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: Thanks for reading everyone! Not quite sure how much more I'll write, maybe a few more chapters before I end it. I have some other ideas I'm itching to get out! Sorry for any grammar mistakes!

They've been doing whatever it is they're doing for three weeks now. She hadn't pressed the issue any, perfectly content with the way things were now. They'd see each other in passing during her orientation, sometimes eat lunch together in the breakroom if he wasn't out of the lab, and once or twice a week, she'd go over to his place for dinner. It's her last day of training before she'll jump into the Graveyard shift. And unbeknownst to her, she's got two days off to prepare for her life to be changed… forever.

She'd cleared her physical, passed her psychological evaluation, certified in gun safety, and had been given a copy of her mentor's name, contact information, and schedule for the next month by none other than Jimmy himself. She held her breath when she'd been handed her paper, and quickly ran her eyes over the text.

'Gilbert Grissom, CSI III' is the only thing she reads, and her jaw drops.

"I thought-" She starts talking quickly, stopping Tadero in his tracks. He turns to face her. "I thought Grissom was Days," she says with confusion laced in her voice. "I'm Graveyard," she holds up the paper, insinuating there's a mistake.

"January 26th is his first night on Graveyard… meaning it's your first night on Graveyard."

She closes her mouth, trying to suppress the excitement she feels inside. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, folds the paper carefully, and sticks it into her pocket. All of this time, he had kept it a secret from her. There was an immense sense of comfort knowing she'd be following him around, but also some apprehension. She'd only want to make him proud, to catch on quickly and show him how eager she was to learn.

But they'd have to be careful.

And she'd expect nothing less than for him to remain utterly professional from the moment he'd clock in until the second they clocked out.

She's pulled out of her thoughts by David calling out to her, asking her once more if she'd accompany the rest of the group to celebrate. She weighs the options in her head, knows Gil won't get off of work for a few more hours, and decides to go. She doesn't have time to stop by his office to let him know, so she leaves.

They all meet up at a bar on the outskirts of the Strip, David holding the door open for her as she walks through. The rest of the group are already nursing their beers, all of them seated at a round table off in the back, away from everyone else.

"What are you drinking? I'll buy this round," he asks, stopping her from joining the rest.

"I'll just take a water," she says dryly, and he shrugs.

An hour or two flies by, and she's actually having a good time. But when she glances down at her watch, David notices, and smirks.

"You got somewhere more important to be," he asks, keeping his voice low so the others don't hear him. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ears, reluctantly smiles. Where she wants to be is at Gil's, but she shakes her head and sips at her water.

"No, just tired."

–

She pulls her car into the familiar spot, parking next to him and shutting off the engine. She can see from his window that his lights are still on, and knows he's awake. Climbing up the stairs, she comes to his front door and knocks twice.

It takes him no time at all to answer the door, and when he does, he grins.

"So were you going to tell me you moved to Graveyard or was I supposed to find out by myself," she asks, letting him pull her into the living room. He shrugs, takes her jacket, and she heads into his kitchen. He follows silently, watching as she opens his fridge to find a few containers of left-overs. "How'd you manage that," she asks, popping the food into the microwave to heat. He's leaning against the kitchen counter opposite of her, satisfied with how comfortable she's grown in his presence.

"They were going to offer Michael a level three, but on Graveyard."

She rolled her eyes at the mention of the other man.

"I took his position in exchange," he explains, waiting for her reaction. He knew he wouldn't have to explain why he did it. The microwave sounds off, and she makes no move to retrieve the food. Instead, she smiles, closes the distance between them, and presses a quick kiss to his cheek, then to his lips, and rests her head against his chest as she embraces him.

She falls against his body, letting the exhaustion of a long day take over, and she closes her eyes when she feels his arms wrap around her waist, his hands clasped together on her lower back.

"Thank you."

This heart beat is strong and loud in her ear, and it nearly puts her to sleep. The feeling of his lips pressing against the top of her head and his hand gently rubbing at her back wakes her up. Slowly, she moves away from him, grabs the food from the microwave, and joins him on the couch.

