Chapter Four: What Conference?

She was warm. And comfortable. Her half asleep brain registered her surroundings. The hotel room. The bed she was snuggled in was deep and surrounding. Or was that the pair of arms around her?

Catherine's eyes fluttered open. Her back was spooned against Gil, his head nestled comfortably in her neck, her fingers interlaced with his around her. She smiled. Sometimes, after a particularly rough fight with Eddie, Catherine would seek protection of herself and the then very young Lindsey in Gil's townhouse. The first time they had found themselves in the position they now found themselves in, they had been slightly surprised, but after it occurred more increasingly often over the next few months, they began to become accustomed to it. It became a sort of comfort.

"Griss! Cath! C'mon! Conference starts in half an hour!"

Greg's voice woke Gil with a start. Looking around, he saw Catherine glance towards the door just as Greg bounded through it, halting as he spotted the two in bed.

"Whoa—sorry guys—" Greg backed out, smirking, and closed the door.

"Oh, dear," Catherine sighed. She and Gil glanced at each other before untangling themselves from one another.

"At least it wasn't as bad as when Lindsey caught us," Gil said, watching her flit around the room in search her shopping bags. Catherine laughed.

"You try explaining that to a five-year-old."

"Isn't that what we're about to do?"

Catherine smirked at him before grabbing a towel from the rack and slipping into the bathroom.

"Dibs the shower first!"

"That's not fair!" Gil called to the closed door. It momentarily snapped open to allow Catherine's head to poke around it.

"Life's not fair, babe." She winked and closed the door on Gil's chuckle.

"Not when it comes to you, Catherine," Gil sighed, "not when it comes to you."

&----

Greg was grinning madly when Gil and Catherine arrived downstairs. Ignoring him, Catherine swung her purse over her shoulder and poured herself a cup of coffee from the kitchenette.

"Hey, Cath," Greg said, "good sleep?"

"Fantastic. Yours?" Catherine bit back.

"Eh, it was okay. Sara's a blanket hog. How's Grissom?"

The spiky-haired CSI wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Again," Catherine smirked over the rim of her coffee mug, "fantastic."

Greg's grin widened until the skin around his mouth threatened to crack.

"Really?"

"Really, really," Catherine sighed. "Greg, don't you have a DNA Enzyme and Hair Follicle Analysis seminar to get to?"

Greg glanced at his watch. Shocked, he jumped up, pulled his jacket on, snatched the muffin Sara was about to eat straight out of her hands and slammed the door behind a hasty, "Bye!"

"Hey!" Sara yelled. Nick laughed as he gathered up his own jacket and followed Greg, Warrick behind him.

"Ready?" Gil asked Catherine.

"I'm never ready for these conferences. You coming, Sara?"

The brunette glanced up, distracted.

"What? Oh, I'll…catch up with you guys."

"Right," Catherine raised her eyebrows and turned to Gil. "Shall we?"

"We shall."

&----

Three hours later, Catherine was a little less enthusiastic. She fidgeted slightly in her seat while the speaker at the front of the conference room droned on about—blood spatter analysis? She wasn't really paying attention. She knew all of this, anyway. How did they expect her to stay awake when they were lecturing her on a subject she'd written her entire thesis on?

At least she'd seated herself far enough from the front so that no one would notice her doodling idly on her note pad. Three rows up and six seats over, she could see Gil fidget as well. DaSilva had spotted him the moment he and Catherine had stepped into the lobby, immediately preying upon them. Gil had sent Catherine off with get promise that she would save him a seat.

That was three hours ago. DaSilva had dragged Gil over to his row of seats, surrounded by a group of chittering scientists Gil detested. Now, he was, for once, bored out of his mind. He would have much preferred sitting with Catherine, perhaps playing a game of X's and O's.

He suddenly felt his leg start to vibrate. Looking around, he made sure no one was looking before flipping the cell phone and reading the message on the screen.

Bored yet?

Gil smirked. It was typical Catherine. She always got distracted during blood spatter lectures.

Quickly clearing the area of wandering eyes, Gil lowered the cell phone beside his leg and the column next to him.

I thought this was your specialty.

I know it all.

That's a little cocky, don't you think?

Not cocky, confident.

Confidence is often mistaken for cockiness.

Do you have a point?

Not really.

I didn't think so. How much longer?

About forty minutes.

Forty! But we have lunch soon, right?
Yes, Catherine. Lunch, then an Audio/Visual seminar.

Oh, my God. Do they think we're stupid?

You've met the people around here. Anyway, this is all part of the Continuing Education Program.

Ugh-yes, I said ugh-what's up for dinner tonight?

Gil froze. As far as he knew, Warrick and Nick were planning on trying out some of the bars around Times Square. Now was his chance to spend some alone time with Catherine—but would she want to?

Well, it depends. Bar or restaurant?

Catherine frowned slightly. She'd been hoping to get him on his own, maybe talk, drink, reconnect with the man she'd grown distant from in the last few months.

Bar? How unlike you.

Bar's not my idea. Nicky and Warrick's. They're taking Greg and Sara, as well.

It was only a tiny white lie, after all.

I think I'll take the restaurant.
Gil's heart skipped a beat.

Any specific company in mind?

Catherine's heart skipped a beat.

Well, it seems the rest are bar partying, so it seems I'm stuck with you.

Gil smiled.

As long as you're not bitter about it, of course.

Catherine smiled.

I think I'll survive.

Good. I'll pick you up at seven.

Oh, ha, ha.

She flipped the phone closed and smiled to herself. Three rows up and six seats over, Gil did the same thing.

&----

"Who's up for some bar-hopping?"

Catherine rolled her eyes. Behind her, Greg was bouncing from one foot to the other, anxious to get going.

"Will you hang on a minute, Greg? I've got to find my shoe—"

"You kicked them under the bed. Now can we go?"

Scowling, Sara disappeared into the other room to collect her shoes while Warrick and Nick took up residence next to Greg at the door.

"You guys comin'?" Warrick asked, his hands in his pockets.

"Nah. I think I'm getting a little old for all-night bar-crashing. You guys have fun, though."

Greg raised his eyebrows.

"So, what're you gonna do?"

"None of your business," Catherine said. Upon seeing the expressions on Warrick and Nick's faces, she elaborated. "We're going out to dinner. To a place without fifty drunks grinding to bad music."

"Ah," Warrick said, "But I thought—"

"Any wise cracks about Old Vegas and I'll have your head. All your heads," she smiled, despite herself. "Now get outta here before I get ya."

Lurking in the doorway, Sara was pulled unceremoniously after the three men. She shot Catherine a confused look as the door closed behind her.

"But—" The door slammed to cut off her complaint.

"Score one for the redhead." Catherine kicked her feet onto the couch. "So, Gil," she called, "we leaving any time soon?"

Gil appeared down the stairs, holding two wine glasses and an apron.

"Actually, my dear, I thought we'd eat in."

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