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Jim Brass's House, HendersonRummaging through her bag, Ellie found the key he'd given her a few years ago. She'd never used it and half expected it not to work, surprised when it did. The house was dark, warm and except for the hum of the refrigerator, deathly quiet.
It had been almost a week since her dad showed up at her motel room, almost a week since she lied to him and told him she was heading to L.A. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to see him once again. Nothing had really changed between them: he still saw her as a little girl; she couldn't forgive him for never being there. Nevertheless, here she was, standing in the middle of his living room. It should have been familiar to her; instead, it was the house of a stranger—except for something that caught her eye.
She picked up one framed picture displayed prominently on a bookshelf and studied the images of the smiling young man and the giggling little girl. She was probably about four then, her blonde hair bleached nearly white from the sun and bound in two tight pigtails that jutted out of her head like little wings. She couldn't remember ever being that happy—not in a long time anyway—and for a moment, sadness clouded her face.
Pushing away the sentimentality, she put the picture back in its place and headed towards the hallway, calling out cautiously, "Dad?"
The familiar voice slowly penetrated his sleep, waking him with a panicked start and irritating all of his pain centers. "Ellie?" Brass wasn't sure if it was part of his recurring dream or if she really was there.
"Yeah, it's me," came her emotionless voice from the hallway.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine." She came into the room hesitantly, as if she were unsure of what might happen when she crossed the threshold, and stayed close to the door.
Brushing away the last remnants of sleep, Brass tilted his head slightly and asked, "This Todd guy, he didn't hurt you, did he?"
Ellie crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "No, dad, no. He didn't hurt me. Todd's not like that." Edging closer to the bed, she asked, "Why do you always suspect the worst about every guy I'm with?"
It was on the tip of his tongue to say something obvious and sarcastic but he didn't feel like arguing right now. Instead he offered up an apologetic smile. "I'm your dad, Ellie. Even if you were running around with the Pope, I'd be suspicious."
Jim wasn't quite sure what happened but before he knew it, Ellie was perched on the side of the bed, unconcerned by his curious look.
"You asked me to meet you halfway. Well, this is it. Maybe I better just talk and you listen. I bet you do that pretty good."
Brass noted the touch of animosity in her voice but let it go. She was right: he was a good listener and he was willing to listen to anything she had to say. They had been at odds for so long, now that she was here and willing to talk, he was too afraid to say anything for fear of messing it up again.
Ellie was quiet for a few minutes before she heaved a deep sigh and finally began to speak. "The summer between fifth and sixth grade: Mom and I weren't getting along very well and you were gone all the time—working nights since that's all you ever did. It was really hot that day and mom wouldn't let me go to the movies with my friends. I went to my room and slammed my door, all pissed off." She rolled her eyes for added drama. "A few minutes later the phone rang and I heard mom start crying. I came downstairs thinking maybe grandma died but then she told me it was about you. I can still hear her voice: your daddy's been shot. She never told me if you were dead or alive—just you were shot."
Brass remembered that day all too well. He and his partner, Tommy Lupo, had been checking out a possible METH lab in a detached garage when the wigged-out homeowner opened fire. Brass spent six long minutes lying in his own soup, asking for God's forgiveness to every sin he'd ever committed while Tommy alternated between yelling at dispatch for an ambulance and telling him he was going to be okay. And he was okay. The bullet hit an artery but luckily, Tommy was there and in between cussing and yelling, he had managed to put enough pressure on the wound to keep Brass from bleeding to death.
He always wondered if Nancy was disappointed he didn't die in the shooting. She would have gotten his pension and been free of him without the hassle of a messy divorce. But listening to Ellie's memory of the incident made his gut twist in knots. He felt angry: towards Nancy for putting Ellie through that kind of hurt and towards himself for taking so long to figure it out.
"I'm sorry," he said simply, not really knowing what else to say. "I didn't know."
She turned around, fire darkening her eyes. "I hated you. I hated you for getting hurt and for almost dying but more than anything, I hated you for being a cop."
"What did you want from me?" The question wasn't laced with any animosity even though she would probably take it that way.
Surprisingly, she didn't. "I wanted a dad."
He heard the catch in her voice and his gut twisted again.
"Brittany Foster's dad was a garbage man. On a hot day he smelled like shit but he was home in the evenings and always there for her. You were never there."
