Disclaimer: They're not mine.
Pairing: Catherine/Grissom
Spoilers: None
Summary: First time CSI fic. Catherine finds herself at Gil's again, seeking refuge with her two-year old daughter. Sorry, it's a little long.
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On The Horizon
- o -
"I had this dream where I was running through trackless desert and I could see you ahead of me, miles ahead;
Just a figure on the horizon, but I knew it was you.
And I was running towards you, I'd been running for hours – you never got any closer.
It was hot and I was tired and I didn't know if I could keep going. I didn't know if you would wait.
But I thought that if I could, and if you did, then maybe I would reach you, sometime
And that was enough, somehow. That was enough for me."
- o -
At the sound of knocking at his front door, Gil Grissom set down his book and got up to open it. He knew who it would be before he even opened it and she knew he wouldn't be surprised to see her, or waste time asking her what she wants or how is she; he knew better than that.
Catherine stormed straight in, without saying a word. As she swept past him, he caught a glimpse of her blazing eyes and he said nothing either, shutting the door behind her. She marched towards his bedroom with a two-year old Lindsey on her hip, stopping just before she goes in and turning to him.
"Can we stay for the night, for a while?" she asked quietly. Her voice was still fierce and her defences were still up but she whispered because Lindsey slept, face buried in her mother's skinny shoulder. She asked more out of politeness; she'd done this enough times to know what his response would be.
"Stay forever," Gil answered with a shrug and followed her into his bedroom where she lay her toddler daughter down onto his double bed. It was almost routine, something would happen at home and Catherine would end up here: she and Lindsey sleeping the night on his double bed and him on the sofa. Often two nights. Sometimes three. Occasionally all week. And then she'd be gone again.
"I'm not going back this time," she declared as they stood back together, watching the young girl's trouble-free sleep for a moment. She always said that; and she always went back.
"Good. You'll stay here with me," he replied, leading her back out into the living room.
"I'm serious, Gil." she persisted, narrowing her eyes in suspicion of his disbelief. "I'm not messing around this time; I'm not going back."
"And I believe you," he said calmly. To some extent, he still did – everytime. Everytime she burst through the front door, fuming that she was never going back, he still believed her. He laughed bitterly at himself afterwards in the lonely condo for being naive, but he'd always believe her. It just made missing her all that much tougher, especially since, by the time the yearning became just a dull ache again, settling somewhere behind his sternum, she'd come back, promising never to leave.
"I've had enough," she announced, but didn't wait around to hear his response before stalking off into the kitchen. He poured her some fruit juice into a tall glass and set it down on the worktop in front of her as she paced restlessly on the tiled floor.
"It's just – it won't get better. I know that now. He'll stay an asshole all his life. And I've had enough," she muttered furiously, subconsciously taking a bottle of whiskey from a shelf and emptying the bottle into the fruit juice.
Gil only looked on in faint amusement until she picked up the glass and returned to sink into the couch. He followed her in and sat opposite her, waiting for her to continue – which she did. She took a sip of the drink and then looked at him with a disappointed frankness.
"I'm kidding myself, aren't I? I couldn't get by myself. Not on my pay, not like this." she admitted with a sigh.
"Of course you can. I'll help you out all you need; you can stay here as long as you want. You can stay here forever," he asserted, immediately. She smiled at him, gratefully.
"That's sweet but Eddie was right; I hate it when he's right, but he is. I'm no scientist, Gil – I'm just a glorified whore." she spat, contritely. "There's no getting away from that."
"Now you're kidding yourself," Gil told her, firmly. "He has never been right about you, ever. You're very good at your job."
"My job? Ha! My job?" Catherine laughed sardonically. "As what? I'm just the laboratory bitch!"
"I think they prefer the term 'technician.'" he commented lightly, a smile tugging at his lips for a moment. She rolled her eyes and took a long sip from her drink, wrinkling her nose as she did so.
"Whatever they like, it changes nothing – Lindsey could do my job."
"Well she's very intelligent for her age," he grinned at her. She smirked and shook her head at him, almost telling him off for cheering her up so quickly. Him and the alcohol.
"He shouldn't have said that to you," he said, after a pause. Catherine looked at him with eyebrows slightly arched in confusion. "That you were a glorified whore." She gave a short, sharp laugh and shrugged her shoulders.
"Hell, it doesn't matter now." she sighed.
"Of course it matters," he insisted. "You're worth more than that, you know? Worth more than him, worth more than all of this. Catherine, you're worth more than anyone could ever deserve."
"Like I believe that for one second." Catherine muttered into her glass, embarrassed slightly at the earnestness in his voice.
"Well you should," he said simply. "It is the truth. You could go very far in your job. You're intelligent, and witty, and sharp and you're beautiful. Someone should tell him, one day, someone should tell him he doesn't deserve even half of you."
"Huh – the last person to tell Eddie Willows where he belonged got a broken jaw." she stated, running her finger around the rim of the glass.
"Oh really? Who?" Gil leant forwards, curious to hear of the person who'd done what he'd always wanted to do. Catherine looked up with a rueful smile.
"That would be me."
Gil fell silent. He hadn't expected her to say that.
"Oh Catherine..." he murmured finally with a sadness that filled his eyes. She laughed awkwardly, not knowing quite what else to say and avoided his eyes.
"Don't worry; it was quite a long time ago. Stage manager at Paradise Garden yelled at him for it, anyway," she reassured him. "Told him nobody came to Vegas for a showgirl with a fat lip."
