They dropped Lindsey off at school and went straight onto her doctors' appointment. She was excited at not only the prospects of her stitches being removed but at the idea of having a clean bill of health – being off the wool-inducing medication and going back to work. Ecklie had called Grissom three times that morning already, bullying him to come into work that night. Grissom stopped answering.

He waited in the waiting room while Catherine was called in and forty five minutes later she appeared sans stitches and smiling. She had a thin pink scar instead but her hair covered the most of it.

"Let's get the hell out of here," she said, "I need a shower."

Grissom felt like he could use a shower himself. He'd woken up early, before both Catherine and Lindsey, and crept out into dawn's light to get his change of clothes from his car. Clean clothes over an unwashed body still felt wrong somehow. Usually Grissom showered before work and – depending on the kinds of things he had to deal with during his shift – again when he got home.

"I'll drop you off," Grissom told her. "I need to go home and check my mail and my messages." he said. Catherine reluctantly agreed. The doctor told her to finish up her antibiotics and to take the pain pills only if she really needed them. Her headaches had faded and she was given her clean bill of health. Any need she had of Grissom was purely psychological now. She'd woken up again in the night and pushed out of bed. When she saw Grissom asleep on the couch, snoring, a feeling of warmth and comfort had washed over her.

"Sounds good," she said. "Will you go back to work tonight?"

"Maybe," he said. "I haven't decided." He looked over at her. "You don't even think about it."

"Come on, Gil, you heard him, clean bill!"

"No, you heard him. I sat in the waiting room. You can come back on Monday."

"Thursday," she countered.

"Friday, if you have no headaches between now and then." he compromised.

"Friday," she agreed. "Okay."

When he pulled into her driveway, she impulsively leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you," she said. "For everything,"

"Any time." he promised.

oooo

His house was cool and empty. Winter was coming rather steadily and soon the desert nights would be freezing and they would all have to work their scenes in parkas and heavy boots. Catherine's skin turned translucent when she got cold. She became pale and her veins showed through like blue spider webs across her arms and chest. Her lips turned bright red and after she came inside, she folded herself around a steaming mug of black coffee. She wore knit sweaters and Burberry scarves. Grissom thought that Catherine looked good in every season.

Grissom ignored the blinking light on his answering machine and ignored the rumbling from his stomach and went straight to his shower. Usually he preferred tepid water to hot, but this time he let the water scald him and let the bathroom fill with steam. He contemplated shaving off his beard briefly when he got out of the shower and stood at the sink with a towel around his waist. Laziness won out and he didn't even bother to trim it. The air bit at his naked skin when he opened the bathroom door and he rushed to the bedroom to throw on a pair of sweat pants and a long sleeved cotton shirt. Leisure clothes were a rarity for Grissom – he usually wore work clothes or sleep clothes with the occasional formal wear thrown in for funerals or dinners. He hung up his towel and went downstairs to make himself a sandwich and maybe a stiff drink.

He was standing in his kitchen with wet hair and his sweat pants low on his hips when he heard the lock click over in his door. Catherine was the only one with a key and she had let herself in without even knocking first.

"Hi," he said, surprised.

"Hi," she said. "I came over."

"Yes, I can see that." he said. "Come in." She smiled, shyly.

"I probably should have rang the bell; it didn't really occur to me." she admitted.

"Did you need something, Catherine?" he asked, setting his knife down across the lip of the mayonnaise jar and he wiped his hands on a dishtowel.

"Um…no." she said, shrugging. She had showered too, and her hair was in damp braids on either side of her head like she'd worn it for the marathon. She was in jeans, again, and a sweater. "I got into my car and then I was just here."

He was immediately flattered by this and opened his arms to her. She walked into his embrace, putting her arms around his neck.

"It's fine," he said. "I'm glad you're here." He kissed her forehead and her nose and her cheek. His kisses were chaste and fast and safe. Catherine appreciated the closeness but the more time she spent with Grissom outside the Lab, the more she wanted a dangerous kiss. She tightened her hold on him and tilted her head suggestively so there was no question of what she wanted.

