Catherine woke up at night alone. Lindsey had long since gone to bed and after much assurance that she would be fine, Grissom had gone home. She had taken another pill and climbed into bed and gone to sleep, happy to be home in her own pajamas and in her own bed.
She woke very suddenly, though. It was nearly four am and she was in pain. Her head ached, her whole body hurt. With Lindsey in bed, Grissom had spoken to her in more detail about her attack. She'd been transported in the trunk of a Honda Civic – it explained the large bruises all over her body that were just now starting to fade. She'd been carried like a sack of potatoes. No wonder she was sore.
But she was scared, too. The night was not quiet, not soft. She heard the hum of her refrigerator, the dripping of a far faucet, the revving of an engine. She felt the panic start to rise. It wasn't safe, she didn't feel safe. What if someone came for her? What if someone wanted to hurt Lindsey? She reached blindly for the phone next to her bed and dialed with trembling fingers.
"'Ello?" came the tired reply of Grissom's sleep heavy voice.
"It isn't safe here," Catherine blurted, terrified. "I don't feel safe."
There was a slight pause, she could hear him grunt as he threw the covers back and sat up.
"I'll be right there. Sit tight," he promised. She hung up the phone and kicked her covers away. In her nightstand was her gun, unloaded. She pulled out the gun and stumbled to her sock drawer where she kept her ammunition. She loaded the gun and crept into the living room, past Lindsey's closed door and sat in the corner of the floor where she could see the front door. She raised her gun and waited.
Grissom slid his key into the lock, glad she had given him a copy when she'd first moved in. The house was dark and he paused, trying to let his eyes adjust. He moved swiftly toward Catherine's bedroom when he heard a whimper. He turned toward the shallow sound and saw Catherine on the ground, gun in hand, tears pouring down her face. His heart broke.
"Oh, honey," he said, crouching in front of her. "I'm here." She looked up at him and nodded, wiping her face. "Why don't you give me the gun?" He took it from her carefully and removed the cartridge. She tumbled into his arms, muffling her cries into his shoulder. He'd not wanted to leave her but she'd seemed okay, strong and lucid. Now he would make sure she saw the Lab's psychiatrist. For now, he coaxed her up and led her into the bathroom.
"Don't turn on the light," she whispered. "It hurts my head," He nodded and turned on the hot water faucet while she sat on the closed toilet, sadly. He took the hand towel and ran the hot water over it. He wrung the towel out and knelt in front of her. With great gentleness and care, he pressed the warm cloth against her swollen cheeks, intent on soothing her. She closed her eyes and he was careful to avoid her bandages.
When he got her calmed down – her face clean and her tears stopped – she wasn't willing to go back to sleep.
"What would you like?" Grissom asked her.
"Don't leave!" she said, worried he came just to take away her gun and abandon her.
"I wouldn't dream of it." he promised. "Do you want to go back to sleep?"
"I want Austen," she whispered, looking young and small. Grissom nodded.
"Okay, go to bed and I'll get it." She went down the hall to climb quietly into bed and he went to the entertainment center. A little known fact about Catherine Willows was her love of all things Jane Austen. Austen was a comfort zone for Catherine – a throw back from her childhood. It reminded her of being 10-years-old, summer in Montana with dog eared copies of Emma and Pride & Prejudice. She only wanted Austen when she was distraught.
He put the DVD into the small TV on Catherine's dresser and sat next to her on the bed, on top of the linens.
"Sense and Sensibility," she murmured. "Good choice,"
"Ang Lee," he pointed out – Lee was one of Grissom's favorite directors.
"Alan Rickman," Catherine countered, leaning her head on Grissom's shoulder tiredly. He chuckled for Catherine always felt sorry for the slighted Colonel Brandon and she had a slight crush on Alan Rickman, who portrayed him. It was a longer movie and by the midway point, both viewers had fallen asleep.
"What do you know of my heart?" Elinor wept on.
oooo
In the morning, Grissom let Catherine sleep and took it upon himself to get Lindsey off to school – the start of another week. Then, Grissom called Ecklie.
"I'm taking some time off," he informed his boss. "I'm not sure how long – as long as I'm needed. A week, two, maybe more." he paused, listening. "I'm sure you can handle it, Conrad… Then fire me… Thank you," he hung up.
"You didn't have to do that." Catherine's voice came from behind him. She was still in her pajamas, rumpled and tired.
"Good morning," he greeted.
"Gil,"
"I want to," he said, firmly. She nodded.
