his eyes.

She produced a key to the liquor cabinet and opened it for inspection. "What'll you have?"

Warrick let out a low whistle. "Nice collection. Gin and tonic?"

"Coming right up."

Warrick leaned against the counter and watched her fix the drinks. "You get any sleep?"

"Nope. We had to go to the emergency room. Didn't get out of there until two."

"You're kidding! Her doctor couldn't see her?"

"Booked solid." She handed him a glass and held up her own. "Here. To milkshakes."

Warrick chuckled. "Cheers." They clinked glasses and looked at each other as they sipped.

"So," Catherine said, placing her glass on the counter.

"So." He treated her to one of his famous slow smiles that made Catherine feel loose and anxious and about 25 years old.

"Any chance the lab melted down after I left, conveniently giving us a night off?"

Warrick grinned. "Well, almost. Greg spilled something on the GC mass spec. Grissom almost went through the roof."

Catherine raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I'll bet he did. Damn, I'm almost sorry I missed that."

"Yeah, it was quite the scene."

They fell into a companionable silence, sipping their drinks and exchanging sideways glances. Catherine leaned against the counter and pursed her lips.

"So," she drawled slowly. Warrick raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do to repay you for your kindness?"

He eyed her over the rim of his glass. "It was just a milkshake."

"Yeah, but you know what they say…a good milkshake is hard to find these days."

"That right?" He put his drink down and somehow ended up standing very close to her. Catherine smirked and pressed her hands into the green of his shirt.

"Oh, yeah."