He had a quirky sort of charm, she had to give him that.
Gil had disappeared an hour or two before, promising he wouldn't be too long and he'd be back soon. When he had returned, she had been puzzled when she'd spotted what looked like shopping bags clutched in his hands. Now, as he moved around the makeshift kitchen, she understood—he'd planned the dinner the whole time.
"Impressive." She smiled. He glanced at her over his shoulder.
"I thought we needed a night just to relax before the mayhem starts," he said, chopping up a carrot and adding to the frying pan.
"Starts? Gil, I think it's in full swing."
"Not when you hear what DaSilva and his crew have planned."
Catherine didn't respond at first. She was too busy watching him, memorizing every detail of his back, his hands, his face. She couldn't believe he had been thoughtful enough to make her dinner, just the two of them. No man had ever treated her with such tenderness. Even in the good days with Eddie, before she'd gotten pregnant, he had never done something as simple as making her dinner. But Gil…Gil was different. She was a woman to Gil, not a stripper, not some cheap girl—a woman. She loved how good she felt around the man standing in front of her.
"What?" Catherine snapped out of her reverie to meet his startling blue eyes.
"You okay? You were gone there for a minute." Gil scanned her eyes carefully. She really was beautiful.
"Oh, no, I'm fine," she smiled. "How can I help?"
"You could pour the wine." The corner of his mouth twitched as she grinned her Cheshire smile he loved so much.
"Good—I need a drink."
"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "Rough day at the office?"
"Ha, ha," she smirked and poured him a glass of wine. "Funny."
"I'm funny." He smirked back and carried two plates over to their makeshift table in between the two couches they'd moved.
"Oh, terribly." Catherine took a plate from Gil with a swift kiss on the cheek. He stared at her.
"What was that for?" H asked, sitting across from her.
"It was a 'thank you'. Its not everyday a handsome gentlemen makes me dinner." She smiled. Her hair fell across her cheek as she did so. "Now, who taught you how to make stir-fry just the way I like it?"
"I believe you did."
Catherine grinned and clinked glasses with her best friend. He smiled.
"To us—may we never run low on—"
"Support." Catherine smiled.
"Friendship."
"Honesty."
"Fights." They laughed. Gil locked his blue eyes with hers. Her expression changed as he gazed seemingly straight through her and into her soul.
"Passion," she breathed. They weren't that far apart. He could hear her breath quicken; it raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
"Love."
She was closer to him now. Much, much closer than she had ever been before.
He was closer to her now. Much, much closer than he had ever been before.
She could feel his breath on her skin.
He could smell the soft scent of her perfume.
His beard tickled her face.
Her hair blew over his cheek.
They were so close…
&----
"So, what's the deal with Cath and Griss? I though Cath liked going out." Greg asked, accepting his beer from Warrick. The older man slid in with the rest in the booth they'd found at the back of the bar.
"Aw, you know Cath. Whatever she's in the mood for." Warrick replied.
"Yeah, and besides, Grissom never goes out," Nick added. "Cath probably stayed to keep him company."
The four CSIs sat at a small bar they'd found just off of Times Square, chatting amongst themselves while the overhead lights spun above them, gliding across the semi-crowded dance floor.
Sara plucked the cherry from Nick's drink and popped it into her mouth.
"Probably."
"Oh, I dunno, guys," Greg said, with the air of one about to let the cat out of the bag and was quite pleased with himself for doing so, "I think there's something more there. I mean, they looked pretty comfortable this morning."
Sara's head snapped up.
"What do you mean, Greggo?" Nick asked.
"Well," Greg began with a flourish, leaning in conspiratorially, "when I went to wake them up this morning, they were, shall we say…close?"
"Close?" Sara snapped dryly, "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means that the bed may have been a bit too big for them, if you catch my drift."
"No, I don't," Sara bit back.
"Whoa, down, girl!" Greg raised his hands up. "Don't shoot the messenger. I just meant that they were more wrapped up in each other than usual."
"I think this guy gets the award for the most creative attempts to dodge spitting an answer out," Warrick laughed. Greg grinned.
"You betcha. Just watch, something's going to happen by the end of this trip, and I don't mean conference-wise."
Nick glanced at Sara. Her face was impassive, but the hand clutching her drink was white with tension. Deciding to spare the brunette's feelings, he changed the subject.
"So, anyone seen any good movies lately?"
&----
Judy Tarafin hung up the phone and consulted the list of attendees for tomorrow's conference. She had been calling all over the hotel since five o'clock, trying to finish before her daughter left for a birthday party. She sighed.
Only fifteen more to go, Judy thought. She picked up the phone and once again began to dial.
"Hello?" The voice on the other end sounded frustrated and slightly angry.
"Dr. Grissom? I'm Judy Tarafin, the Sheraton's event co-ordinator. I'm calling to inform you that tomorrow's lectures have been cancelled due to illness."
"Okay," Grissom sounded put out. Judy could detect a clinking in the background, as well as a what sounded like a woman's voice.
"Lectures will resume as scheduled on Wednesday."
"Okay, thank you."
"Have a nice evening, Dr. Grissom."
"Yes, yes, you too." Judy heard the click of the dial tone and placed the phone back on the receiver. She crossed his name off of the list.
Only fourteen more to go.
&----
Catherine sat back on her couch as Gil answered the phone. Inside her head, her two voices of reason were having a fierce battle.
What the hell was that?
He almost kissed you.
I almost kissed him!
Same thing. Either way, it was wrong.
Wrong? No, it's not!
He's your boss!
Co-supervisor!
Again, same thing.
Oh, my God…what do I do?
Panic. Or do what you want.
Great.
Time was running out. Gil looked like he was eager to end the conversation over the cell quickly. She didn't know what to do.
"Okay, thank you. Yes, yes, you too." Gil snapped the phone shut and rested his forehead against his fist. He had been so close…
Catherine locked her blue eyes with his. The intensity of his gaze took her breath away with the pain, lust, and love in them. She opened her mouth.
"Gil, I—"
"Hola, amigos!"
Greg, her mind growled. The spiky-haired man launched himself through the door, followed by a laughing Warrick and Nick, and a reluctantly smiling Sara.
"You're, ah—" Catherine cleared her throat, "You're back early."
"For a reason! Guess who we bumped into at the bar?" Greg asked, gleefully.
"Who, Greg?" Gil sighed.
Greg ignored Gil's obvious impatience.
"Three words," Warrick said, " Miami-Dade-County."
A/N: I'd just like to clarify that in this story, The Butterfly Serial never happened. No, this isn't going to be a huge crossover thing. The Miami crowd are only making cameos because I just love to write them.
Many thanks to Brittney Landray AKA Muggs, D.M.A.S., JacobedRose (Thanks for the in-character comment—in a story like this, that's very hard to do), MarciaG (Oh! What songs? Lol), countrymusicncsigirl, sparvoega, and sexyirishBeep (Sorry, had to tell you that your name is just awesome).
Oh, and a note: I've taken In the Wrong Hands down. The details are in my profile.
Want to contact me? Go to my LiveJournal, a complete mix of icons, story updates and me randomly ranting—the link is also located in my profile, as my homepage.
Click the purple button!