Grissom forgot to breathe for a second. Her lips were soft and parted and Grissom was mesmerized by them. With a surge of bravery he leaned his head down and kissed her. The bravery didn't last, though, and he pulled away quickly.

"Don't," she cried, pushing herself up to meet him again, her kiss more fierce than his. She pushed her tongue past his lips and she felt Grissom melt against her. They stood in the middle of the room kissing – necking! – until Grissom's stomach rumbled loudly. Catherine pulled away and snickered.

"Sorry," he said.

"I interrupted you," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Eat your sandwich."

"Will you stay?" he asked. "Are you hungry?"

"I'll stay." she said, pushing him to the kitchen. She watched him inhale the sandwich in a matter of minutes. It was almost impressive. "Why don't we stay in again tonight?" Catherine suggested. "We can go back to work together on Thursday if we stay in tonight." As if to argue on his behalf, Grissom's cell phone rang. He reached out to the coffee table to pick it up.

"Grissom." he said. His voice was low and thick sounding and the sound of him made her shiver. He covered the mouth piece to clear his throat. "Hi," The disappointed tone meant it was, yet again, Ecklie.

"Tell him to shove off." Catherine grumbled, walking over to Grissom's kitchen counter where the scotch was still yet unopened. She twisted off the cap and poured it into the short glass Grissom had gotten for himself. She poured it liberally and took a mouthful. She felt unsteady on her feet – the same feeling she got whenever something big was about to change and maybe using alcohol to soothe her nerves wasn't the best method but she knew, at least, that it was tried and true.

"Tomorrow," Grissom said. "Tomorrow." he repeated again, rolling his eyes. "The both of us, yes. And by the way, she's well, if you care enough to ask." Catherine snorted into her alcohol, irritated with Ecklie and pleased with Grissom. She liked that he stood up for her – he knew she'd stand up for him too. He hung up angrily.

"God forbid that mad ever have to actually lift a finger in the office – the field! – that he works in." Grissom muttered.

"So you'll stay?" she asked. She'd meant that he wouldn't go into the office but he looked around dramatically.

"I live here." he said. "So I guess the real question is whether or not you'll stay."

"Yes," she said. "My daughter, light of my life, is spending the night with her cousin working on a project."

"For history, she told me about it." He said.

"For history," Catherine confirmed.

"So you're all mine." he said, gladly.

"Seems so," she said.

"Let me have that," he said, taking her glass and he swallowed the rest. She smiled, amused. She didn't want to drink anymore and neither did he. Fumbling through the afternoon drunk didn't sound appealing.

"I would like to take my time, if that's all right with you," he said. Her face fell a little – she thought that things had finally been going well and he was already throwing on the breaks.

"We can take all the time you need." Catherine said.

"Oh, I want you. I didn't mean that – I meant that I'd like to take my time with you. I don't want to rush through anything." he explained. She felt the head of excitement and intrigue travel through her.

"All right," she said. He reached out his hand and she took it with her own. He led her up the narrow staircase to his bedroom. The room was dark and he opened his heavy drapes to let the sunlight in. Heavy drapes were a necessity for a graveyard shift worker – Catherine had them too. But the room came alive in the light. The colors emerged and she could clearly see the glazed look of desire on his face. It was mingled with the same look her wore when he solved a particularly difficult case or problem.

"I'd like to touch you now," he said.

"You have my permission. Is that what you needed all this time?" she asked. "You have it."

The first thing he did was tell her not to move. To stay still and let him explore her. He started by removing the elastic bands at the end of each braid. He set the black circles on his dresser and spent several moments unwinding each braid with his fingers, releasing the waves of her hair and the trapped scent of her shampoo. He breathed in and smiled. She shook her head so her hair fell and he nodded, pleased. Next to be removed were her shoes and socks. He knelt at her feet and brought down the zipper on the inside of each of her black boots. She lost about three inches of height. She was so small, but he forgot just how small because she was so strong. He put his arms around her waist and buried his face into her stomach.

"I don't know what I would have done if he had really hurt you, or worse." he cried. "I would have come unraveled."

