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 chapter is brought to you by Truly Lemonade Hard Seltzer and rewatching season one of CSI. Sorry for any grammar mistakes! Hope you all like it! I LOVE that you guys are enjoying this story! Song is Don't Walk Away by ELO. (If you haven't figured out by now, every chapter is inspired by a song from the 80s.)
True to his word, he's taken care of everything. He's hired movers to put the rest of her belongings in a small storage unit just outside of Henderson. He was able to argue a way out of paying the fee for breaking her lease, threatening to report multiple citations that could effectively put the owner of the apartment complex out of business, or at the very least, lose a substantial amount of money.
But other than that, they've been swamped at work, and she has very little time to search for a new apartment. She feels guilty, at first, watching as he places her nicer clothes onto coat-hangers, storing them up next to his own in his closet. She had learned her lesson with Eddie, never wanting to rely on another man to provide for her again. But as she watches him take caution with her clothes, she knows he's nothing like Eddie, and now the guilt stems from not wanting to take advantage of his generosity.
She was a big girl; had always been able to take care of herself, even when money was tight and survival came down to stripping. She remembers the night of her graduation, how she had vowed to never step food into another strip club, but never say never, she thinks sadly.
He watches as she flips through the newspapers every afternoon, perched at his kitchen island with a red pen and a cup of coffee. There's only a couple of listing circled, he notices, and part of him hopes none of them work out. He wanted her here, was willing to take care of her- if she'd let him, but something told him she didn't need a knight in shining armor.
He accompanies her to all of the apartments she's scheduled showings at. They're all significantly nicer than her old place, but the price reflected it, and she'd always leave a bit disappointed every time.
It's not until the end of July that they both have another night off together, so he plans something special. While she's out looking at more apartments, is when he makes the trip to a grocery store, purchasing everything to cook her favorite meal. He throws in a pricey bottle of red wine, one with a higher alcohol content, he notices- he'll need it to give him the courage to ask her what he really wants to ask her after they've eaten dinner.
He's left the door unlocked while he unloads the groceries, and it's shortly after he's put everything in it's respectful place that she comes walking through the door, slumping against the door in defeat and allowing her purse to fall from her arm. He looks up from where he stands in the kitchen.
"Any luck," he asks, to which she shakes her head.
"Not much," she says flatly, reaching for a glass to pour herself some water. And it's all the convincing he needs to go through with his plan. She gulps down the water in no time, cleans the glass, and places it back into the cupboard. She's content in the silence between them, grateful for the cool air of his apartment. Her eyes slip shut for a moment, craning her head from side to side.
Apartment searching in the Las Vegas heat was not shaping out to be successful, or fun.
When she opens her eyes, he's wringing a kitchen towel nervously between his hands.
She narrows her eyes.
"What," she asks, straightening up against the counter, standing an arm's width away from him.
"Nothing," he quickly retorts, amazed at how keen her behavior skills were becoming. She could read him like a book, and he considered himself a very closed-off person… most of the time.
"Mmm hmm," she says skeptically, but with a grin on her face. Pushing herself away from the counter, she mumbles something about going to shower. And when he hears the water running, he turns around and gets to work.
Her shower is long enough for him to slightly chill the wine, and to prep most of the dinner. Her hair is still dry, and pinned expertly on top of her head, when she comes out in a baggy shirt, one of the shoulders cut off, and a pair of leggings. He's already got the two glasses of wine poured, and hands one to her upon seeing her.
"A home cooked meal? What have I done to deserve this," she asks, taking her normal spot on the high bar stool at his kitchen island. She sips at the wine, smiles when it hits her tongue, and hums her approval.
"Good," he asks, nodding towards the wine. She nods, taking another generous sip, and he chuckles.
Her tongue comes out to sweep at a bit of wine that's clinging to her bottom lip, and her eyes pass over Gil's arms; how his sleeves had been rolled up just to the elbows. She watches as he expertly cuts through vegetables, then turns to saute them in a pan.
"No, really," she says, swirling the wine around in her glass. "What's the occasion?"
He's concentrating on the sizzling vegetables in the hot pan, but looks over his shoulder at her.
"I happen to like you, if you haven't noticed." That grin, along with the wine, warms her all over.
"Oh, you like me, huh?"
"I do," he nods his head, moves over to the fridge where he takes two, whole lobsters out. "Very much."
