Falling for the Wrong One
Rating: Teen (May advance to Mature later on)
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of the characters.
Summary: They were kinda, sorta friends... at least... she hoped.
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Catherine Willows
A/N: This is a bit of a long chapter! Sorry for any grammar mistakes! Let me know how you like it!
She stares at the date circled in red. December 17th. Tomorrow. A Wednesday. Her graduation day. It had been a day she dreamed about for a long time, had even requested the day off months in advanced, but cold feet were getting the best of her. No one would go to her graduation, no one would stand up and cheer for her as she walked across the stage. So why bother? She'd get her diploma mailed to her in wake of her absence. That was good enough for her.
She would officially start her new position with the crime lab at the end of January, after her orientation and job-training were complete.
No word yet of which team she'd be joining.
She jumps at the sound of his voice, straightening in her chair and looking up at him. He fights off a smirk. She hadn't seen him since the night she'd left his apartment, after a good deal of studying under her belt and with a full belly. She had abandoned her studying to accompany him in the kitchen, where he had poured himself a glass of wine, and had offered her one. She had declined politely, blaming it on the remainder of the material she had to study.
"Deep in thought?" He's in a good mood, she realizes, by the tone of his voice. She shuffles some of the papers in front of her, trying her best to look busy, but failing.
"Ugh… yeah. Just… thinking," she says, setting the now neatly stacked papers off to the side of her glass lab table, then lacing her fingers together and placing her joined hands in front of her. "What can I help with," she asks, trying to change the subject. But it's too late, as his eyes roam towards the calendar, and he catches on.
"About tomorrow?" Her face falls, and her shoulders slump in defeat. An urge to moan her frustration bubbles up in her throat.
"I knew I should've taken the calendar down," she mutters into her hands. She had made up her mind; she was going to take the day to relax, maybe head downtown to buy herself something well deserved.
"You're not going." He doesn't have to ask, because he already knows. The slight disappointment doesn't go unnoticed by Catherine, who only shrugs her shoulders.
"No," she says, almost as if trying to convince herself. "No, I have work tomorrow." She's proud of the last-minute excuse, but when he narrows his eyes, she knows he hasn't bought it.
"You have tomorrow and Thursday off." She cusses under her breath. What was he doing? Going through the schedule to see when she worked? She'd have to do some more investigating into that matter, later. "Catherine, why not," he asks, the disappointment now evident in his voice. "You worked so hard for this."
And the truth is, she doesn't know why. Was it the embarrassment of having no one there to support her? Surely, there would be other people in the same situation as her. The cap and gown wasn't an excuse; it currently hung in her closet, courtesy of another recent graduate at the crime lab. So why was it so hard for her to answer him? She looks around the empty lab, realizing it's just the two of them. If she couldn't talk about it with him, then who?
"Not that I would expect you to understand, but it just kind of feels so… pathetic." He tilts his head in confusion. It hits her, suddenly, how undeniably attractive he is. The voice in her head is back, the same one from the night she spent at his place studying, convincing her that nothing would come of it. She could stare and admire all she wanted, but he was a professional. He wouldn't be caught dead fraternizing with anyone he worked with, especially her. His blue eyes are trained on her face, and she takes a deep breath. "I'm twenty-seven years old and live in a run-down studio apartment. I've had to work two jobs just to even afford my apartment. I'm a lab-rat and make as much. I don't have any time for my friends- friends who wouldn't bother coming to my graduation, anyway. I just-" She suddenly catches herself in a whirlpool of emotions, and clears her throat, aware of how unprofessional she seems. "I just don't see the point," she says finally, causing him to nod his head slowly.
The only sound in the room is the constant hum of computers and machines. Until he speaks.
"I'd go," he says simply. She narrows her eyes at him, unsure of what he was trying to say. "I mean… if you'd like for me to, that is."
She's stunned. Shocked. At a loss for words. And her expression mirrors that. It catches her off-guard so much so, that she can't seem to form a sentence. Finally, a leery smile forms on her face.
"Sure," is all she can manage, not trusting her voice just yet. "I mean, yeah. If you're free tomorrow." He smirks.
