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: Another long chapter! Thanks for all the reads and favorites/follows. Hope there's no grammar mistakes. Let me know how you all like it!
She sees it at a little shop that's downtown, and she goes into the building without a second thought. She had initially avoided these types of places at all costs; weird, dimly-lit, gothic themed shops. A small bell chimes above her head as she enters, the smell of Wisteria burning her nostrils. A thin layer of smoke hangs in the air, and she feels out of place. She knows the wandering eyes behind the cash register are watching with curiosity, as if studying some strange type of creature.
Passing dusty books, old trinkets, dead flowers… she stops and turns. It's a small, crocheted black spider, with a long loop attached to his back; to be strung up as decoration for some sort. She carefully picks it out, pays for it, and lingers in the shop a bit more. It wasn't much, but it had reminded her of him; maybe he could hang it up in his office or in his car? She had no doubt he'd love it, which is why she buys it.
But unfortunately, she doesn't work on Christmas. But she does the next day, and she almost oversleeps. Frantically, she's pushing through the hallway until she collides with someone in the door of the locker room. A pair of firm hands reach out and secure her waist, keeping her from falling over. Looking up, she realizes it's Gil, and adjusts the strap of her duffle bag nervously when she realizes how close they are.
"Oh, would you look at that? A nerd love fest." She looks at Michael add then back up at Gil. Finally, her eyes trail up, and she sees the damned mistletoe still hanging from the frame. No one had taken down the Christmas decorations. And if she didn't have an audience, she might have indulged and given Gil a kiss on the cheek. Something's changed between them, but for the better, since that night of her graduation. If she thought she was protective over him them, she sure as hell was now.
She can't help the words that leave her mouth, knowing full well Tadero would have her back. He was the only reason she decided to give up stripping and go back to school.
"Christmas was yesterday, asshole."
She feels Gil's hand, the one still on her waist, but hidden from Michael, squeeze… and then he's off to his office, leaving her.
Michael straightens on the bench, adjusting his badge, and smirks.
"What? You think you're hot shit now that you're about to be 'one of us'?" He stands, stalks closer to her, but she holds her ground and locks eyes with the man as he pushes past her, into the hallway to get to work. She rolls her eyes. There will be enough time to run circles around him at a crime scene, to prove she belongs here. She throws her dufflebag onto the bench, sits to calm her nerves, and finally throws open her locker. Only two more shifts left before she'd be enrolled into her Criminalist Orientation. Her eyes stop on a neatly wrapped gift, one in simple red wrapping paper, and she slowly reaches for it. There's a small envelope attached to it, which she goes for first.
'This reminded me of you. Merry Christmas. Gil'
She grins, unwraps the gift, and carefully turns over the glass frame. It's a beautiful butterfly, one bright blue in color, preserved perfectly between pieces of glass. Underneath, there's a small plaque that reads: Polyommatus bellargus. She gawks at it, knowing this wasn't exactly on the cheaper end of things, and gently holds it in her hands. It was absolutely beautiful. And it reminded him of her? She glances at her bag, knowing his gift is in there, and rethinks it. But she can't go to him empty handed after he had given her something like that.
He's out in the field most of the shift, so she thinks she's lost her chance to give him the gift. She keeps herself busy cleaning up the lab, the layout room, the photo lab, and she's got approximately thirty minutes left of her shift by the time he and Michael file into the lab, dropping off bags of evidence, fingerprints, fluid samples. She logs the pieces, taking her time, and watches as Michael leaves without a word. Gil is about to follow suite, and she can tell he's deep in thought, but something makes her speak up.
"Hey… you have a minute?" He looks up at her thoughtfully. "I um… wanted to give you this earlier," she says, presenting the small gift in front of him, laying it on the lab table. He looks at it quizzically, before slowly picking it up and unwrapping it in front of her. She anxiously holds her breath, and when he sees the crocheted spider, he actually smiles; a boyish, toothy grin she's never seen before. It seems to make him forget about whatever was occupying his mind before. "Do you like it," she asks, uncertainty still all over her face despite his bright smile.