"Hey," she said. "I'm fine. Thanks to you, I know you'll always keep me safe."

"I promise, I will." he said. He let go and removed each sock and marveled at her delicate toes, painted a deep red. He stood up and touched the hem of her shirt. He didn't remove it all at once, but pushed it up inch by inch, trailing the sweater with his fingertips. When he saw the jeweled barbell that decorated her belly button, he groaned in delight.

"Not your style?" she asked.

"It's just fine," he breathed. "May I touch it?"

"Just don't pull," she said. He reached out a finger and lightly touched the light green stone that glittered in the early afternoon light.

"Like finding treasure," he said. She raised her arms over her head, urging him along and he obliged, pulling the sweater over her head and tossing it to the ground. The static of the motion left her hair sticking out and he smoothed it down. Her bra was simple, simpler than he expected something Catherine would wear to be. It was white with thin straps and the full cups were lined with a delicate lace. Grissom liked pretty, fancy lingerie as much as the next man but right now Catherine was so beautiful that he was glad there wasn't any fancy underwear to distract him.

Grissom carefully extended Catherine's arm, her right arm, and kissed from the very tips of her fingers all the way down her forearm, past her bicep. When he finished with one arm, he did the other – starting at her shoulder and ending kissing each glossy finger nail.

"You really are going to take your time," she growled.

"Sit on the bed." Grissom ordered, ignoring her. She did so without question. He sat behind her on the bed, and looked at her back. With a flat hand, he rubbed the skin until it was rosy and malleable under his ministrations. He unclasped the bra with one hand and took it off of her so he could hug her from behind, so he could feel her nude skin against him. His arms were just under her breasts. Slowly, he moved his hands up to cup her. She sighed, relaxing into him and laid her head back against his shoulder. He kissed her arched neck and let his hands knead her a little. She twisted her head at an awkward angle so she could kiss him on the mouth. He allowed it for a minute but soon wrenched away. "Lie back," he whispered.

She squirmed up onto the bed until her head was against his pillow and she was lying comfortably. He hovered over her, his nimble fingers undoing the button of her jeans. She lifted her hips so he could drag the denim down past her hips. The jeans were added to the pile of clothes on the floor.

Her underwear was significantly more erotic than her simple bra. It was a black, slick thong with a pink 'C' stitched in script on the front and he would find a smaller 'C' on the back.

"Pretty," he murmured. "You're so pretty." He ran his hands up and down her legs – it warmed her skin and brought her alive.

"Gil," she said, "Take off your clothes." He raised his eyebrow and pulled his shirt off. He yanked down his grey sweatpants. He'd not bothered with boxers and she let her eyelids lower a little at the sight of him completely naked and aroused. She beckoned him with one finger.

He slithered over her, wanting as much of her skin to be against his as possible. She wrapped her arms around him and they started kissing, serious kissing – sloppy and warm and wet. Grissom's hands were everywhere at once, on her hips and her face and her breasts. All she could do was lay there and let him, lay there and feel.

When his hand brushed against her underwear, she lost her patience.

"Take them off," she growled and he wrenched them off of her, tossing them over his shoulder. She grabbed his wrist with a firm grip and forced his hand back to her center. He didn't resist when he felt how ready she was, how insistent and sure. One finger slid in easy and two more so – she groaned so low in her throat that he felt dizzy.

"How's this?" he asked, his mouth next to her ear.

"Not enough," she said. She sounded like desperation. He sped his fingers up and put his thumb against her clitoris. Her skin flushed deep and red like she had been drinking wine. He'd started slow but now he was relentless and precise. He held his breath, gave her his complete attention. It didn't take long – her back arched starting with her hips and washing over her until only the crown of her head touched the pillow.

He slowed, helped her come down, and slid his fingers back out of her. Sometimes she was so beautiful that he felt like weeping. She tugged on him until he was on top of her, above her, panting and sweating. She reached between them and touched him.

"Please," he shuddered. "I don't know if I can stand it."