"It just so happens I am."
And later that day, her heart is racing for a second time, as she holds a small piece of paper. She stands in front of his office, but he's not inside, and she actually prefers it this way, she realizes. On the paper are the time, two addresses, and a phone number, and underneath is a small note that reads:
'First address is for the ceremony. Second is mine. Pick me up an hour before the ceremony. We can celebrate after, if you're game.
- Catherine'
And all while holding her breath, she steps into his office, lays the folded note on his desk, and exits. It's not until the end of their shift that she sees him again. She's hanging up her lab coat in her locker, trading it out for her jacket and purse, when he appears in the doorway.
"Got your memo," he says, causing her to turn her head in his direction. He's scanning the rest of the locker room, and for what, she doesn't know. She flips her hair over her shoulder after her jacket is snugly on.
"Oh, that? Yeah I… I figured it would be easier if we just went together," she says, convinced that he's come here to tell her that he'll just meet her at the ceremony, instead. She hears herself talk, and wonders at what point did she start to lose her words around him? And why was she suddenly so… nervous every time she saw him?
"It's a date," he says with a grin, flashing her the folded piece of paper she had left on his desk, and leaves her speechless.
Surely, he didn't mean it like that.
–
When the day comes, she wakes up early… and can't seem to fall back asleep. So she pulls herself out of bed, makes a pot of coffee, and bundles up at her kitchen table with a mug between her hands. His jacket is wrapped around her, and as she sips on the hot beverage, she casts a glance at the cap and gown hanging up by her window.
She was finished. Finished with school, with the late nights of studying, with working two jobs just to get by, done with it all. Now, the only things left on her list included moving into a nicer apartment, spending more time with friends, and possibly… finding a new love interest? She had made a promise to herself at the beginning of her studies not to distract herself with the opposite sex, when so much was on the line. But that had been nearly two years ago, and she was ready, to say the least.
The ceremony starts at seven o'clock, just for students graduating in the College of Science. And as the time nears five, she begins her routine. She pulls a tight black dress out from the back of her closet, complete with long sleeves and cut-outs of the shoulder, and a neckline low enough for a small portion of cleavage to peek out.
She'd have a long, black graduation gown over this ensemble, and as she does a double-take in the body-length mirror, she bites her bottom lip. 'I did say we would go out after to celebrate,' she tells herself. She keeps her makeup simple, slips on a pair of black heels, and runs her fingers through her big curls. Just as she hears his car horn sound, she slips on the black ceremony gown.
She locks up her apartment, slings a small clutch over her shoulder that houses her apartment keys, wallet, and a few items of touch-up makeup, and appears at the top of her staircase. He ducks his head, looking through the windshield, and sees nothing but black high-heels and long legs.
His heart skips a beat. His grip tightens a bit on the steering wheel.
'Wow,' is what he thinks when she finally reveals herself in the parking lot, waving shyly at him when she spots his car. He leaves the engine running, and gets out of the car to greet her. She slows her pace when she sees him round the front of the car, and lean against the passenger side. His arms are crossed over his chest. He notices she carries the cap under her arm.
"Very punctual," she teases, stopping just short of him.
"You look great," he says softly. 'Beautiful,' he corrects himself mentally. She looks down at her attire, and meets him with a devilish grin.
"Wait until you see what's underneath." She winks at him, and suddenly it's his turn to look down her body, and very slowly, she notices. Normally, when guys would give her 'the look', she'd raise her defenses, have sassy comebacks at the ready for whatever pick-up line they'd try on her. But when he did it… she swore the crisp Nevada cold held nothing to the fire that was currently ignited within her. And all because of the way he looked at her.
He chuckles, pushes himself away from the car, and opens the door for her. With one hand gripping the top of the door frame, he extends his other hand to her. She places her hand in his softly, allowing him to guide her into the front seat. She smooths out her gown, readjusts her purse, and places the cap in her lap before he gently shuts the door.
The drive to the coliseum doesn't take long, and before he knows it, they're having to separate. He sees the other group of students, and navigates to the guest seating, but not before she calls out to him.