"I'm sorry, Ellie. I can't undo what's been done but you gotta know that I'm here for you now. If you need anything…"
"Sure dad."
"I mean it, Ellie. You ever need anything, you call, okay?"
"Yeah."
They both heard the front door open and close followed by the sound of grocery bags being deposited in the kitchen.
"Who's that?"
"Probably Catherine. She's a friend. Been looking after me."
"Yeah, I met her at the hospital." Ellie picked up her bag and slid off the bed. "I need to go."
"Do you have to? We could order pizza or Chinese—whatever you want." He felt like they finally had some sort of dialog; he didn't want to lose it now.
Pulling the strap onto her shoulder, she motioned towards the window. "Todd's waiting." Then quietly, as if she were embarrassed by the admission, she said, "I just wanted to see you before we left."
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Brass gave her a wink. "Sure, thanks." Biting the inside of his lip, he forced himself to smile as he looked up at her. "You still heading to California?"
She nodded. "Todd has some friends in L.A."
"Call me some time. Let me know how you're doing."
"I will, dad."
"If you need anything…"
"You said that already."
He nodded and smiled again, trying very hard to conceal the sadness he felt. He knew she'd never call. She gave him the same empty reply the last time she was in Vegas.
Stopping by the door, she turned back. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
"Okay." He could barely get the word out but it didn't matter. She had already disappeared down the hall.
Brass stared at the ceiling and took a deep, shuddering breath then blew it out, unable to stop the moisture from filling his eyes or the single tear from spilling onto his cheek.
Catherine stood in silence, watching him. It was hard to believe this was the same man she'd seen in the interrogation room going nose to nose with some of the worst kind of scum. But now it was all becoming very clear: the tough guy routine was all an act. The hard-nosed homicide detective was really a softy at heart.
Wiping away the wetness from his eyes with the back of his hand then seeing her standing there and knowing that she'd witnessed it all, he asked, "So you gonna rat me out?"
"Not a chance." Walking into the room, Catherine heard the front door open and close. "You just love your kid."
Brass stared into the distance for a long time. "Grissom was wrong."
"He was?" she asked with mock disbelief. "When?"
"You remember that case we worked, the one where we found explosives in the house?"
Catherine nodded, clearly recalling the family in question. "Screwed up kid, overprotective mother."
He looked up through dark lashes and grimaced, not from the pain. "That's the one. Gil and I were having a drink, talking about the family. He said," Brass looked up, recalling the words as best he could, "Unconditional love between a parent and a child is biological." His eyes slowly shifted to hers. "It's not always."
"It's not always what?"
"Unconditional love isn't always biological." He dropped his gaze, his lips in a tight line as he tried to find his courage. He didn't know why he wanted to tell Catherine but he did. Lifting his eyes once again, he shook his head and spoke quietly, "Ellie's not mine. My ex, Nancy, she messed around with another cop, got pregnant. We never told Ellie." He looked away, embarrassed by his admission and what she must think of him now.
Catherine sat down on the bed next to him. "And you raised her as your own daughter?"
She knew how hard it must have been to make that admission and how much he must have trusted her to tell her. There was no way she'd ever tell him about his delirious confession now.
He nodded.
Her eyes widened as the admiration she felt for Jim Brass grew several more notches. The man had integrity, a quality sadly missing from so many of the men she generally encountered any more.
Brass idly tapped his fingers against his thigh. "You know, I keep wondering whether it was the right thing to do, keeping it from her like we did, and how much more she'll hate me if she ever finds out."
"You ever going to tell her?"
"I don't know. I guess that's what eats me up inside—not knowing what to do. There's no guarantee her mother won't tell her—or her real father for that matter. I don't know if Nancy ever told him. There's not a lot of love between us so I could see him doing that to Ellie to get back at me."
"He one of the ones you busted?"
"Yeah."
"Then he's got a grudge and that could be a problem." She saw the look of concern cross his face and knew that she wasn't telling him anything he hadn't already thought about. Trying to put his mind at ease, she said, "You know, Jim, Ellie does love you. She didn't have to come back today but she did."
"I like to think she does but somewhere along the way, the hurt got wrapped around hate and that's a tough combination to overcome." He was quiet for a long time, staring past the bedroom door but not really seeing anything. "Don't make the same mistakes with Lindsey that I made with my Ellie, Cath."