"I most certainly do."
–
Her last day as a lab technician is Sunday, the 28th. She fully expects to come in, do her job for ten or so hours, and to head home. But Julia, her friend in the lab, had other plans. There was a handwritten banner taped up on the lab's wall, the words 'Good luck!' written in bold, red letters. She straightens out her lab coat when she sees it, and looks to her friend.
"What's all this?"
"We're losing a good technician." She rounds the corner to walk into her friend's embrace, and the older woman rubs Catherine's back quickly. "You'll do great in the field."
"Thank you," whispers, almost sadly. She would miss her coworkers in the lab, would miss the consistency of things, the safety she felt of knowing her job inside and out. She wasn't sure yet which higher level CSI they would place her with, she just prayed it wasn't Michael.
And they make it to the end of the shift, when she walks into the break room to a small celebratory party for her last shift. There's a small cake, another banner courtesy of Julia, and everyone has made an effort to make a quick appearance… except Gil, she notices.
She's making her way around the room to thank the people who have come to see her off, when he appears at the door. He doesn't say a word, just watches with crossed arms as she laughs at something Tadero tells her. And it's as if she can feel his eyes on her, so she turns her head. Most of the people have either filtered out to get back to work, or to clock out for the night, so she walks up to him.
"Your last day," he says, earning him a wide smile and a nod of her head.
"As a technician, anyway." He shifts his weight onto his other foot. "You gonna miss me," she teases, reaching out to playfully push against his arm. He wants to tell her that he will miss her, more than she'll know, while she's swept away for three weeks for her orientation. But what he doesn't want to tell her, is that he'll be making a trip to Tadero's office after she leaves, for a special request. "Have any big plans Wednesday?"
He racks his brain. Wednesday. The 31st. New Year's Eve. He was working.
"Well besides work, not particularly."
She nods, runs her tongue over her bottom lip, and grins.
"Good."
And an hour or so later, she's gone. He double checks that she's left before knocking on Tadero's office door. The older man, behind his desk, looks up through his reading glasses and pauses when he sees Gil Grissom standing in his door.
"Gil. What brings you in?"
He shuffles nervously, but walks into the office and closes the door behind him. He's built up the courage over the past week or so to actually do this, and he doesn't want to back down now.
"If it's not a bad time," he starts off, and is beckoned forward by Tadero's hand, motioning for Gil to sit. "I um… I'm here about Catherine Flynn," he says, causing Jimmy's head to lift quickly from the paperwork in front of him. His eyes widen with uncertainty, and it catches Gil off guard. He's never seen Tadero looked more concerned, and it dawns on him that he probably thinks Gil has come to announce some kind of… Human Resource topic. "I think she'll make a great addition to Dayshift."
The older man relaxes a bit in his chair, when he realizes Gil's intentions.
"I've already promised her to Graveyard," Jimmy says, indifferent. Gil's stomach flips, and his heart seems to be swelling up in his throat. All of this time, he could take comfort knowing she was safe behind the walls of the crime lab, but with the looming dangers of her going out into the field, he'd come to realize that he'd much prefer if she was with him.
"There's got to be something-"
"Listen, Gil. Graveyard was in need, so they got the two graduates. Catherine and David are going to be paired with good CSIs. She's a tough girl; she'll be okay."
He can feel his thoughts spinning out of control. There seems to be no use in changing the other man's mind, so he does the next best thing.
–
There's a knock at his door, just as the sun had set. He wipes his hands dry on a kitchen towel, throws it over his shoulder, and moves to answer the door. She comes into view, a smile on her face and two brown, paper bags in either arm. He looks her over, deciding that she looks absolutely precious in her over-sized WLVU sweatshirt and black leggings.
"Reinforcements," he asks, motioning towards the liquor she currently holds.
"We couldn't celebrate New Year's without it," she explains, moving past him to get to his kitchen. It's her second time here, but it feels like her hundredth. She glances at all the food prepped on his kitchen counter, and turns back to him, carefully removing the glass bottles as she talks. "You're really going all out, aren't you?"
