A/N: I come bearing a warning: While there is absolutely nothing in here that some readers may find offensive, I do have to stress that a) This is a bit of a stretch shipping-wise and b)Yes, this is about three people. Three. Not two, three. Just wanted to let everyone know.
Life, Or Something Like It
They'd been together for nearly twenty years now. He'd never imagined himself here, perfectly content in a beach cabin along the coast. When he looked back on his life, he was sure his younger self never envisioned the future that was truly in store for him. The turns his life had taken amazed him.
He supposed it was fate that they met that day. It was twenty-one years ago this November when the redheaded man had bumped into him at the bar, sunglasses hiding his electric blue eyes and piercing gaze. They hadn't gotten along at first, he recalled. The two men had harboured tiny grudges against one another for various reasons (none of which they remembered now) and were wary of one another's presence for the first little while.
It had taken them two scotches each for them to loosen up. Once the alcohol was flowing through their systems, he remembered opening up to the Man until late into the night. Both of them collapsed in Her room—too tired and too drunk to make it to their own—and slept their intoxication off after hours spent in the bar. Neither remembered much of that night, but they were aware of the bond that had formed beneath the smoky lights and strong scotch.
She'd laughed at the time. Both the man she'd known and the man she'd loved had never met, and yet had proceeded to get smashingly drunk and somehow plan the seed of a relationship none of them would have imagined. They clicked. Their determination and the love for what they did made the two men's conversation and silence easy. Her partner and her friend—it was an unthinkable match.
And yet, looking back, it only seemed impossible for those few days the three spent at the conference. After that, it only took a phone call or an e-mail for one to see the other.
She remembered when they'd been assigned a case that had led them straight to Miami. They'd boarded a plane, said goodbye to Las Vegas, and headed for the coast without a second thought to whether or not it was necessary. All either could think about was getting away.
He'd met them at the airport with his sunglasses on and a smile on his face. She could feel the tension between the two men even then. And when they'd broken the case wide open and went to investigate their prime suspect's residence, she saw it snap.
They didn't think about the possibility of the killer being home. They were armed, sure, but what were the odds a guy who knew he was busted would stick around?
The first shot missed him by inches. The murderer dodged around a pillar he'd used to conceal himself with before, and levelled his gun straight at Gil Grissom. He shot to kill.
It was like slow motion. The bullet left the chamber, spun out of the barrel, and pelted at an agonizingly slow pace toward him—but, at the last moment, Horatio Caine shoved him to the left and felt his chest sear in white hot pain. The bullet missed his rapidly beating heart and settled itself in his ribcage.
Gil caught the red-haired man as he collapsed from the blow. Behind him, he heard his partner fire off five rounds into the still-shooting suspect before dropping her gun and sinking against a nearby wall. Blood was seeping through the fingertips clutching her arm.
Gil, meanwhile, frantically pulled his windbreaker off to cushion Horatio's head. The man was struggling to breath against the pain in his chest that was threatening to overcome him.
"God damn you, Horatio Caine," Gil whispered. He pulled at the lieutenant's shirt to find the rapidly flowing wound.
"Sorry," Horatio wheezed, clutching his side, "it was an instinct."
"Damn you and your instincts!" Gil yelled, gripping the man's arm more tightly than was necessary. "Don't you ever do that again, do you hear me!"
Catherine crawled over to the two men and began Gil's forgotten task of blocking Caine's wound. He squeezed her hand gratefully.
"I would do it again." His eyes were closed in pain. His voice was barely above a whisper. "I would."
"No, you fool. You shouldn't have put your life in danger for me."
Horatio struggled to open his clenched eyes.
"Would you have done it for Catherine?" He whispered. Gil looked away and stared at the killer's body on the floor. "Would you have done it for Catherine?"
"Yes," Gil hissed. He felt Horatio grip his hand.
"Then you and I can be fools together."
He locked his other hand around Catherine's and waited for the ambulance to save them.
Life changed after that. Catherine watched as her friend struggled to keep his emotions in check and his mind's thoughts away from Miami. She'd never taken him as a man who would ever need to fight off his feeling for another person—let alone another man—and rapidly found herself becoming almost as depressed as he in the thought that she no longer had him to fall back on. His heart had belonged to no one for so long, yet she always thought that somehow they would end up together in the end. Now, he staved off growing feelings of frustration that he was in love with somebody he could never have. It ate at him. It haunted him day and night, invading his thoughts and dreams, and taunted him for the brief time he spoke to the person he hated to want.
And then, one day, he was gone. She'd entered his office to find his bookshelves empty and his desk clean. Only a framed picture of the two of them remained, taken so many years ago at a staff barbeque. They sat side by side on a sloping lawn while the sun set; Catherine's head lay comfortably on Gil's shoulder as the two watched the colours of the sky darken and turn into night. Jim Brass had given them each a framed copy of the moment not long after.
He had always said that he'd disappear without a trace. Oh, she knew where he'd gone, but to everyone else he'd merely moved on. Only the picture and the team he'd trained so well remained.
She lost track of her life over the years he was gone. Her daughter entered and exited high school, got accepted to university, me the man that would eventually be her husband, and Catherine just kept on working. She'd filled the void he'd left by becoming completely detached from the world. She aged, had birthdays, dated—all without really being there. The lines around her eyes were born of work, not of laughter, and the gleam in her eyes had long disappeared to be replaced with a permanently haunted look.
It was on no particularly special day in March when the letter came. Nick had delivered it to her office on his way to the break room, recognizing the long familiar writing of his former supervisor at once. Catherine had been somewhere between shocked and relieved to hear from him.
When she opened the envelope, she found a plane ticket and a note.
It's been too long. We need you, fair beauty, to brighten our days and bring peace to our hearts. Your love is the cure we desperately seek.
She'd read it over and over again until she was sure she knew what it meant. Could she do it? Could she leave everything she'd ever known to be with the two men she'd spent over ten years waiting for?
That night, Catherine Willows called her daughter, said goodbye to her friends, filed her resignation papers, packed, and left Las Vegas forever.
Ten years later, Gil Grissom sat on the beach in front of their modest cottage with his jeans and shirtsleeves rolled up. His feet buried themselves in the soft sand while the waves lapped lazily at the shore. Beside him, Horatio sat spread-eagled in a white shirt and beige slacks, playing idly with the straps of Catherine's sandals. The woman herself sat comfortably leaning against Gil's bent knees.
They'd been a bit of a question to the others on the street when they'd moved in. Two men—one older, with salt-and-pepper hair, the other slightly younger with brilliantly red hair—and a beautiful older woman all taking up residence in the same three-bedroom cottage. Only one was used for sleeping and the other two to work in. Eventually, the neighbours grew accustomed to the three and allowed them to go on with their lives.
Gil was grateful. They'd lived happily for ten years without incident, save for the occasional visit of pleading from various labs, begging one of them to come in and clean up their messes. They'd always refused. The pull of their old lives lost its intensity almost as soon as the offer left the lips of the visitor.
They were happy. They were content. No one bothered or judged them there. They were together, and they loved one another as much as they knew how. It wasn't always paradise, but the knowledge of the love they shared kept them together.
Horatio had adopted her outlook on life. Both she and Gil had shared with him the moment she'd revealed how she kept surviving one night while they sat in the dying light of the sun. Together, the three had decided to live life as if they only had one day left. They loved, fought, and learned with each other. And with each new day, they would always remember the idea they lived by for the rest of their days.
Never doubt, never look back.
A/N: It took me a good six months to pluck up the courage and post this fic. Comment/criticism are always welcome, but please, no flames. I've yet to get one, but with this fic, you never know.
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