"Okay,"
"Are you hungry?"
"No," she said, sitting on the couch, "I'm too nauseous to eat."
"That means its time for another pill, but you can't take it until you eat something so I'll scramble you a few eggs." he said. She shrugged, unwilling to fight him on it. He moved easily into her kitchen, pulling a clean pan out of the cabinet.
"Why are you so good to me, Gil?" she asked, sitting carefully on the stool that sat under the counter. She winced a little, from fatigue and from soreness. He looked at her for a moment before turning away to gather his ingredients. Three eggs and a piece of bread to sit in the toaster. He cracked the eggs into a bowl and fished a small whisk from one of the drawers. "Is that not a legitimate question?" she pushed.
"I didn't say that," he said, whisking the eggs.
"You didn't say anything." she countered. The eggs were now uniform, the pan hot, so he dumped them in and stood with his hand on his hip, looking around for the spatula. "When did you stop talking to people about your feelings?" she pushed.
"When I was nine," he said, carefully. Catherine didn't let herself breathe for a moment and in that airless moment she could see Grissom, the boy, sitting on the couch next to his first corpse. She stood again, walked over to him, and put her arms around his mid-section. She hugged him. Catherine and Grissom rarely touched, Grissom didn't like to be touched unnecessarily. When they did touch it was either accidental or suggestive or, sometimes, for basic comfort, but this hug was to do more than comfort him. Catherine wanted to convey how important he was to her but she couldn't find the words. For Grissom, she could never find the words. He hugged her back tentatively and let his hand rub her back. "Cath, your eggs are going to burn," he murmured and she chuckled and stepped back, wiping the tears that had sprung up away.
"I'm sorry I freaked out," she said. "I'm sorry you had to…"
"You just need some rest," he assured her. "We'll get through this."
"Maybe," she said. "Maybe in a month everything will be just the same."
She ate because he wanted her to and took her pill and fought the drowsiness hard. She wanted to shower but had to wait another day for her stitches to come out.
"You could take a bath, if you're that uncomfortable about it," Grissom suggested after her third frustrated sigh. "Just keep your hair up and don't get your head wet."
"That's a good idea," she said, standing and kicking the blanket from her lap. He picked it up and draped it over the back of the couch while she went down the hall and started the bath. She came back out. "You'll stay, right?"
"Just holler if you need me," he assured her with a smirk. She rolled her eyes and closed the bathroom door behind her. She felt better knowing Grissom was out there and so she took her time. She removed her pajamas slowly, watching herself in the mirror. She twisted around to see her back. All along her spine was splotchy and purple and the bruising continued down her left hip. She was good at covering bruises – she'd done it for years after Eddie had lost his temper, but now she was glad he'd never hurt her this bad. If she'd gone into work at the French Palace she would have been sent home. No one wanted to see anger and pain, and neither did Catherine. She decided to turn the lights off and bathe in the dark.
She shut off the faucet and pushed back the curtain so the plastic didn't touch her steaming water. She always took the hottest baths she could stand. She lowered herself into the water slowly, hissing. She took a plastic hair clip from the edge of the tub and gathered up her hair to keep it out of the water. It was limp and greasy but she just had to wait another day. Maybe she would wear a hat until then, or one of Lindsey's scarves.
She leaned back in the tub and let her eyes close. The water was warm and her muscles slowly released the tension she'd been holding in her body. Her breathing was deep and even.
Nearly an hour had passed since Catherine had gone to take her bath. Grissom was beginning to worry. He finally got off the couch and set his crossword puzzle aside. He couldn't concentrate on the small white squares or the tiny print of the clues, he was too distracted listening for sounds coming from the bathroom and hearing none. Standing in front of the door, he rapped on it lightly a few times.
"Catherine?" he called through the door. "Cath, how are you doing in there?" When he got no answer, he tried the knob and found it unlocked. "Catherine, I'm coming in."
The bathroom was dark and the curtain obscured most of her but he could see her legs. Suddenly he was afraid. She'd taken one of her painkillers, what if she had slipped under, what if she…? He jerked the shower curtain back so roughly that it ripped and several plastic rings were no longer attached to anything. The noise startled her awake and she sat up, splashing and screaming.
"What the hell?" she asked, looking up at him. It took her a moment to realize where she was and when she did, she instinctively drew her knees up to her chest. She was about to snap at him when she saw the look of desperate fear on his face. "Gil?"