"Think of it as a late Christmas, on-time New Year's dinner." He moves back behind the island, resuming his spot, and she pulls herself up on one of the bar stools. He reaches above, into the cupboard, and grabs to glasses for her to make them drinks.
Vodka and lime soda, with ice. She pours a little heavy on the alcohol, and he watches, giving her a playfully disapproving look. She hands one to him, takes a sip of her own.
"Want some music," she asks, and he nods. She slips off the stool with her glass in her hand, and moves to his vinyl player. Flipping through the different options, she chooses something that'll keep the mood light. The smell of the food he's preparing overwhelms the masculine scent she first remembers, and as she moves about his living room, she notices a few of the journals scattered about his coffee table, and his couch cushions had been rearranged.
She joins him in the kitchen, leans against the marble counter, hugging her glass close to her chest. She looks over him quickly, smiling to herself at how effortless it seemed. In the past few months she'd known him, he really had managed to wedge himself into her life. She had found herself thinking of him throughout the days she worked, and the days she didn't. And watching as his biceps ripple as he works in the kitchen, a sudden hot flash passes over her.
She blames it on the alcohol, but takes another generous sip.
"Is there something I can help with," she asks, and he shakes his head.
"Almost done," is his reply, and sure enough, he sticks the chicken in the oven, sets a timer, and washes his hands. He brings up his glass to clink with hers, and she smiles at him as he brings the untouched glass to his lips, testing his drink. He nearly chokes as the alcohol sneaks up on him. "You know how to make a drink," he coughs, and she chuckles.
The sound of muffled fireworks catches her attention, and she moves quickly to the double-glass, sliding doors that lead to his small balcony, which overlooks the city. Off in the distance, in some small neighborhood, families are celebrating and the fireworks are bright.
She slides the glass doors open, takes a step out, and watches. It doesn't take long for him to join her, except he's got some wool blanket and a jacket for himself. She sits in the metal patio chair, accepts the blanket from him, and wraps it around her. The cold had actually been a nice change compared to the growing temperature in his condo, but she knew she'd be cold soon… and so did he.
They sit in a comfortable silence before she tucks her feet underneath her, and tosses back another sip. She thinks it'll just be them, watching the fireworks light up the night sky, so she's a bit startled when she hears his voice.
"This is the first holiday I haven't spent alone in a while." He doesn't meet her eyes as he says it, just staring out into the city.
"What about your mother," she asks.
"I had plans to visit her sometime this week. It's been years," he says with a voice laced with guilt.
She can't believe her ears, hearing him talk about something so personal to him. She wonders if she can get more out of him, because she likes to see him like this.
"What is she like," she asks, causing him to look up at her. "Your mother," she confirms.
He leans back in his chair, contemplation weighing him down. No one really knew about his parents except for his ex-girlfriend, which had happened so long ago, and who'd he left in Minneapolis. He shrugs.
"She's my mother," he says with a smirk. "She… was strict, growing up. Not that she ever needed to be; I really didn't get into much trouble."
"Are you sure? I can totally see you sulking in the principal's office," she teases and he laughs. Shaking his head, he's thrown back in time and trying to describe what life was like when he was younger.
"And after my father died," she catches his words, and suddenly goes rigid. She had no clue. All of her assumptions had led her to believe he had a happy home life, one complete with a loving mother and father who supported his every decision; how else had he become to successful? It had never once occurred to her that they maybe could have more than crime scenes in common. "She was kind of lost," he finishes.
She doesn't want to pry, but the fact that he's telling her something so intimate, only makes her ask more questions. Her heart warms when he answers them, with no hesitation. She'd come to learn numerous things about him: that his father had died of a heart attack, that he'd been fascinated with death since, that his mother suffered from the hearing loss shortly after losing her husband, that he was an only child.
Her heart broke from him, and he hadn't asked for her sympathy, which made her feel for him even more. She clears her throat after a small span of silence stretches between them. She decides, then, that it's time. And looking down at her near empty drink, she realizes she'll have to fill up after she reveals her secrets, afraid he'll react the way she thinks he will.