"See you soon." She waves, and disappears into the crowd.
And as if her prayers had been answered, the opening speech isn't long, but sincere in wishing the graduates a bright future. Rows of graduates stand, and one by one, they walk across a stage to receive their diploma, and to shake hands with the President of the university.
"Catherine Flynn." When her name is called, a handful of her classmates, along with other guests, clap as she walks across the stage.
Gil watches from his seat, eyes trained on her; how she smiles when her name is called, how she gracefully glides across the stage in heels, how she politely shakes another man's hand, and how she patiently waits for the Dean of her college to hand over her diploma.
She immediately turns to scan the crowd, searching for him. And when her eyes fall on him, he claps even harder, raising his hands higher to signal that he sees her, and that he couldn't be more proud of her.
–
They end up at the same place, the one she had taken him to months ago. When he parks the car, she doesn't wait for him to come around. She exits his vehicle, and unzips the long graduation gown, revealing the black dress that clings to her body underneath. He's locking up his car when he catches the flip of her hair, her perfume drifting towards him.
His car keys are starting to cut into his palm as he watches her stride around the front of the car, coming to meet him. True to her word, she looks absolutely stunning, and for once in his life… he wishes he wasn't a Level III CSI, that he wasn't her coworker. Her blue eyes reflect the twinkling lights of the busy Las Vegas Strip, and he's so glad he's convinced her to enjoy this night.
He's got that half-smile plastered on his face, the one she's grown to adore over the past weeks. Even from where they stand, paces away from the corridor that'll lead them to the intimate area, she can clearly hear the music that blasts from the speakers.
One good thing about Vegas, that no matter the day of the week or time of day, there was always a party somewhere.
"Shall we?" He extends an arm, which she loops with her own, and together they walk into the crowded area. He allows her to lead him through the packed space, but when there's no room left for two people to walk side by side, he feels her hand trail down his arm, until her fingers are lacing with his.
She squeezes his hand. Their proximity is so close thanks to the number of people celebrating tonight, so much that their joined hands are sandwiched between her backside and the front of his trousers. He clenches his jaw when he realizes the back of his hand is pressed firmly against her ass, and he prays to the God's above that she doesn't feel the growing hard on in his pants.
Before things can get awkward, though, they come to a clearing and he exhales as she moves a little further away from him. He expects her to release his hand, and is slightly surprised when she doesn't. He can see her sway rhythmically to the music that plays overhead, and she twirls once after bringing their joined hands above her head.
She leads them to the bar that's tucked away in a corner, and flags down the bartender. He's at their immediate service upon seeing her, Gil notices.
"One dirty martini, vodka. And one whiskey, neat, for my friend," she says. He leans down to speak, his voice tickling the hairs by her ear.
"Am I that predictable?"
"We're here to celebrate, not make small talk." And when they're presented with their drinks, they touch rims. "Cheers," she says before taking a slow sip of her martini. The alcohol burns on the way down, and he knows it's a dangerous game to play with her. He sips in moderation, and decides that he'll have only one more before cutting himself off. A bar stool becomes available, and she hops onto it, her dress hiking higher on her thighs.
He takes another sip of Johnnie Walker, but realizes the combination would also prove dangerous; alcohol and thoughts of her thighs, specifically wrapped around him. He watches as the alcohol takes hold of her, cheeks flushing with color, laughter bubbling from her throat, swaying in time with every song that plays.
"Has Ecklie given you any more details?"
"No, but I have a feeling I'll get stuck on Graveyard. That's where they stick all the rookies. Weed them out," she says with a shrug, fishing the green olive out from her empty glass.
"Some of my most interesting cases were on Graveyard back in Chicago," he comforts, but the thought doesn't really seem to bother her much… not as much as it bothers him that he'll lose her to another team, as he thought.
"It won't be so bad, I guess. I'm young. I can adapt." She flags the bartender down. Another martini. His glass is sweating even in the cold Nevada air, and she suddenly becomes aware of the temperature once her empty martini glass gets swept away by a busboy. He shrugs off his jacket, thankful for the thick sweater he wore underneath, and drapes it over her shoulders. "Another to add to my collection," she teases, and he chuckles.
