3?
5th February 1981 – Las Vegas
And she'll tease you, she'll unease you
All the better just to please you
She's precocious, and she knows just
What it takes to make a pro blush
She got Greta Garbo's standoff sighs, she's got Bette Davis eyes
Gil frowned as he sat in the smoky club. Deciding that he was too much of an introvert, his new colleagues had hauled him into this ridiculously loud place.
Some punk band was playing. He sighed. What he wouldn't give for some Zeppelin or Pink Floyd.
His colleagues had abandoned him almost as soon as they had arrived, urging him to find some and get some.
Instead, he sat here with a scotch, wondering how exactly he was going to get home.
He glanced at the band again, wondering if they had bathed recently. Scanning his eyes around the room, they fell on a leggy strawberry blonde, wiggling her hips in a skintight black leather skirt.
His jaw dropped as he mentally did the math in his head. A frown covered his face, and he had the undeniable urge to slug whoever had dragged this seventeen year old into the bar.
Then her eyes saw his, and widened.
He felt a little thrill that this once obnoxious child recognized him. But for now, his concerns were more for her safety.
He stalked over to her and grabbed her arm. "Come on, Catherine."
"Excuse me?" she growled at him.
Gil suddenly felt a sense of déjà vu coming over him, except she had been six and he fourteen. She had been wearing a green dress and Mary Jane's, not skintight leather and four-inch heels.
He leant down to her ear. "Either I make a big fuss and embarrass you in here by telling everyone you're only seventeen, or you let me escort you out of here and let you leave with the little dignity you have left."
Catherine considered her options. She could stay with the boy she was with – the kick-ass drummer that is – who she had informed that she was a baby-faced twenty-one. He was the one who was going to take her places. She could ignore the butterflies in her stomach from this bespectacled…"Who the hell do you think you are?" she growled.
"Made your choice, I see."
Catherine was a little insulted that her drummer boyfriend didn't seem to notice that a strange man was hauling her out of a club.
"You can't just come in and drag me out of there!" she yelled at him. "I was there with my boyfriend!"
"Does he know you're only seventeen?" Gil growled back.
"My personal affairs are none of your business!"
"They are when you could get hurt. Dammit, Catherine!" His big hands were on her shoulders. "Those guys are so drunk and high that they didn't even notice a stranger taking you out of the club! You could have gotten seriously hurt!"
"Who do you think you are? I've met you three times in my entire life, and you think you know me?"
"I know you're acting like a silly teenager!"
"I stopped being a teenager a long time ago."
"Do you know how many dead teenagers I get on my slab, Catherine? Girls who come to Vegas and think they know it all? Girls just like you, Catherine. Teenagers just like you. I don't want you on my table."
"You don't know me," Catherine repeated.
"I know that you have an Uncle Sam and that he owns the Tangiers. I know that when you're cranky you tap your foot. I know that you like roller-skating and I know that you try to appear braver than you are. I know that you're apparently in your punk rebellion stage. I know that your mother doesn't know you're here, because she probably would have come with you. And I know that you are not going back into that club."
Catherine opened her mouth and shut it again. She folded her arms and thought for a moment. "I…suppose…I could do with some coffee."
Gil smiled slightly. "Sounds like a good idea."
She shyly linked her arm with his, and he escorted her to a coffee shop down the street. He knew it well from all the times he'd recharged after work.
After they had ordered (black coffee for him, hot chocolate for her), they sat down together at a booth.
"So, Catherine Flynn, what are you doing back in Las Vegas?"
"I live here," she replied simply. "What about you? I thought you were busy examining dead bodies in L.A. Or at least you were when I was twelve."
"I said I would be a forensic examiner. I did say I was still working on it." He thanked the waitress who brought them their drinks and then he smirked at Catherine.
"What?" she asked defensively.
"How's David Cassidy?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
Gil chuckled. "When we met last, you were going to marry him."
Catherine rolled her eyes. "I was such a kid. I have to admit, I'm now more of a John Schneider fan."
"Because he drives fast cars"
Her eyes rose to meet his in a surprised gaze. "Yeah."
Gil smiled at her. "I have watched the Dukes of Hazzard once or twice in my lifetime."
She blushed. "I didn't mean to…"
He waved the apology away. "Tell me what you're doing lately, Catherine. Finding you at a club listening to really atrocious punk was the last thing I expected."
"They're not that…" She paused as she caught his gaze. "Okay, they are pretty bad. But they got me to Vegas."
"Where were you earlier?"
"Seattle. Followed a guy there. Realized he wasn't worth the trouble. Met Steve who's the drummer in this band. He brought me to Vegas."
"Where's your family?" He was curious.
"Right now? Back in Montana as far as I know."
"Catherine…do they even know you're here?"
Catherine narrowed her eyes. "What are you, my mother?"
"I should hope not. For one thing, I'd have been completely confused as to my gender for twenty-five years."
Catherine burst out laughing, and soon Gil began to laugh with her, surprised at how easy it was to be around her.
He wrote down his home number on a piece of paper and handed it to her. "Keep this with you. Always."
Catherine rolled her eyes. "Yes sir."
--
Song used - "Bette Davis Eyes" - Kim Carnes