"All right," she said and helped guide him into her. The rest was a blur for the both of them. Skin and teeth and moisture. She let him lay on top of her when he finished even though his weight constricted her breathing. She rubbed his sweaty back and touched the back of his hair where the gray curls ended and the skin of his neck began.

"Catherine," he moaned.

"Shh," she said. "Let's just rest." He moved so his head was cushioned by her breasts and closed his eyes.

oooo

Grissom ran Catherine a bath in his tub. It was large, bigger than the puny one in her small house. He poured some oil, scented like jasmine, into the hot water.

"I use this exact same brand and scent," she said, eyeing the bottle.

"I know," he said, shyly. He was coy, almost embarrassed, after the sex. He didn't want to scare her off, and he had put on his sweatpants as soon as he'd woken up again. He'd been skinnier once, more muscular, but years behind his desk had changed him. He was now rounded softly and not nearly so hard. She still found him horribly attractive.

There had been a time when she worked both in the lab as a tech during the day and a shift at the French Palace at night as soon as she got off. It had been exhausting but on Thursday nights, Grissom would come in just after she started and left just as she sauntered off the state. She always put on a good show on Thursday nights. Knowing he was there had made her feel so alive! It didn't matter how exhausted she'd been. She quit when she got pregnant, when she'd found out about Lindsey.

Grissom had been scared of pregnant Catherine. She was prone to tears, moody and depressed. She watched her figure disappear with an expression perpetual horror. The first time she felt the baby move, she'd screamed. Grissom had been walking by and jumped, rushing in, wanting to help. She'd grabbed his hand and put it against the tight, round skin of her belly. He'd felt the flutter and laughed and she'd laughed and for a moment Grissom forgot that he was feeling another man's child.

Now she was shameless in front of him, always comfortable with her body. He watched her languidly. She climbed into the water, leaned her head back, and smelled the jasmine.

oooo

They returned to work. The team seemed happy to have him back, ecstatic that Catherine was well. Grissom had to spend 30 minutes in Ecklie's office and when he came out, didn't want to see anyone or talk about it. Catherine had lingered outside the door trying to overhear but only once did she hear a voice get raised and she couldn't exactly tell which man the voice belonged to. She hoped it was Grissom, hoped it was in his own defense, not hers. She was just sorry it took her getting kidnapped from a scene for him to take some time off.

When he handed out assignments, he sent her off with Nick and she didn't seem him again until the shift had ended, sitting alone in his office, filling out paperwork.

"Hi there," she said, leaning in his doorway.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, looking up over the brim of his eye glasses.

"Fine," she said. "May I come in?"

"Of course," he said, motioning to the chair in front of his desk. She sat down.

"Did Ecklie chew you out?" she asked. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"It isn't polite to linger outside closed doors, Catherine," he said. She shrugged.

"I'm headed home," she said, changing the subject. "I have to get Lindsey off to school."

"Okay," he said, looking back down at his work.

"Would you like to come?" she asked, speaking to him slowly, as if he were a child or a particularly slow learner.

"Oh," he said. "Yes," He said it as if the idea would have never occurred to him and he was surprised by his desire to go. "I'll have to bring this stuff," he said, motioning to the avalanche of file folders on his desk.

"Sure," she said. He found an empty box in the corner of the room and piled the pages inside. She held out his coat to him and he put his keys in his pocket. "Ready?"

"Yes," he said, closing the office door with the box resting on his hip. He twisted the knob to make sure it was locked and when they walked past the break room, Warrick waved goodbye.

"Have a good morning," he called after them, his head cocked. He'd never seen Grissom willingly touch anyone before and now his hand was on the small of Catherine's back – he opened the door for her and got into the same car as her. They drove away together, turning left toward Catherine's and not right, toward Grissom's. Warrick got up to look for Nick.

oooo

Lindsey was barely awake when they got in. She was standing in the living room in her pajamas – tangled hair and red cheeks.

"Baby?" Catherine asked, setting her purse down with a clunk on the floor.

"I don't feel good," she said pitifully. Catherine pressed her palm against Lindsey's forehead and tsked.