They make effortless small talk as he cooks. He starts to feel the effects of the strong wine, especially without having much to eat today, and as he shucks the lobster tails, getting ready to poach them in a butter sauce.
"Careful now, Wolfgang Puck," she says, causing him to actually laugh aloud as he lowers the lobster tails into the pot. He doesn't hear as she slips away from the bar stool, but feels a pair of arms slide around his torso, her glass of wine still in her right hand. This was what he had been searching for all along, it seemed. Someone to cook dinner with, someone to laugh with in his kitchen, someone to share a life with.
Barefoot, in his kitchen, arms around him, she rests her head against the side of his body. One of his free arms wraps around her as well, and he absentmindedly presses a kiss to the top of her head. It's not much longer before she's gently moving away from him, reaching up for two plates.
He carries their plated dinner back to the kitchen island, where he helps her up onto the bar stool. When he's situated himself, she's holding up her glass of wine for a toast.
"To failed apartment searching," she says playfully, touching her glass to his, before they both take sips. She sets her glass down, digs into her dinner, and hums her approval. "You know… if you lose interest in forensics, you could always become a chef."
He nods in amusement, a mouth full of food. Their dinner is coming to an end, and his trouser pocket feels like it's on fire. So when their plates are cleared, she pulls him to sit on the couch with her, but not before she pours them another glass of wine each and turns on his vinyl player. She falls back against the cushions, sighs heavily in content, and brings the wine glass to her lips.
He taps nervously at his glass stem, then finally sets it down on the end table near him.
"I'll be right back," he says quietly, disappearing into his bedroom and leaving her clueless out in his living room. She watches with curious eyes, but he closes the bedroom door behind him. She wonders if something from their dinner hasn't agreed with his stomach, and after a while, she nearly pushes herself up from the couch to go and check on him, concern outweighing the curiosity. But before she can get up, he's walking back into the living room, and he's got something with him.
It's a small, square box. It's not wrapped, it doesn't have a bow on it.
Her eyebrows knit in confusion.
He resumes his spot next to her on the couch, staring down at the gift in his hands before turning to her, and offering it up with a hopeful face. She accepts it slowly; the music that was once loud and clear, suddenly fading out and muffling as her own heartbeat fills her ears.
With shaking hands, she lifts the top of the white box, and despite how nervous she is, a smile comes to her face. It's her old Christmas present, from last year… perfectly restored in a new glass frame, but as she picks it up from the box, she notices there's a second frame underneath it. Each hand now holds a framed butterfly. She looks up at him, and he doesn't miss a beat.
He explains that the second butterfly is the mate to the first, that it's very common for the two of them to often be found together in the wild. She can't seem to wipe the smile away from her face; he was a romantic.
"I love them," she says just above the music, setting them both down carefully into the box. She wants to say how much she loves him, but stops herself. Unsure if it's from the wine or from the overwhelming emotions, she can feel the corners of her eyes grow wet.
"I have… something else, too."
She wipes at the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand, and reels it all in.
"If I would've known we were exchanging gifts, I would've gotten you something." Her voice is on the verge of cracking. He shakes his head at the notion; she'd never have to get him anything… just her being here was enough.
"I've been wanting to give you this for some time, and I can't think of a more fitting time," he starts, silently thanking himself for purchasing such strong wine.
He can't bare the suspense any longer, so he fishes the spare key from his pocket, and presents it to her. It only takes her a moment to realize what he's offering. Relief was a close second to the excitement she was feeling. Maybe she hadn't been as much of a burden as she'd originally thought. Most of her clothes and other personal items had already found their way into his home. What left was there to do except take him up on her offer?
"Gil, I… I can't possibly-"
He presses the key into her palm, closes her fingers around it.
She squeezes it in her hand for a second, then carefully places all of her gifts on the end table to her left. His eyes widen when she stalks closer to him, throwing a leg over his waist and straddling him against the couch. Her hands splay against either side of his neck, and she kisses him.
Hard.
He grabs at her waist, to slow her down, but she's hell-bent on this.
His head is tilted back, from how aggressively she's kissing him, and his growing erection is betraying his patience. When she feels him grow hard against her, she rolls her hips. His mouth parts, and she slips her tongue against his. He taste like wine, and no matter how deep their kiss runs, she can't get enough. This is her best friend, her roommate, her boyfriend… she's quite certain her soulmate.
