(disclaimers et all in first chapter)
Chapter Four
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He sat in silence, head bent down in a brooding fashion as his eyes at them angrily, trying desperately to burn a hole through his head.
"Well, they sure look comfy." The car shook as Nick slammed the door shut, claiming the passenger side seat.
"Shut up, Nick." Gil and Greg spoke simultaneously; Gil's eyes jumping to meet the young CSI's gaze courtesy of the rear view mirror.
"Sorry." Greg mumbled, unsure whether he was apologizing for stepping over his words or for having overheard and subsequently knowing about their 'falling out'.
Gil's grip on the steering wheel tightened as he impatiently waited for Sara to climb into the vehicle. "Let's go." He spoke through grit teeth, ignoring Nick's curious stare.
Gil stepped up to the large hotel, tilting his head back as his eyes skipped from floor to floor, all the way up to penthouse.
"It's good to be the owner's daughter." Sara stood behind Gil, looking over his shoulder while taking in the lush environment in which bathed the hotel.
"Samantha Hamilton," Nick shook his head, "what a shame."
"Her fame sky-rocketed once celebrities started requesting rooms in her father's hotel."
"Rich girl loves to party." Greg added to Catherine's information, his first hand knowledge of celebrity gossip never failing to impress. "She had the reputation of boozing it up and bedding strange men...and women." He offered, as an afterthought.
"Nothing good ever comes out of strangers." Gil muttered, still looking at the building, though secretly his mind was still fuming over Catherine's lightly resembling behaviour; perhaps not the alcohol assumption, but more so his fear of her track record starting to ruin her life.
She slowly turned her gaze towards her supervisor, eyes ablaze with offence. Rather than employ the childish road she was inkling to take, she decided to take a stab at experience, chancing the repercussions of bringing familiarity to the already thin ice. "I don't know, before I met you, you were considered a stranger." She paused, waiting for a reaction. "And since then, I'd like to think some good came of it."
He remained silent, still staring ahead.
"You know, nobody's perfect Gil, not even you." Frustration was accumulating, and she felt that her best-friend was deliberately trying to destroy whatever dignity she had left. "She just wanted a life - there's no crime in that."
"No, but when it turns into one..."
"Well, life is a risk, and sometimes it turns into a tragedy, and sometimes it can turn into something wonderful. But she wasn't going to find out what fate had in store, by sitting alone, waiting for the right man to make a move."
The team shared discreet glances with each other, senses aware that such culmination of sexual tension should not be dealt with, within the ears of reporters.
"Humans are not without flaws, Gil, even you know that." Catherine huffed, unwilling to lose this battled. "Because if I'm wrong, and such a person exists, name one." She challenged him, smiling smugly.
"Realistically, of course not. Perfection doesn't exist in real life...but in my heart," he stared at her a beat longer than necessary, "I used to believe."
She chewed on her lip, brow furrowing in confusion and hurt, while she silently prayed for someone to change the subject. The more her mind turned his words over, tumbling a message from its cryptic intent, the more her stomach tightened with an uncomfortable, sinking feeling.
"I can't decide whether this is good publicity or bad for business." Greg mused, sensing Catherine's silent plea.
"Both." Gil answered curtly, nodding at the police captain as he stepped out of the building.
Jim smiled at the team, though they all recognized the forced intent for the paparrazic pleasure that nestled just outside the yellow tape. "Right, let's all go to the lobby." He all but sang, exhaustion taking reign over the sarcastic purpose.
The team followed him into the luxurious lobby, taking in the gold tinted pillars that held a magnificent reproduction of a Sistine themed ceiling. The plush cadmium carpet played a devilishly expensive contrast to the golden pillars, but still emphasizing a warm and rich welcome.
"Most of the guests have been asked to stay in their rooms - as both a measure of their personal safety, and our convenience."
Gil nodded, cocking his head towards the elevator. "David in there already?"
"On his way." Jim informed the Graveshift supervisor. "He had another DB on the strip."
"Ecklie?" Gil asked, ire twitching in his eye.
"Close - an overdose crack head." Jim grinned cheekily, sharing a chuckle with his good friend. "Right so, go check the body, just don't -"
" - yeah yeah yeah, 'don't touch anything until the body's been released', I know." Gil put up his hand, prompting Jim to cease his babysitting techniques.
"Hey, just trying to protect the evidence." Jim spoke up in his defence, though secretly getting some sadistic kick out of playing mind games with the uptight supervisor.
Gil rolled his eyes, staring at the elevator. "What's it like?" He asked the police captain, trying to assess the needed specialities, in order to maximize the scene's process.
"Blood and bugs - that's you two." Jim motioned to the elevator with a nod.
Gil sucked on the inside of his lip, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the metal-gate encased elevator shaft.
Catherine shook her head, letting out an audible sigh. She could sense his reticence at working with her, and despite it causing a sharp pain in her heart, his level of stubbornness surprised her somewhat. She knew he was very much set in his ways, but he had always spoiled her by giving in to her demands. And now she stood there, watching his internal battle explode in his eyes. "Oh please, get over yourself." Picking up her kit, she walked by, roughly nicking his shoulder with hers.
Gil still stood there, watching her retreating form. He held up his keys over his shoulder. "Nick, Sara and Greg, I want the three of you to process the stairwell as well as the back and front entrances. Warrick, you're with Jim - see if anyone knows anything. We'll meet back up at the lab." He jingled his keys, and finally let his arm rest by his side, when Warrick took them from his grasp. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and walked towards the elevator, where Catherine was already waiting, hand lazily on the button to keep the doors open.
As he neared, she let go, the door half-closing on his irritated form. "Sorry." It was spoken without truth, and she stared straight ahead, ignoring his glare.
The team watched the doors close, encasing tension along with both the senior CSIs. "Man, this is going to get ugly before its going to get good." Warrick sighed, shaking his head. "Blood and bugs - guess fate destined them to work together."
"Actually I did." A ghost of a Puckish smile flashed across the police captain's features. "There's some blood...but no bugs."
Warrick raised an eyebrow and glanced at his coworkers, each donning the same shocked expression. "If anything happens, -you- lead them to the slaughterhouse, my friend."
–TBC–