"She's awfully warm," Catherine said. "There's a thermometer in my kit in the car," she told Grissom and he went out to get it immediately. He'd parked next to her in the driveway. He realized he didn't have her keys so he got the thermometer from his own kit and brought it to Lindsey's pale pink bedroom where the girl was back in bed. "Under your tongue for three minutes," she said. "I'll be back then."

In the living room, Catherine groaned.

"I'll go," Grissom said.

"No," she said. "Please stay – she's going to sleep all day with the medicine I'm going to give her."

"Only if you're sure," he said.

"At least for a while," she pleaded. Grissom took off his coat and followed Catherine into the kitchen where she stuck two pieces of bread in the toaster and cut up an apple. She put the food on a plastic plate and poured some orange juice into a cup and took it into Lindsey's bedroom along with the medicine. Grissom lingered in the hallway, unsure of what to do. "Gil," she called and he went to the doorway. "102," she said.

"Give her some ibuprofen – some cough medicine if she wants it," he suggested. "Best thing for you is sleep." he told Lindsey.

"Will you read to me?" Lindsey asked him.

"Me?" he asked.

"Mom said you used to read to her when she was pregnant with me," Lindsey said. "Please?"

"What would you like to hear?" he asked, stepping fully into the room.

"Harry Potter," she said. Catherine made room for him on the bed. "Year three,"

"The Prisoner of Azkaban," Grissom said, pulling it off the shelf. "An excellent choice," He sat on the edge of the bed and Catherine put her hand on his leg as he started reading about Privet Drive. Lindsey nibbled on her toast. It didn't take long for her to drift off. They crept out of the bedroom and closed the door.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Any time," he said.

"Are you hungry?" she asked. He wasn't, really. "Will you stay?" she asked. "Sleep for a while, while she does?"

"Sure," he said. She unbuttoned the top button of his shirt so his neck was free. She touched the soft skin there with the spidery wrinkles and dusky color. Catherine left her bedroom door cracked so she could hear when Lindsey woke up. Catherine stripped down to her underwear and camisole and climbed into bed. Grissom left on his undershirt and boxers and got in next to her. Catherine fitted her body against his – the little spoon – and their bare feet touched. They slept.

Grissom woke up to see Lindsey at the foot of the bed, shivering and sweat-soaked. He got out of the bed and rushed to her – her skin was hot to the touch and he could see her swallowing, testing the pain in her throat again and again. She was young and growing, it wasn't unusual to pick up a bad cold or flu after spending several days in a hospital like she had, watching over her mother.

"Come on," he said. In the bathroom, he fed her more medicine. "It will help,"

"I can't sleep anymore," she whispered. He could hear her voice fading and faltering because of the swollen and raw throat.

"Why don't you bring a pillow out to the couch and we'll put a movie in." he said. She nodded and went to her room to drag her pillow and comforter to the couch while he put his pants back on and tried not to wake Catherine. In the living room, she was on the couch.

"I want to watch Clueless," she said.

"Like mother, like daughter," he muttered, turning the television on low.

"What? Mom hates that movie," she said.

"But it's based on Emma," Grissom pointed out. "Your mother always wants to watch Jane Austen movies when she doesn't feel well."

"Jane Austen is boring," Lindsey mumbled and Grissom gave up and put in the movie. He was about to turn back to the bedroom when Lindsey spoke. "Are you and my mom dating now?" she asked.

"I… don't know," he said. "Does that bother you?"

"No, I think it's cool," she said. Grissom smiled slightly. "I hope you stay,"

"We'll see," Grissom said. In the bedroom, Catherine was sitting up in the bed, rubbing her eyes. She smeared makeup and it made dark rings beneath her eyes.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Lindsey wanted to watch a movie," he said. Grissom could have slept longer but Catherine got up and went to go check on her fevered daughter and so Grissom just put on the rest of his clothes. He kissed Catherine's cheek goodbye and went home.

"You should keep him," Lindsey told her mother as they listened to the sound of Grissom's engine fade away.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"I like him. He's kind to us," Lindsey said again.

"Okay," Catherine said. "I'll do my best,"