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: I'm surprised at how easily this story is coming to me! Thanks for all the views, and the review! I'm glad you like it! Sorry for any grammar mistakes.
The drive to his mother's house takes almost four and a half hours. It's a long trip, but he's got Catherine's gift to keep him company. The little black spider swings from where it's wrapped against his rear view mirror, and he grins every time he sees it. His old childhood home is only blocks away from the pier, and the beach, and he wonders if Catherine's ever been this far west. Pulling his car into the driveway, his mother is out on the porch to greet him in record time.
She's ecstatic to see him, welcoming him with open arms, not having seen her son in years. She ushers him into the house, where he drops his overnight back onto the kitchen floor, by the table.
"Sit. Relax," she signs with her hands and fingers, motioning to the chair. He obeys, and watches as she fetches a mug for the tea she's just brewed.
"Thank you," he signs back.
They fall into conversation easily enough, picking up right where they left things years ago. She asks about the move to Minneapolis, how life was like there, why he chose to move closer to home, and what his new position at the Las Vegas Crime Lab entailed.
She's never been to Vegas, and wants him to describe what it's like to her. He looks up, his head tilting back and forth as he searches for the words. The only things that come to mind are Catherine… and lights; lots of lights.
"Busy," he signs. She smiles. "Beautiful," he adds, and her smiles grows. "I will take you back with me one day."
"I would love that."
They sit in silence for a few minutes until she finally asks, with a knowing smile.
"Who is she?"
His head pops up from the mug of tea, and she can tell already that he's hiding something from her. The only person who comes to mind is Catherine, and he opens his mouth to say something, but quickly closes it.
"Who," he signs, wondering if he'd misread her sign.
"There is a girl. I can tell, Gilbert."
He's blown away, and partially terrified that even after all this time, she can still physically read him like a book.
"I work with her. We are friends. That is all."
"You are not being truthful."
"Mother," he begs.
"Who. Is. She." The signs are punctuated, and he knows he's not getting out of this one so easily.
"C-A-T-H-E-R-I-N-E." He signs her full name, and Betty smiles.
"How long have you known her?"
"We have only known each other a few months. I will be her mentor when she starts in the field."
"And?"
He wants to laugh, to check that he's at the right house. And that this is, infact, his mother. For someone so set on following the rules his whole life, she sure wasn't making a case for it now.
"And… it would be inappropriate for me to pursue it."
"Inappropriate, but not impossible."
He looks wildly at her. She silently sighs.
"You like her. Whoever she is. You are different. Happy, smiling."
"Enough about me." He waves off the topic, aware of the slight blush invading his cheeks. "What have you been up to?" She eyes her son suspiciously, taking small sips of tea. She'll play along with his game for now.
"Reading. Gardening."
"Have you been there lately," he signs, asking about her beloved book shop across town. Since her hearing loss, he'd ask her only to drive in extreme emergencies, preferring she take the bus, or have his aunt coordinate grocery trips for her. It was one thing he had made sure of before leaving for Chicago; that his mother had someone else she could rely on while he was away.
"No," she signs. "Will you take me?"
He grins, and nods his head.
The rest of the day is spent by the fireplace, his mother snuggled in her reading chair with glasses perched on the tip of her nose. A hot mug of tea sits next to him as he flips through a new edition of National Geographic. He's missed this; the quiet. Nothing about Las Vegas was quiet, and if he was being honest with himself, he'd always thought he would end up back here, in Santa Monica.
But Las Vegas wasn't so bad. It had museums, libraries, 24-hour coffee shops, and… Catherine.
When the sun sets, he takes his mother out to dinner- to some place quiet, and far away from tourists. The waitstaff know who they are, recognize Betty and Gil right away. The owner comes out to shake Grissom's hand, commenting about how long it had been.
"Seven years long," Gil confirms, his mother reading his lips with a sad smile. His mother orders the same thing as always, baked chicken with sweet potato mash and Thai snap beans. He doesn't order wine in his mother's presence, and settles for a glass of water.
"You leave tomorrow," she signs, once they've settled into their seats.
"I work the weekend."
"With her," she asks, amusement on her face.
"No." His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. It seems that his personal matters have been her only source of interest, and he chuckles. "When did my personal life become so important to you?"
"If you have not noticed, I am not getting any younger," she signs, with a knowing look. It takes him a few seconds to interpret her words, and his eyes grow wide.
"Mother," he signs.