–
She wonders how long it'll take their coworkers to find out that they're dating and living together. She doesn't really care of any one knows, but for his sake, hopes word doesn't go around too fast. And as she passes up familiar faces in the hallway, she ducks her head from curious eyes. They've gone their separate ways at the elevator, him heading to his office and her heading to the locker room to save her things.
David, her fellow newcomer to the graveyard, peeks his head into the room, hanging onto the door frame. He looks excited, a wide smile plastered to his face.
"You're with me tonight."
Her head pops up from the dufflebag in her lap, and she can't help but smile back at his enthusiasm. Internally, she's a bit panicked. Two fresh, level-one CSIs on their own? Surely, there was something in the handbook about this. But before she can say anything, he ducks back out of the room.
Quickly, she saves her things, and heads straight to his office. She doesn't even bother to close the door behind her. He looks up instantly.
"David and I are going out to a 419 near Winchester. The two of us. Alone." He's unsure of the issue, so he takes off his glasses.
"You'll be fine," he encourages, grasping at straws as to why she's coming to him with this information. She's been on her own for months, and had proven herself immensely. She inhales deeply, rethinks her situation. Maybe she was over-reacting. So, unconvinced, she nods at his words and backs out of his office.
–
David slams the car door upon arriving to the scene, the sound echoing off into the distance. It's dark, and eerie, and she shivers when the night air blows through her forensics jacket. He's quick to survey the scene, logging things, taking pictures, making assumptions. She's slow to follow, taking her time as Gil had taught her.
He's not talking to her, lost in his own thoughts and ways. The scene is taped off, so she ducks under the flapping tape to catch up with David. The crime scene kit is weighing her down a bit, and as she tries to readjust her hold on the metal handle, she loses track of her partner.
She stops in the middle of the dark alleyway, contemplating dropping the kit right there and running off to find David. Surely, he couldn't have ventured off far; around the corner maybe. She still had yet to lay her eyes on the dead body, which told her she still had a ways to go. She knows it's irrational, but something tells her not to look behind her.
Adrenaline coursing through her body, she decides to continue on with her search for David. The sound of a second pair of footsteps are keen on her hearing, and she convinces herself that it's just the echoing of her own steps.
'You'll be fine.' His words play over and over in her head, and she tries her best to believe them. But then she can feel someone behind her, and her heart feels like it's stuck in her throat.
It all happens so fast; first, she's letting the kit drop to the pavement, she spins with her hand poised on the handle of her crime-lab issued gun, but the assailant is much quicker… much stronger.
"Don't even think about it, bitch," she hears the rough voice say, catching her off balance and knocking her back against the alley wall. She panics. She doesn't want to die like this; in some dark alley, away from Gil, away from her friends, scared and alone. But she refuses to let that panic show in her face. She'd fight until her last breath, and that's exactly what she does.
She can't think, can't form any words, can't scream out for help. Not that it'd matter… David was too far away to hear her, anyway. She can feel something sharp pressing against her neck, can feel the burning splitting of skin as the blade cuts into her throat.
Death by exsanguination, she thinks. Plenty of worse ways to go.
She's startled by the sudden sound of a gun discharging; once, twice, three times, four times… and then silence.
–
It was ultimately Tadero who'd come to tell him. And in hindsight, he'd be forever thankful for it.
Word had spread quickly that Catherine Flynn had been attacked at a crime scene, and had survived. She had been escorted back to the crime lab via ambulance after getting cleared by paramedics, and was sitting in the locker-room, itching to shower.
He doesn't run, not wanting to cause panic, but finds himself pushing slow counterparts out of his way to get to her. Everyone takes notice at how hasty he makes for the locker room. He doesn't care if he'll give them away, he doesn't care what anyone has to say… he just needs to get to her, to make sure she's okay.
Surprisingly, she's by herself.
The detectives have come and gone, leaving her sitting on the bench, a nonstick gauze tapped to her stitched up throat.
There's still a bit of blood that's seeped through the gauze, and shows itself through the dressing.
It doesn't take long for him to push himself away from the door, reaching out for her.
She's just strong enough to stand from the bench, letting him take her into his arms. His hand tangles in her hair as he presses her into his body, wanting to shield her from the evils of this world forever. She's still against him, and he exhales forcefully, then presses a kiss to the top of her head.
And that's when he feels her shake, then sob, against him.
A/N: okay, let's talk about these lemonade hard seltzers.