"I don't plan on it."
He knew she'd probably walk out the door after what he was about to say but he had to say it regardless. "You're headed down that same path: working too many hours, missing birthdays and school plays—they remember that. You got more pressure too, being a single mom."
"I know," Catherine replied with a deep sigh. It was a sore point that she really didn't feel like discussing with Jim Brass or anyone else for that matter but at least Jim had been there and whether she liked it or not, she knew he was right.
She hadn't been completely blind to the signs. Lindsey was already starting to act out. Catherine had been quick to dismiss it as reacting to Eddie's death but deep down she knew that was only part of it.
"What am I supposed to do? Quit my job and be a stay at home mom?"
"Hey, my wife stayed at home and Ellie was still a problem. Now, I'm not saying Ellie had a couple of role model parents cause she sure as hell didn't, but how many times have we seen kids from a good family go bad? There are no guarantees so you just do the best that you can."
"And hope they don't end up as another statistic."
"Yeah." He leaned his head on the pillows and stared up at the ceiling.
Catherine didn't have to guess where his thoughts were now and felt a sting of guilt for going there. "Ellie's going to be okay, Jim. Give her time to sort things out and she'll come around."
"But will it be too late?"
Brass looked at her with such emotion that Catherine found herself wishing she had an answer.
"I worry about her. I worry that she's going to get hooked up with another Keith Driscoll and she'll be in the ground before me. Parents should never outlive their kids, you know?"
"I know." As a discomforting silence settled between them, Catherine knew Jim's thoughts were still on Ellie and desperately wanted to change the subject. Curious about the faded scar on his shoulder, just visible under the immobilizing sling, she asked, "What happened there?"
He followed her gaze then turned and looked at her again, frowning. "I got shot."
She hadn't expected that answer. "You never mentioned it."
He shook his head. "There's a lot of things I never mentioned. There's a lot in my past I'm not too proud of."
For some reason that little revelation didn't surprise Catherine. She never really thought about it until now but apart from his daughter, an ex-wife and a few generic stories about New Jersey, Jim really didn't talk about his past very much. Sure he had more than a few commendations—his office was full of them—but Catherine could easily imagine more than one entry in his jacket over the years.
It was no secret that Holly Gribbs' death had brought on a distinct attitude adjustment in Brass; he wasn't the same man he'd once been. Nevertheless, it wasn't hard to imagine what he must have been like as a cop back in Newark. She had jokingly referred to him as brash and though that moniker might not fit him now, she was certain it had at one time.
There was still an air about Jim Brass, like he'd never really been afraid of anything or anyone, like he could have very easily been one self-confident, tough, son-of-a-bitch, full of sharp edges and steel points. But that was years ago, before age and weariness eroded the self-confidence, before the humbling death of a young CSI mellowed him, before the sharp edges acquired a few nicks and dings. Still, Brass might have taken his share of hits over the years, might have lost a little of his physical toughness, Catherine doubted he'd lost any of his mental toughness. She'd yet to meet anyone who could intimidate Jim Brass.
But in the last few days Catherine had seen something in Brass that she'd never noticed before, something obvious and yet carefully hidden behind a perfectly honed façade: sadness. Whether it was Ellie, his past or the job, it was as if he'd seen far too much of humanity's corrupt underbelly and it was starting to take its toll. Cynicism had become his crutch, the only thing that truly kept him from falling down.
"You getting sentimental on me, Cath?"
Catherine looked up, realizing he was looking at her in that slightly uncomfortable way that left her feeling exposed—like he was looking into her soul and uncovering all the secrets and desires she'd tried so hard to keep buried. The strange thing was, she didn't mind. For the first time in her life, Catherine Willows looked past the slightly imperfect exterior and saw what she'd been missing.
She'd always had such rotten luck with men but maybe it was because she spent so much time looking in the wrong places when sitting right beside her was what she'd really been looking for all along. A man with integrity, who'd learned from his mistakes and was smart enough not to repeat them; a man who'd spent a lifetime doing what he thought was right yet self-effacing enough to admit when he was wrong. Jim Brass was a good man and it had taken an explosion to finally open her eyes.
It was time to admit what she'd been trying to rationalize all along. "Yeah, I am."
Cocking an eyebrow, surprised at her honesty, he decided to take a step towards breaching his own barrier. "That kiss the other day, did you regret it?"