"You didn't answer," he whispered. "I'm sorry," He turned away as to not see her nakedness. She stood up and grabbed the towel, wrapping it around her. She had fallen asleep and now the water was tepid and the towel was a warm, dry relief. But she couldn't think about that now, all she could see were the sagging shoulders of Grissom, embarrassed for bursting in on her, embarrassed for being so afraid.
"I'm fine," she assured him. She stepped out of the tub and touched his shoulders. "Turn around," she said and he did, keeping his head low and looking up slowly when he saw the towel around her. "See? I'm fine. I was just tired. I just fell asleep." she assured him again. She stepped closer to him, so their bodies were flush and his arms came around her.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" he cleared his throat. "I wrecked your shower curtain."
"Easily replaced – we can stop by Target after we pick up Lindsey from school." she said.
"Okay," he said. She led him out of the bathroom and into her bedroom.
"Let's just lay down for a while before we have to go get Lindsey." she said. He nodded numbly, beginning to come down off his adrenalin high and sat down on her bed. She put on her robe and pulled her towel out from underneath it, making sure the sash was tied tightly. He lay back against the pillows and she climbed onto the bed beside him. "Close your eyes," she said and he did, his lashes touching his cheek softly. She put her head against his arm and closed hers as well.
When she woke up, he was propped up one arm, watching her intently. She opened her eyes and met his with a steady gaze. He smiled a little, and reached out to touch her chin adoringly. He let his fingers travel down her neck, to her shoulder where he moved the robe out of the way so her creamy, freckled skin was exposed. He let his fingers draw lazy circles there, playing connect the dots with her brown freckles and making her skin sensitive. She closed her eyes again, wanting to be able to focus on the sensation of touch and not let sight get in her way.
He surprised her when he leaned down and pressed his mouth against her shoulder. She exhaled slowly, while he inhaled, trying to surround himself in the smell of Catherine. It wasn't her usual scent of upscale perfume and moisturizer, but Catherine, what she smelled like underneath all of her beauty products. He rubbed his face against the shoulder and she felt the soft scratching of his beard and the smooth skin of his cheek where the hair didn't grow. Then, his mouth was back, but this time, it wasn't just lips against skin – this time he was kissing her. The air was filled with a slight smacking sound of him kissing her shoulder again and again, moving ever closer to her neck until there was the feeling of his mouth against her jugular. She sighed.
Grissom didn't quite know what had come over him. He hadn't really slept; he had merely lingered in the space between sleeping and wakefulness. Catherine made small, mewling noises in her sleep that fascinated Grissom. It'd been a long time since he'd really shared sleep with someone else in the bed and no one had ever been quite as feminine as Catherine. She was even girly in her sleep. But the noises pulled him out of any dreamlike state he'd achieved and he'd instead turned all of his attention onto studying her.
And then, suddenly, her eyes opened and it hadn't been enough anymore. He had to reach out; he absolutely without question would not be able to live if he couldn't touch Catherine. So he had. He tugged that offending robe out of the way and touched her. She hadn't said a thing. She didn't move to stop him and so he grew bold. Now, he parted his lips and touched his tongue against the skin of her neck. When she moved her head to give him better access, he lapped at her skin, nibbled her, and reached over to pull her closer to him. It was like being drunk. But even with all this granted to him, even with her unspoken permission to touch her, to kiss her, he was not brave enough to press his lips against hers.
When the alarm started, she put a hand on his back and he pulled away. His face was flushed and his eyes were glazed over and she imagined she looked much the same way. Her robe had gone askew and she was precariously close to revealing more than just a shoulder to Gil Grissom. She pulled the robe closed and watched him smooth his own wrinkled shirt. Neither one wanted to break the silence that had settled over them.
"You'd better get dressed," he said finally. She nodded, and he got up and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. She was trembling as she put on her clothes. She didn't feel up to wearing anything glamorous. She settled on a black sweater and blue jeans and from Lindsay's room she took a black bandana and tied it around her head, careful to cover her bandage as well as her greasy hair. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.
The ride in the car was tense and silent. Catherine wanted to say something to him, he was obviously uncomfortable. She wanted to tell him how much she enjoyed the feeling of him kissing her, of him moving against her. She wanted to tell him that he was desirable and that nothing was more attractive than him wanting her. But she couldn't find the words. Instead she turned her head away and watched the scenery drift along.