She allows him to dismiss the topic again, and when dinner is over, he drives them home. She kisses him on the cheek, retires to bed, and leaves him in the living room. He locks up the house, cleans the dishes in the sink, puts away the tea pot.
His old room is just as he'd left it; clean, organized, full of memories from life here years ago. There are science fair ribbons strung on the wall, his old ant farm that had been long abandoned sits on a shelf, a hand-made replica of the solar system he'd done in the sixth grade still floated near his window. He falls onto the bed, stares up at the ceiling, and sighs.
Even twenty-four hours later, and he could still taste her on his lips. He closes his eyes, but it doesn't help. He sees her, hears her, smells her. He knew that when he returned to Las Vegas, he'd have to talk to her. About what… he wasn't sure yet.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, his face scrunches into uncertainty.
The way he saw it, three things could happen.
The first, being that by some divine miracle, things worked. And he wouldn't have his mother hounding him for… someone new, and small, to occupy her time with.
The second, being that things worked for some time, but for them to only realize just how different they really were, only to remain good friends.
And the third. He didn't want to think about the third.
–
She sits in the brightly lit room, her new ID badge hanging around her neck. She glances at the clock, sighs. It'll be a long day. She'd already received a new employee number and a new policy book that she decides to flip through while waiting for their instructor.
III. Relationships at Work
A. Employees are encouraged to socialize and develop professional relationships in the workplace. Employees who engage in personal relationships (romantic or sexual) should be aware of their professional responsibilities.
- If the relationship is between a supervisor or employee who has influence/control over the other's conditions, that employee has an obligation to disclose the relationship to the department head or next level of administration.
She was definitely going to have to talk to him, wondering where they stood after their New Year's Even kiss. He had initiated it, she had encouraged it; they were both to blame. But she somewhat dreads the inevitable, fearing he'll chalk it up to too much alcohol, that it was a mistake and never to happen again. He was a well respected, well known criminalist; he would never jeopardize his position or all of her hard work. At least… that's what she had convinced herself of, anyway.
After a long day of going over evidence collecting procedures and the do's and don'ts of interviewing suspects, she's dismissed. All she wants to do is go home, change out of her stale clothes, and sleep. She turns down the offer to go out with her fellow orientees, promising David they'd all go out for drinks another time.
And when she makes it back to her apartment, she sees him leaning against his car door. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he's kicking loose gravel around, until her headlights illuminate him. She tenses in the front seat, but finds herself rushing to get out of the car, nonetheless.
"Hey," she greets first, the her breath steaming in the cold.
"I drove straight from Santa Monica," is all he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. Her eyes widen a bit, and she wonders how long he'd been waiting out in the cold… for her.
"Come on," she says, reaching out to pull him away from his car. "It's freezing out here." She leads him up to her apartment, unlocking the door and taking the lead. He follows slowly, looking around her studio flat. The only thing different now is the framed butterfly that sits on one of the shelves of her headboard. He closes the door behind him. "Make yourself at home. I'm just gonna..." She points to her bathroom, excusing herself. She leaves him in the kitchen, where he takes a seat in one of her mismatched chairs, facing the bathroom she'd just disappeared into.
He fidgets in the chair, his heart beating a little faster with every passing second. He nervously licks his lips as he hears the doorknob rattle, and watches as she reappears wearing more casual clothes. He looks over her, swallows hard. She notices, and looks down at her attire.
"Sorry. I wasn't… expecting any guests," she says as she turns to start a pot of coffee.
"I can- I didn't mean to intrude." He can feel his voice breaking already, and she shakes her head quickly, stopping him from pushing himself up from the table.
"No, no. I just meant… no." She's stammering her words, and he settles back into chair. "Stay," she says, holding her hand out in a gesture to make him still, and she smiles. She felt like she was training a puppy, and he damn well looked the part; big eyes and a cute pout. "Whatever made you drive straight here from Santa Monica must be important. So spill," she says boldly, having a good idea of what's on his mind.
The sound of hot water filtering through the coffee grinds fills his ears.
He's never had this much trouble before, and a voice in the back of his head tells him that it's only her, that it's Catherine, but it's terrifying all the same. It would be just as humiliating going back to Tadero to take back his request. And he didn't want to have to explain why.
He doesn't know where to start, how to express what he's feeling. But after a few moments of unbearable silence, she brings him back to reality.
"Gil," she says softly. "Talk."
The coffee is done brewing.