"At first, yes."
"Oh."
She reached for his hand and pressed it between both of hers. "Jim, it's not for the reasons you think. I regretted it because I blindsided you, not because I didn't want to."
He let out a deep, contemplative sigh and shook his head. "I'd be lying if I said I understood what's been going on between us. I mean, I kinda like it but it's confusing as hell."
"Confusing how?" She wondered if this was related to the discussion they'd had back at the hospital. Neither one of them had mentioned it but she could sense he was still a little apprehensive about something.
He shrugged, not really sure what to say. He was a guy; communication had always been one of his shortcomings. But he wanted to try to explain. He felt like he owed it to her.
"Catherine, you and I both know I'm not the type of guy that generally gets your attention but unless I'm really off the mark, I've been getting the sense that there's more to all this than just being good friends. I guess the part that I don't get is why now?" His eyes were soft and seductive, his expression completely unquestioning even as he asked, "What changed?"
Catherine knew that look; she'd seen him use it in the interrogation room more times than she could remember and now she understood why. It was calculated, perfectly honed to make her feel comfortable and relaxed, like she could confess her sins and trust that he'd never tell anyone. Damn, he was good.
"It's hard to say why but let's just say the explosion opened my eyes to a few truths about myself and about you. I've seen a different side to you, one that I find very attractive and would like to know better."
"So it has nothing to do with seeing me in my Jockey's?"
"Definitely a plus."
He grew serious again. "I was thinking maybe this was all because you felt guilty."
"Guilty? About what?"
"About not getting injured in the blast."
"Survivor's guilt?" She thought about it for a minute. "I guess that might have been part of it at first, I don't know. But you know, Jim, sometimes you just have to accept that things are what they are and not try to figure out the underlying reason why."
"Don't ever let Grissom hear you say that." He grinned at her, his eyes twinkling first with amusement, then with curiosity. "So you kissed me because you wanted to, huh?"
"Yes, I did. I know this has to be confusing for you. It's been a little hard for me to understand as well. I mean, I remember you asking me out a couple of times and I shot you down pretty good."
He looked away, feeling a little foolish at his previous failings. "Yeah, I guess it's no secret I had a thing for you."
Seeing the veiled hurt in his expression made her feel just a little remorseful. She'd never really known if he was serious—not that she would have said yes. But she might have been a bit more tactful.
"So, how about once you feel up to it, we have dinner?"
He looked at her crossways, wondering if she were really serious. "You asking me out, Cath?"
"I am."
"I'm not a cheap date, you know. I like to be wined and dined. And don't expect me to put out on the first date either. I'm not that kind of guy."
She couldn't help but laugh, especially after he batted his eyelashes at her. "Something tells me you won't be putting out for a while."
She might have been joking but it was the truth. He'd come to the realization that it was going to take some time before he got his strength, not to mention his stamina, back. None of it mattered though because his libido was practically non-existent right now, a problem that definitely made him uneasy. Maybe he was wrong about Catherine but he'd always had the impression that she was a woman who needed a great deal of physical intimacy—sex—in a relationship. She might be okay with cuddling and kissing at first but eventually she'd lose patience and move on.
"It's going to take time, Jim, but I'm willing to wait."
Evidently, his concerns were transparent.
She leaned forward, closing the distance between them, acutely aware of the quiet intensity in his dark eyes. Catherine wanted him to know that her feelings were genuine, that she had no regrets, but more than anything else, she wanted him to trust her.
Brushing her lips against his jaw, his chin, his lower lip, she hesitated, giving him only a moment to protest before she kissed him.
But Brass didn't protest. Instead he sat impossibly still, giving in to the blatant assault on his mouth, reveling in the feel of her body pressed against his right side, her hand dangerously high on his thigh. Okay, maybe his libido wasn't dead after all.
The kiss was hot and deep and when they finally drew apart, Jim felt as if all his fears and worries were utterly meaningless. New beginnings and second chances: that's what he'd told Sara, that's what he was telling himself now. If Catherine was willing to take this further, then so was he.
Almost two weeks ago Jim Brass had gone into a house with the sole purpose of getting everyone out and nearly lost his life. He'd never guessed that out of something so traumatic and chaotic, something so unexpected, so profoundly comforting could emerge.
Maybe getting blown up wasn't so bad after all.
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Epilogue to follow…