"My mother was a showgirl. You know, with the obnoxious head pieces-" She motions with her hands, above her head, and he chuckles, nods to let her know he gets it. "She traveled around the coast for shows; ripped me from one school to the next."
He listens contently, not wanting to interrupt her.
"I knew I didn't want to live like that, but she made good money… it paid the bills. So imagine my disappointment when we end up here, my senior year of high school. And… not long after, getting roped into the same business," she finally reveals, going quiet as the words sink in. She tosses back the remaining alcohol in her cup, hoping it'll give her the courage to face him. And as she'd thought, he's quiet. "God, I've scared you off for good, haven't I," she says jokingly, shaking her head in shame.
"Quite the opposite," is all he says, meeting her eyes. In fact, he's quite certain that he's falling in love with her, if he hadn't already. And he smiles to himself, finding it fitting, that someone like him would fall for someone like her.
Somewhere off in the distance, more fireworks explode.
She swallows hard, hoping that her little secret hadn't made him rethink their friendship, hadn't truly scared him away, hadn't made him think any less of her. She didn't care what other people thought of her, but for some reason, his opinion mattered.
"I'm gonna go get another drink," she says softly, pushing herself up from the chair, and gently draping the blanket over the back of her chair. She goes inside of his condo, bracing her hands on the edge of his marble-top island, and exhaling. Nerves were getting the best of her, but it was nothing a little more vodka couldn't fix.
Outside, he stares out over the balcony, his mind working overtime. There was no use denying how he felt about her now, and for him to be able to trust her enough to let her in on that part of his life, the part he had tried to forget about, was reason enough. So he, too, pushes himself up from the chair, heads inside of the condo to find her hunched over the island.
His feet feel like lead, and his heart is pounding so hard, he swears he can feel it in his ears. He never did have a knack for timing. He has to do this, because he's not quite sure if he'll ever have the chance or the courage to do it again.
She looks up when she hears the glass doors slide open, watching him walk closer to her. She reaches for the bottle of vodka as she speaks.
"I'm sorry. I should've asked if you wanted-"
He grabs the alcohol from her, sets it forcefully down on his counter, and grabs the back of her neck with his other hand. She grabs hold of his arms for balance, as his lips descend on hers. Her head is tilted back, her eyes closed, and her lips against his. Her own heart is doing double time, and although she's taken back, she loves how it feels.
She doesn't make a move, afraid he'll pull away in fear he's done something wrong. She can feel his thumb against her cheek and his other fingers against the back of her neck, keeping her in place.
He needs a sign, something that tells him she won't slap him across the face for kissing her, before he continues any further. And just as he's about to pull away from her, she tightens her grip on his arms, ever so slightly parts her lips, and makes a small sound of encouragement.
His other hand immediately flies to her waist, pulling her flush against him. She gasps into their kiss, and he takes the opportunity to deepen it. She tastes like vodka and 7up, her tongue cool against his own.
Everything rational leaves his head; the fact that she's his coworker, that he'll be training her on Graveyard in a few weeks, that they've only known each other for months, that he shouldn't be doing this after all they've had to drink.
All he knows is that there's a tightness in his chest, that she feels incredible against him, she smells amazing, how soft her skin is…
Her own hands are sliding up his arms, over his biceps, on his shoulders, tickle his neck, and stop on either side of his face, refusing to let him back away now. She can feel herself reacting to his touch, to his tongue in her mouth, and wants more.
He's so close, she nearly has to lean backwards as he continues to kiss her, but she pushes back, matching his passion kiss for kiss. She feels him respond, feels him harden against her thigh, and then feels herself go damp between the legs.
The timer for the chicken goes off in the kitchen, making him tear his lips away. She inhales deeply, and lets her head fall in defeat against his arm, a few moments of silence before her laughter fills the space between them. He grins, too, a possessive hand coming up to cradle the back of her head, keeping her against him still.