"If we make this a habit, I'll be out of a wardrobe pretty soon."
In truth, he'd give her the sweater off of his back if it meant keeping her warm. But the jacket suffices, and he watches as she turns her head, inhaling the cologne that's clung to the material. It's something she does in the comfort of her apartment when she wears his other jacket, the one he's let her keep, and never in front of anyone… until now. She freezes, her face buried in his jacket, and when she sheepishly looks at him, he folds his arms over his chest, as if waiting for her little confession.
"Your jacket smells good," she states the obvious, choosing her words carefully.
As the night progresses, a few of her classmates from throughout the years recognize her, come up to talk to her and congratulate her on her new position at the crime lab. And just when he thinks he's pulled off the perfect celebratory night for her, the vodka kicks in.
"We're friends… right?" The question comes out of no where, and it stops him from bringing his tonic water to his lips.
"I like to think so, yes."
"You came to my graduation," she states and he's unsure where she's headed with her words, so he nods his head.
"I did."
"And you came out with me to celebrate." It's almost as if she has to speak the words aloud for her to believe them, to believe that any of it had ever happened at all. For some reason, it saddens him. How did this incredible woman not have any close friends? And how had he managed to get so lucky?
A familiar piano rift floats from the speakers, and she licks her lips.
"Friends dance." He looks around, panicked. "Come on," she says, pulling on his arm, but he lets his head fall to the side.
"Catherine, I have two left feet. I'll embarrass us both," he pleads, and she gives him the most pitiful pout he's ever seen. "I promise… another time, maybe." She nods her head, and swallows her disappointment.
"I'll hold you to it, bugman."
–
The night comes to an end as he pulls up to her apartment, and for once, Christopher's apartment is dead silent.
He helps her out of the car, gathers her cap and gown for her, and walks her up the stairs. She pauses briefly to unlock the door, and he stalls.
"Aren't you coming in," she asks, shrugging off his jacket and handing it back to him. Slowly, he accepts her invite, and steps into her small apartment. The first thing he sees is his old jacket, bundled up on top of her bed. He closes the door behind him, and watches as she toes off the heels as she stands in her kitchen. She leans against the counter, between her sink and stove, and cranes her neck from side to side to relieve the tension. Reaching over, she turns on a small radio poised in the corner of her counter, and the same damn song comes on.
She looks at him. He laughs.
"Must be fate," he says, shaking his head in amusement and lifting his arms in an invitation for her to walk into. Her face lights up at the realization that he's asking her to dance, and she pushes herself away from the counter. Without her heels, she seems so much smaller than him, but he's not surprised that it's a perfect fit.
"You did promise me," she reminds him, settling for a friendly embrace. Either of her hands are on his arms, and he has no choice but to let his grip fall to her tiny waist. She can feel the heat of his fingers through the thin material of her dress.
They start to sway effortlessly. As if they had done this countless times before. In the privacy of her dimly lit, studio kitchen.
"You do not have two left feet, Gil Grissom," she says after a few moments of comfortable silence.
"You just wait. We'll be a tangled mess of limbs here shortly," he says, smirking down at her. He can't seem to tear his eyes away from her face as the song picks up, and her hands are suddenly moving. Higher, higher, until her fingers lock behind his neck. It forces them closer, and he's breathing in her perfume once more. It makes him lightheaded.
"There are worse things that could happen." He's sure she can feel how fast his heart is beating as she contently lays her head against his chest, allowing her eyes to close in comfort. He has to adjust his hold on her, his hands overlapped on her lower back as they sway unhurriedly.
A dozen different thoughts flood his mind, and he wants nothing more than to just bask in the moment, of finally holding her so close. So he does, and he'll save the questions for the morning.
When the song comes to an end and fades, she slowly disentangles her arms from around his neck, but he can't seem to pull his arms from around her. She doesn't seem to mind.
"You upheld your promise," she says proudly.
"That's what friends are for," he resorts, reluctantly letting his arms fall from her waist.
A/N: GOD, I LOVE THESE TWO IDIOTS.