She eats in silence next to him, crossing her legs on his couch as she watches whatever is playing on his television. And when she's done eating, she moves to wash her used dishes in his sink, and puts them away when she's dried them off. Her shoes had been kicked off a while ago, so she crawls back onto the couch, pulls the same wool throw he'd given her on New Year's, and settles against him.

He reaches over to turn off the lamp next to him, the only light now coming from the television that casts them and the walls around them in a bright glow. She rests her head against his arm, and sighs when he readjusts the blanket to cover her fully. One of her own arms is trapped between their bodies, and the other is draped around his waist.

She feel so small and warm against him, and his left arm comes down to wrap around her back, holding her closer to him. He glances down at her, sees her eyes are already closed, and can't fight the urge to press another kiss to the top of her head. Her breathing evens out, and within minutes, she's asleep in his arms.

The rerun of 'Hunter' suddenly isn't the most interesting thing in his living room. She hasn't spent the night at his place yet, but it was starting to look promising. But their relationship was still new and in the beginning stages, so he wanted to be cautious… not overly-eager to get her to stay over. He wondered if they'd ever make it to the stage where she spent so much time here, that she wondered why she was even paying for another place.

'Whoa, boy. She's been your girlfriend for three weeks. Simmer,' he hears a voice in his head say.

He knew, though, that he'd never get enough of her. There wasn't such a thing as spending too much time with her, because he'd always want to be near her. He wasn't so naive to know it wouldn't happen from time to time, getting split up on shifts to work different scenes, her having to go back to her apartment for some personal time, things like that. But he hoped that she only felt the same way, wanting to spend a majority of her free time with him.

He smiles when he feels her tighten her grip around his waist, nestling her face more into his arm.

Glancing at the clock hanging up on his wall, the time reads almost one-fifteen in the morning.

Another perk of being her mentor, would be having the same schedule until he deemed her ready for the field. And who knew how long that would take. All of these mutual days off together were a blessing and he only hoped people wouldn't raise too much suspicion. But then again, he really didn't care what other people thought.

He knows he'll have to go to either Ecklie or Tadero with news of their relationship, but it still didn't seem like the time, and he wanted Catherine to be on board. So until she gives him the green light, he knows he'll have to keep things discrete at work, and try not to touch her too much.

"Hey," he says softly, gently prying himself away from her. "Why don't you take the bed," he offers innocently, afraid she'll grow sore from her current position. All she can manage is a nod, and he turns off the television, then helps her up from the couch.

She follows him tiredly into the bedroom, and he disappears into his bathroom, retrieving an extra toothbrush.

"Bought a two-pack," he explains, motioning for her to take the never-used toothbrush. She does, places a warm hand on his chest, and moves into the bathroom. He suddenly hears the muffled water of the shower pouring against the tiles. He sucks in a breath at the thought of her naked only a few feet away from him. He tries to keep himself busy, folding back the sheets of his bed, turning on the small lamp, turning the central heat off, finding pajamas for himself, finding something for her to sleep in.

Why was he so nervous? Couples were supposed to do this; sleep over at each other's places. But this was their first time, and he wanted things to be perfect.

When he hears the water cut off, he gulps. Would she put on the same clothes? He doubted it. Surely, she wouldn't walk out naked. Which only left one other option.

The door swings open, and steam pours from the bathroom. She's wrapped in a white towel, her hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. Her face has been scrubbed clean of makeup, and her tiny feet pad against his carpeted bedroom.

He hands her the smallest shirt and pajama pants he owns, and watches as she turns her back to him. He's expecting her to walk back into the bathroom to change, but as he takes his spot on the bed, his jaw drops as she lets the towel fall from her body, her standing in only a pair of black underwear.

Her toned back, bare as the day she was born, screams at him, begging him for his attention. There's a few beads of water that have escaped the towel, that threaten to trail down her

flawless skin. One of his hands clutch at the bedspread, his knuckles turning white. She pulls the shirt over her head, the hem of it stopping high on her thigh, and leaves the pajama pants on his dresser.