Gil looked at the carpet, shuffling his feet in the silence.
"Oh well." she sighed again. She glanced at the half inch of drink left in her glass, sniffed it curiously and ran a tongue over her lips before turning to him with a sly smile. "Did you spike my drink?"
He grinned in disbelief.
"No, you did. And finished up my scotch," he reminded her. Catherine narrows her eyes, remembering.
"Oh yeah. Sorry."
"So you should be," he teased. "That's some of my best stuff."
"To strip paint with?" she retorted, swallowing the last bit with a grimace.
"Something like that, yeah."
They sat in the comfortable quiet for a while before Catherine sank further into the couch, taking off her shoes and stretching her legs out on it.
"The first time I ever met you, the first time you talked to me after one of the shows, it wrecked me for weeks afterwards, you know." she began suddenly, gazing up at the ceiling. "Everytime my cell rang, or any phone at all, I always thought it'd be you. It was so stupid; you didn't even have my number, but I believed it every time."
Gil watched her carefully with intent eyes but when he said nothing, she carried on:
"It was so stupid. You would've thought that someone like me would've given up on their fairytale love story a while ago but I guess I had this romantic idea in my head that somehow, somehow you'd find your way to me." she finished and looked to him with a self-deprecating smile.
"Didn't I?" he answered solemnly. Catherine had a strange kind of melancholy expression as she looked sideways at him from where she lay on the couch.
"You tell me."
Within the next half an hour, she had fallen asleep, aided by the alcohol and by the way she felt at ease with him. She had nothing to hide from him and she knew he wouldn't take anything she wasn't willing to give. It wasn't even about willingness anymore, just stupid morals only she seemed to uphold.
"Catherine? Cath?" Gil got up and knelt in front of her. "You asleep?"
He stood up and looked at her in a way no other man in Catherine Willows' life would look if presented with her lying flat out and drunk on their couch. Carefully, so not to wake her, he removed all the objects on her person that might hurt her as she slept: her belt, her hair clip, her watch, the keys and cell in her pocket. Then he scooped her up gently in his arms and carried her to his room, laying her down onto the bed beside her small daughter.
As he slid her under the covers and tucked them around her, next to her, Lindsey stirred and half woke up.
"Mommy?" she mumbled into the darkness and began to whimper.
"Hey, hey, Lindsey – it's alright. It's me; it's your Uncle Gil." he whispered, hurrying round to her side of the bed so she could see him in the faint glow that seeped through the curtains from the streets outside. "It's alright, it's all okay. Go back to sleep."
"Rabbit?" Lindsey queried, eventually – realising where she was. He smiled.
"I'll just go get him." he told her and ruffled her blonde hair.
In his wardrobe, Gil Grissom had three sets of meticulously organised clothes: his own, Catherine's and Lindsey's. Above Lindsey's clothes on the shelf sat a collection of some of her toys, kept there for whenever they went over. In the centre of this was the soft, pale pink, stuffed rabbit he'd bought to calm the little girl down when she first ended up there after one of her parents' fights. It had lived there ever since.
"Here you go, ma'am." Gil handed her the rabbit on theatrically bended knee. Lindsey giggled, took the rabbit from him and promptly fell asleep again.
With a grin, he pulled up a chair. At first, Catherine had always protested fervently about the sleeping arrangements, arguing that it wasn't fair he had to give up his bed for the uncomfortable couch. In truth, the couch was probably more comfortable than the chair he sat in, but every now and then he would sit up beside the bed and just look at Catherine sleeping, wondering if she'd still be there tomorrow night, in a week, in a year. She knew he did it; she sometimes woke up in the morning to see him dozing in the chair but never said anything. She trusted him.
He looked at her now. He'd never known before about the broken jaw. She surprised him every time, always giving as good as she got and refusing pity for what she stated as mere fact. Perhaps she'd stay this time. Perhaps she really meant it.
"I've leeched off you long enough for now, Gil," she grinned, cheerily when he tried to convince her to stay for a fourth night.
"I thought you said you weren't going back this time, not this time." he objected. She sighed, and hoisted Lindsey up onto her hip.
"I say a lot of things," she dismissed his argument with a wave of her hand.
"Oh."
"This is how I live, Gil. I'm sorry you were caught up in it."
"It's a pretty lousy way to live," he blurted out before he could stop himself.
"Don't I know it, but for now it's the only way I know." she reminded him gently. He nodded; he understood. "Hey – I'll probably be back here in a couple of weeks, anyway." she added, brightly.
Catherine waves her two-year old daughter's small hand at him.
"Say goodbye to Uncle Gil, Lindsey." she encouraged her and Lindsey beamed.
"Bye!" she chirped and Gil smiled back, waving. With her free hand, Catherine opened his front door and slipped out.
"Bye, Gil!" she called back down the hall as he stood in the doorframe, still waving at the grinning child.
"Bye Uncle Rabbit!" Lindsey shouted as they were halfway down the hall. He laughed, shaking his head and closed the door when they disappeared around the corner.
It was the sight he hated the most: turning from his front door to find his apartment empty, alone again.
"You're a fool." he told himself, sternly.
It didn't matter, anyhow. No matter how many times he'd watched her disappear around that corner, he never gave up on her. It was how they lived: hoping that sometime, somehow, they'd find their way to each other.
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