Catherine Willows has a Secret
Title: Catherine Willows has a Secret
Author: WaywardKitty
Rating: Teen
Classification: Grissom/Sara
Disclaimer: As usual, these characters don't belong to me.
Spoilers: Anything Thru LLV is fair game.
Summary: Catherine Willows had been keeping a secret about her friends for quite some time now. Yes, she was capable of keeping a secret, when she approved. But this secret had spawned another secret and now she can't keep her mouth shut.
Status: Maybe finished, maybe WIP. Do y'all want more?
Note: This is the first FF I've had the guts/motivation to publish, so be nice. Unbetaed cuz I'm painfully introverted like Grissom.
Gil Grissom sat in his hotel room with his head in his hands for a long time after Catherine hung up. His head pounded with the refrain, Why, Why, Why, Why didn't she just tell me. But when he stilled the screaming voice in his head, he knew why Sara hadn't told him. He was busy having a mid-life crisis and she didn't want to add to his burden. She was probably even afraid of how he would react.
He even knew how it happened. About six weeks ago, Sara pulled a case where infection was ruled the COD. The deceased was immuno-suppressed and the chances of her contracting it were small, but she had been prescribed prophylactic antibiotics, just to be safe. Knowing the effect of antibiotics on hormonal birth control, they had broken out the condoms, just to be safe. While was all well and good until The Slippage Incident. They had laughed about it. Really, what were the odds? Apparently pretty good.
What Gil didn't know was how to approach Sara. Other than…carefully. He hadn't handled his communications with her about his sabbatical particularly well. He had to do this one right.
OK. Think logically. In concrete terms. Email and text message were right out. Even he wasn't that emotionally retarded.
Phone. Possibly. How to begin?
"Hi, honey. Catherine tells me you're pregnant." As if.
"Honey, is there anything you want to tell me?" Too indirect.
"Sweetheart, I heard from someone at the lab that you've been under the weather." Maybe.
Then what? Would she skirt the issue to protect him? Would she admit it and break into tears? Could he reassure her via phone? He'd just gotten the hang of supporting her in person, playing the strong silent type and holding her wordlessly. He'd have no idea how to proceed from there if he couldn't see her face.
In person. Yes, ideally this should be done in person. And that was not completely out of the question.
He still needed a full month away from the lab, and, absolutely, he had had to leave Vegas to preclude getting sucked back in, but he was now capable of going back briefly as long as it didn't become common knowledge.
He'd come a long way in two weeks. He was rested and divested of his melancholy. The future seemed a lot clearer – like the lens through which he saw his life had finally snapped into focus – his future with Sara.
It was Thursday. No classes for MLK day on Monday. Perfect. Grissom sprung into action. He had to book a flight and get a student to keep his experiments running. Packing would be easy – just his laptop and a few books – he already had the essentials at home. And finally, he had to make sure that Sara would be free. He flipped open his cell phone and text messaged Catherine. "Can you pls arrange for Sara to be off Sat & Sun?" He sent the message off with a silent plea that Catherine not ask questions or be too obvious about arranging it.
He passed through the next day in a daze, his focus trained on getting to the airport on Friday afternoon. Commuter flight to JFK, ridiculously long layover at JFK, red eye from New York to LA, first Saturday flight to Vegas – he hadn't exactly gotten lucky arranging flights at the last minute on a holiday weekend.
Luckily, he had talked to Sara before Catherine called on Thursday and then missed Sara's call on Friday while he was in the air. Checking his messages at JFK, he must have listened to Sara's message a dozen times, searching for clues in the lilt of her voice. She sounded tired, and admitted as much, but didn't sound upset in the least. She just said she'd talk to him Saturday, which was good, because he didn't trust himself not to confront her over the phone at this point. He text messaged her back instead: "Talk to you Sat. Love you."
Just before boarding for LA, a text message appeared from Catherine: "Done, barring crisis."
His journey passed without incidence and he arrived in Vegas several hours after the graveyard shift ended, quickly hailing a cab to his townhouse.
The place was quiet and empty. He silently cursed Catherine for letting Sara work late and shuffled to the bedroom. He hadn't rested well on his journey and decided to settle into bed for a nap. As he drifted into slumber, a vague thought wandered through his head that the bed didn't smell much like her. Oh well. She must have just changed the sheets.
Grissom awoke several hours later, slightly disoriented. I'm home, he reminded himself. Home. To see Sara. But Sara's not here. Clean sheets.
Oh. Shit.
It was worse than he thought. He willed himself to focus. As much as he wanted to go running out the door, he really needed a shower and a quick bite to eat. The bathroom, sparkling and without her toiletries, screamed of her absence. The refrigerator held nothing but condiments and a few forgotten experiments. As the evidence mounted for the theory that she had moved back to her apartment, Grissom's pace increased. Keys… Car… Drive-thru eaten in the car... Quick call to the lab's receptionist to make sure she wasn't there.
By the time he reached the threshold of her apartment building, he was at a dead run, fumbling for the appropriate key, but once he reached her door he hesitated. Maybe it wasn't such a bright idea to barge in unexpected. He took a moment to catch his breath and then knocked softly. And then a bit louder. He counted to thirty. He wanted nothing more than to go to her and wrap his arms around her.
Think. OK. It's early afternoon. She's not at the lab. Hopefully, she's sleeping. Quietly, he let himself into the apartment. He found her asleep in her bed, and retreated to her living room to heave a sigh of relief and undress. Then he softly, gently, he eased into bed and spooned up against her. The peaceful cadence of her breath lulled him to sleep.