She moves to turn off the light in the bathroom, and takes her spot in his bed. He settles himself in, as well, turning off the lamp next to him. He's got the left side, and she's got the right. The room is dark, and growing cold, and he reaches out for her, pulling her closer to him. She sighs in content, allowing him to draw her into his space. He's so warm, and she feels so safe in his arms; nothing like when she falls asleep in her own bed, half-asleep in anticipation that some Las Vegas lunatic decides to break into her home.

He lay on his back, his eyes trained on the ceiling above. Her head fits perfectly in the space between his shoulder blade and his neck. They lay together in his bed, no words spoken, and he can't help but feel at peace. She's warm and soft against him, and he'd do anything to keep her here forever.

–

Even after all the time they've spent together, he's still a mystery to her. She watches as he crouches down to get closer to the dead body in front of them, and she stands back to watch him. He's slow, careful, meticulous. All he does is tilt his head to the side, purses his lips, and then moves back beside her.

"First thing. Observe the scene," he says, motioning to the space around them. It's not much, in some dark alley that has a dead-end. Her eyes scan the brick walls, covered in dirt and grime, the concrete, the blood that's pooled around the body, then on him. He's so professional and distant at crime scenes, you would've never known he was currently in a romantic relationship with her. And she knows it's for the best, but there's still a slight sting when he doesn't place his hand on her lower back, when he doesn't pull her closer in the cold weather, when he doesn't give her any second glances.

They spend their night processing the scene together. He teaches her how to take impressions of footprints, how to carefully fingerprint surfaces, how to bag evidence, and she listens intently as he interviews the suspects.

It's the first crime scene together, and although he's got a lot to show her, he keeps it simple. He does most of the work, knowing that they'll solve it by the morning. But she surprises him, follows his line of thinking, takes it upon herself to look into leads… and it's the first time, ever, in the Las Vegas Crime Lab history, that a new graduate solves their first case… on the first night.

They make a dangerous team, and everyone recognizes it.

And as the last few minutes of their first shift together near closer, he catches her in the layout room. She's by herself, and as his eyes fall on her, he's never been more proud. She looks up when she feels his eyes on her, and smiles.

"Hey," she says softly, a hint of exhaustion playing out on her face. She was used to working night shifts, but this type of work was mentally draining, as well. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed… with a certain someone next to her.

"Good work tonight," he says, weary of other listeners.

"Thanks," she says thoughtfully, whatever it was she had been working on suddenly not important to her anymore. "You're a good teacher," she says sincerely, moving to catalog the rest of the evidence from their case.

He gives her the boyish grin, the one she's grown to love, and her heart swells.

"How about breakfast?"

–

Valentine's Day had never been important to her, and he didn't seem like the type to celebrate it, either. It's a Saturday night, and as the sun is starting to set, is when she makes it to the lab. Pulling her jacket on, she gets out of the car, deposits her things in the locker room, and makes her way to the break room. She needs a cup of coffee, and now.

Her eyes fall on a beautiful arrangement of flowers perched in the middle of the table, her passing female coworkers admiring them as they walk by. And it's none other than Michael who's sitting at the table, a smirk on his face.

Gil's not far behind her, coffee on his mind as well, and hears the whole exchange.

"Some creep from the strip club drop these off?" It's a low blow, but Catherine sneers.

"There really hasn't been many creeps since you stopped going," she deals back, making Grissom turn his back to secretly grin. She leans over the table, fingering the small card that's tied to the vase.

'To Catherine.' is all it says.

More people from Graveyard have fluttered into the room, and have taken notice to Catherine and her flowers.

"Boyfriend," one of the other girls asks, curiously. Catherine's eyes quickly run over Gil's back, and feels her face slightly grow warm from all the attention.

"Just some cute boy from California I've been seeing," she explains, throwing everyone off the scent.

Grissom's smirk grows wider as he leaves the room.

The people here thought he was from Minneapolis. After all this time.