The school parking lot was crowded with luxury cars and children in uniforms. Lindsey didn't have the red in her hair that Catherine tried desperately to highlight out. Lindsey was blonde through and through and Catherine found it was hard to look at her daughter in direct sunlight. It was so bright, so beautiful it hurt. Lindsey, at twelve, had been small and shapeless, but at thirteen had entered puberty in stride. Catherine had bought her training bras that were small and white but Lindsey had rolled her eyes and wanted something from Victoria's Secret, not Mervyn's. They had gone to mall and fought over a black, lacy thing and in the end had compromised with pink. Catherine could see the beginning of her daughter's hips swelling against the plaid skirt that was an inch shorter than regulation. Lindsey rolled it up at the waist to be more fashionable and Catherine couldn't blame her.
Lindsey got into the back seat.
"Hi, Mr. Grissom," she said. "Hi, Mom." but she added it as an afterthought. Catherine always had to remind herself how hard thirteen had been.
"How was school, baby?" she asked, twisting to see her in the back seat.
"Boring," she answered, dutifully.
"We're going to Target," Catherine said. "I ripped the shower curtain." She glanced over at Grissom who didn't move but who flushed.
"What happened?" Lindsey asked, concerned.
"I just slipped, I'm fine." she assured her daughter. "We can pick out something new. Maybe get new bath mats too."
"This is going to turn into actual shopping, isn't it?" Grissom asked, speaking for the first time since they entered the car.
"Only if we're lucky," Lindsey said, oblivious to his sarcasm.
oooo
Lindsey's music was loud while Grissom and Catherine cleaned up the mess from dinner. The new shower curtain was a pale green – Grissom called it sage – and had curling stitching all over it, and small, simple flowers. It was sheer and not really her style but Grissom liked it and Lindsey liked it and Catherine had wanted to make everyone happy. Now, Grissom loaded the dishwasher while Catherine wiped down the dining room table humming along to whatever was coming from behind Lindsey's closed door.
"Do you ever think about getting married again?" The question was out before he could stop it. He'd been thinking about asking her all day; he'd been thinking about asking her since Eddie died. She stopped, the wet rag in her hand, and she looked at him.
"I don't make good choices," she said, finally. He tilted his head to one side. There was a moment of silence as one song ended and another began. "Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like had I married someone better suited for me… but I wouldn't give up Lindsey for the world."
"That's fair," he said. Catherine had promised Grissom once, years ago, that he would be invited to her wedding but she had ended up getting married on the strip in one of those 24 hour places – she was already three weeks pregnant but she hadn't known it at the time. Grissom had wanted to see Catherine in a pretty white dress with flowers in her hair but when she had sheepishly admitted that the marriage had passed without him as witness, he'd kissed her hand in congratulations.
"You never married either, Gil." she pointed out, feeling a little defensive.
"I know," he smiled.
"Well?" she asked, impatient. "Why?"
"The time hasn't been right." he said. The implication was clear, though.
Catherine tossed the rag into the sink, past Grissom who closed the dishwasher and looked out into her backyard, regretting bringing up something that upset her. She went into the living room and plopped down on the couch. He came into the living room and watched, trying to decide if he should leave her alone, go home, or if she was approachable.
"You'll call me if you need anything?" Grissom ventured.
"What do you mean?" she asked, turning her head sharply. "I thought you were staying."
"I am," he amended, quickly. "I'll do whatever you want." He was such a pushover where Catherine was concerned.
"Good," she said, uncomfortably. Good. The song ended again and they both waited for another one to start – it took them a minute to realize the CD was over. It was Lindsey's bedtime anyway. Catherine stood and left him in the living room. She knocked on Lindsey's door and went inside the room, shutting the door behind her.
Lindsey was already in bed, reading a book with only her desk lamp on.
"That's not very good reading light," she said, sitting on the bed, taking the book gently from her daughter.
"I don't care," she said. Her blonde hair was long now, and thick, and it spread over her pillow like a piece of fine fabric. Catherine leaned down and kissed her daughter's forehead.
"I love you," she said. Lindsey smiled.
"I love you, too." she replied. "Did Mr. Grissom go home?"
"No, I think he's going to stay for a while. Until I'm well enough to go back to work." Catherine said. Lindsey waggled her eyebrows, knowingly. Catherine didn't really have close girlfriends anymore. She had her daughter, and her job, and Grissom. The woman she was probably closest to was Sara and that was depressing – Catherine barely liked Sara. Lindsey was all she had, and thirteen was old enough to share her secrets. "He kissed me," she whispered. Lindsey shrieked a little, excited.
"Oh my god!" she said. "How was it?"
