erinm_4600
in
12to32
Fic: Sick Call
Title: Sick Call
Author: Erin (erinm_4600)
Characters, Pairing: Grissom and Catherine (mention of Nick and Betty Grissom)
Rating: G
Summary: True romance isn't always flowers and chocolates...
Warning: post-Catherine's exit *Written for True Love at writerverse. *for gatechic and bizarra, because we need more GRILLOWS. ♥
Disclaimer: The original characters belong to CBS and the Bruckster. The OCs are mine.
The bedroom was dark, save the light coming from the screen of the cellphone. After the third ring, an arm appeared from under the covers, reaching blindly for the annoyance. Making contact with the device, Catherine made a swift move to answer the call and pulled the phone to her ear. "Willows," she mumbled, then turned her head to cough into the pillow. She'd felt terrible for the better part of the morning, and had finally decided that she wasn’t going to be of use to anyone at the office, and headed home.
"You're five minutes late," she heard Grissom's voice as the cough had started. "Cath?" he continued, concern clear in his tone.
"Yeah," she managed a moment later, once the tickle had passed. "Not gonna make it. Call Nicky," she mumbled, exhaustion clearly winning out over thought.
"Cath," she heard her friend say. Humming a response, an eyebrow went up, but she didn't move. "Hang up the phone, Cath."
"Mm-hmm," she hummed, then repeated the motion she'd used to answer the call and let go of the phone as she rolled over, trying to find a cooler spot on the pillow.
~*~*~
About four hours later, Catherine stirred and, realizing the noises she was hearing were coming from inside her apartment, she pushed up and reached for the night table, where her sidearm was stored. It took a moment for her to get out of bed - the virus had her a bit woozy - and she managed to stumble into the hallway, gun raised.
Reaching the corner that opened into the kitchen, Catherine's grip on the pistol tightened and she stepped into the opening. Standing at the stove, looking up at her over his glasses, was Grissom. "Damnit, Gil!" she sighed, lowering the gun and leaning against the wall. "What the Hell are you doing?"
"Making you some of my mother's famous soup. Cures any sickness," he nodded, stepping out of the kitchen and taking the gun out of her hand and placing it on the counter.
"How did you even know I was sick?" Catherine asked, turning her head to cough.
"Well," he answered, putting one hand on her shoulder and the other around her, "you told me to call Nick. And," he nodded, "since neither of us work with Nick, any more..." Grissom moved her back into the hallway and toward her bedroom. "Now, you get back into bed. And, when the soup is ready, I will bring it to you."
"You can't boss me around," she grumbled, though really glad to see him; it had been far too long. "I don't work for you any-" Making a face, Catherine turned to face Grissom. "When did you get to DC?"
"About half an hour ago," he replied with a shrug. As soon as the plane had landed, he rented a car, stopped at the first grocery store, and had headed for her apartment. With a nod, Grissom pointed to the bed and helped Catherine climb back under the covers.
"Wait, you flew all the way to DC because I was sick?" she scoffed.
"Of course," Grissom shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed. "That's what friends do." Catherine snorted, then coughed.
Once the fit had passed, Catherine groaned and stared at the ceiling. "You hung up the phone, got on a plane... to come here and make me soup?" Grissom nodded. "What am I going to do with you?"
Grissom simply shrugged, then smirked.
Author: Erin (erinm_4600)
Characters, Pairing: Grissom and Catherine (mention of Nick and Betty Grissom)
Rating: G
Summary: True romance isn't always flowers and chocolates...
Warning: post-Catherine's exit *Written for True Love at writerverse. *for gatechic and bizarra, because we need more GRILLOWS. ♥
Disclaimer: The original characters belong to CBS and the Bruckster. The OCs are mine.
The bedroom was dark, save the light coming from the screen of the cellphone. After the third ring, an arm appeared from under the covers, reaching blindly for the annoyance. Making contact with the device, Catherine made a swift move to answer the call and pulled the phone to her ear. "Willows," she mumbled, then turned her head to cough into the pillow. She'd felt terrible for the better part of the morning, and had finally decided that she wasn’t going to be of use to anyone at the office, and headed home.
"You're five minutes late," she heard Grissom's voice as the cough had started. "Cath?" he continued, concern clear in his tone.
"Yeah," she managed a moment later, once the tickle had passed. "Not gonna make it. Call Nicky," she mumbled, exhaustion clearly winning out over thought.
"Cath," she heard her friend say. Humming a response, an eyebrow went up, but she didn't move. "Hang up the phone, Cath."
"Mm-hmm," she hummed, then repeated the motion she'd used to answer the call and let go of the phone as she rolled over, trying to find a cooler spot on the pillow.
~*~*~
About four hours later, Catherine stirred and, realizing the noises she was hearing were coming from inside her apartment, she pushed up and reached for the night table, where her sidearm was stored. It took a moment for her to get out of bed - the virus had her a bit woozy - and she managed to stumble into the hallway, gun raised.
Reaching the corner that opened into the kitchen, Catherine's grip on the pistol tightened and she stepped into the opening. Standing at the stove, looking up at her over his glasses, was Grissom. "Damnit, Gil!" she sighed, lowering the gun and leaning against the wall. "What the Hell are you doing?"
"Making you some of my mother's famous soup. Cures any sickness," he nodded, stepping out of the kitchen and taking the gun out of her hand and placing it on the counter.
"How did you even know I was sick?" Catherine asked, turning her head to cough.
"Well," he answered, putting one hand on her shoulder and the other around her, "you told me to call Nick. And," he nodded, "since neither of us work with Nick, any more..." Grissom moved her back into the hallway and toward her bedroom. "Now, you get back into bed. And, when the soup is ready, I will bring it to you."
"You can't boss me around," she grumbled, though really glad to see him; it had been far too long. "I don't work for you any-" Making a face, Catherine turned to face Grissom. "When did you get to DC?"
"About half an hour ago," he replied with a shrug. As soon as the plane had landed, he rented a car, stopped at the first grocery store, and had headed for her apartment. With a nod, Grissom pointed to the bed and helped Catherine climb back under the covers.
"Wait, you flew all the way to DC because I was sick?" she scoffed.
"Of course," Grissom shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed. "That's what friends do." Catherine snorted, then coughed.
Once the fit had passed, Catherine groaned and stared at the ceiling. "You hung up the phone, got on a plane... to come here and make me soup?" Grissom nodded. "What am I going to do with you?"
Grissom simply shrugged, then smirked.