"My father taught Botany at the university," he starts, and she crosses her arms, leans against the kitchen counter directly across from him. "My mother… was a student of his."
"Right," she says, a bit unsure of why he's telling her this. His shoulders slump when she doesn't catch on.
"She had always been a stickler for the rules." He looks up at her. "My father was the charismatic one."
"I see who you take after then," she says under her breath, and he fights off a smile. He presses on, needing her to understand.
"My point is… they were wrong for each other, in more ways than one." Her breath catches in her throat, and it dawns on her. "But they worked," he says finally. His pulse rapid, a sudden wave of nausea threatening to present itself in anticipation of her reaction.
But she's silent. And still.
That third option, he fears, is starting to bare it's ugly teeth.
"This isn't a good idea," he says suddenly, defeated. For the second time, he tries to push himself away from the table, but her voice stops him.
"But what if it is?"
His eyes fly to hers, blue meet blue. His mouth hangs open in surprise, or maybe it had been open all this time in shock after what he thought was her dismissal. He slowly straightens as she stalks closer to him, until he feels his back press against the chair. She towers over him, looks down at him, her eyes searching his face. She's not sure at which point she'd started breathing a little heavier, but his face is inches away from hers.
She sees perfectly, the beginning of stress taking its toll around the corner of his eyes, that his beard and mustache had been neatly trimmed, how blue his eyes were under her kitchen lights. Being so close to him… she doesn't think she'll ever get used to this feeling; like some invisible force had latched onto the two of them, pulling them into close proximity whenever the other was near.
She sees a pair of hands trail up his chest, until they're resting on his shoulders, and she realizes it's her hands. He's parted his legs to allow her room, and when she steps forward, he sucks in a breath. It's his turn to tilt his head back, in order to keep his eyes trained on hers. He's not sure how much time has passed between them, but it feels like an eternity.
It's her turn to initiate their kiss, with a feather-light assault on his mouth. It's so soft, he closes his eyes to concentrate on the feel of her. Shaking hands come up to grab at her waist, pulling her closer until her knees bump the edge of the chair. She pulls away for a second, looking down at him one last time, committing this moment to memory, before grabbing his face. She doesn't mean for the next kiss to be so rough, but she's impatient. And she attacks. It's enough to make him part his lips in surprise at how direct she is, and she sweeps her tongue into his mouth.
She grows tired of the chair, her right thigh sliding over his, her left following, until she's expertly seated herself upon his lap. Not oblivious to the effect she's having on him, her lips curl into their kiss, pleased with his reaction.
A perfect fit, with her straddling his lap, and he makes a mental note to inquire about her past profession in the future. He doesn't think anything could be better than this; the object of his desires in his arms, kissing her, holding her… but all it takes is a roll of her hips against him, and he moans into her mouth.
They break apart momentarily, chests heaving, lips swollen, a shy smile on her face.
Gaining a small moment of clarity, she licks her lips before he can steal another kiss.
"Are you sure you want to do this," she asks, one last time, before her heart goes down the rabbit hole.
What he's absolutely sure of, is two things; that she makes him feel alive and he's willing to risk everything to see where this goes.
He nods.
"I can't wait to see the look on Ecklie's face."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you," he teases, and she drapes her arms over his shoulders, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she nods her head, her laughter music to his ears.
And as if on cue, the loud thumping for next door grows louder, and louder until Gil winces.
"Right on time," she says under her breath, pulling herself reluctantly away from him, and poking her head out the front door.
Gil pushes himself up from the chair, rearranges himself, and walks up behind her. With a gentle hand on her lower back, he pushes her back and leaves the apartment. She watches with wild eyes as he stalks over to Christopher's apartment, and bangs on the door.
The music is crisp and clear as the door swings open.
"Hey, man," she hears her neighbor say.
"My name is Gil Grissom. I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab." All it takes is one look at Gil's badge, before Christopher motions behind his back, signaling for the other party-goers to turn down the music. The rest of their conversation is muffled out, and before long, Gil's returning. She hangs on the door, a well-knowing smile on her face. He points next door. "He shouldn't be a problem anymore."
"Leaving already," she asks, a bit disappointed. She had hoped to talk more about their new found intimacy, and what it meant for lab. But her yawn betrays her.
"Get some sleep. I'll see you Monday," he says, moving to leave her. Grabbing hold of his arm, she pulls him back just enough for a gentle kiss on the lips, one that holds promise for the next time, and he grins.
A/N: Once again, I LOVE THESE TWO IDIOTS.