"Not on the lips…" she explained. "Right here," And she reached up to touch her neck softly.
"Mom, I like him." Lindsey said honestly. "I know he isn't all suave and stuff but I like him anyway."
"Thanks, baby." She leaned down and kissed her daughter. Her young skin was fresh and clean. It smelled like face wash and cold cream. Catherine had taught her early to take care of her skin. Without heavy eyeliner and dark mascara around Lindsey's eyes, she actually looked thirteen. "Goodnight."
"Night," she said and rolled over to face the wall. Catherine shut off the lamp and closed the door behind her. Grissom was still hovering, somewhere between sitting and being gone.
"You have a doctor's appointment tomorrow to get your stitches out," he reminded her. "I'll drive you, if you'd like."
"Sure," she said. "I'm not supposed to drive on the meds."
"Nope," he said, looking down at his hands.
"Maybe we should just talk about what happened, because I'm horrible at small talk." Catherine blurted.
"What happened?" he asked.
"You kissed me," she said.
"Almost," he admitted. She rolled her eyes.
"You kissed my neck," she specified. "It was… really nice." He blushed and smiled. "Gil, do you ever think that we've gone about this all the wrong way?"
"This?" he asked.
"You and I. Our friendship." she clarified.
"Ah," he said. But she didn't want an easy answer. She crossed her arms and cocked her head. Grissom thought her face was cute with her hair pulled back and covered in the black head scarf. It gave her a carefree quality but he could still read her expression and knew he better do better with his next words. "Sometimes I think about you when you aren't in the room. Sometimes I'll be working a scene – dusting for prints or pulling a fiber off a dead kid, something terrible, and all of a sudden, all I can see is you. Sometimes when I'm sitting in my office, I imagine you coming in and…" but he couldn't say that just yet. "Sometimes I think I'll go crazy if I can't touch you."
Now he sat down with a dejected thud on her sofa. He turned his back to her and put his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He was ashamed of his feelings toward her, ashamed of his outburst. Catherine knew how he felt but she played dumb. When Eddie used to hit her, shake her until she couldn't see, she would scoop up her daughter and run to Grissom and he wouldn't ever question her. He would just let her in; let them sleep in his bed while he stayed up all night making sure Eddie didn't show up. It was easy to take things from Grissom and give nothing in return but it wasn't fair or kind and Catherine regretted walking all over him for so many years. She sat next to him and put her hand on his back.
"I never told you that you couldn't touch me." she whispered. He couldn't look at her, he couldn't lift his head. It was too much for Grissom, for Grissom who had taught himself not to feel. "Gil, look at me,"
"Just give me a moment, Catherine." he said, his voice muffled by his hands. "I need a minute." She took her hand off of him, and folded herself small, pressed against the arm of the couch. Why were they both so fragile? Catherine didn't want Grissom to leave but maybe it was asking him to much to stay. What was worse? Her fear of spending a night unprotected and alone, or his emotional instability?
"Maybe you should go." she said, softly, selflessly, she thought.
"I don't want to go, Catherine, I just want one minute of quiet!" he yelled, startling her. She jumped, surprised. She glanced quickly at Lindsey's closed door.
"Okay," she whispered. "Take your fucking minute, I'm going to bed." For once her fear wore off, she was angry and righteous. She didn't like to be yelled at and she didn't like to be ordered about. With that, she stalked down the hall, pausing at the linen closet to pull out a quilt and leave it in a heap on the floor. It was for him and the couch and she closed her door behind her.
What a silly fight. Grissom wondered what had just happened. He knew he couldn't just stay out here and he knew he couldn't sleep knowing things weren't right. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it down in one gulp. The glass clinked as he sat it down in the sink and he dried his hands on the seat of his pants. He stepped open the crumpled quilt to get to her door.
She didn't answer when he knocked on her door. She didn't even tell him to go away. He didn't want to talk to her through the door and he didn't want to wake Lindsey so he let himself in. Her lamp was on and she was lying still fully clothed, her face buried in her pillow.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Can you forgive me?" She rolled over and looked at him. Her face was red and her eyes watery – he had made her cry.
"Yeah," she said.
"I don't know what I want to say to you yet." he admitted.
"Well I'd rather you say nothing than the wrong thing, I guess." she said. He nodded and turned to go.
"I'm sorry too." she said. Part of her wanted to ask him to stay, to sleep in her bed, to recreate the afternoon's illicit behaviors, but she couldn't. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Catherine." he said.