Bindings part 2
Title: Bindings part two.
Author: angel1972
Feedback Email: angelaumbrello@yahoo.com
Rating: PG (just to be on the safe side)
Pairing: Catherine/Lady Heather
Fandom: CSI: LV
Fragment: #36 “or you love some man more than me.”
Word Count: 1455 (w/o the header)
Summary: A companion piece to Bindings part 1. Catherine’s point of view on a doomed romance.
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or any of the characters, this is done purely for entertainment puposes.
Author's Notes: 1) If you want to archive this story, just tell me.
2) This is a stand alone companion piece to part 1 as opposed to a sequel, so if it’s been a while since you read part 1 then you should be okay to read this.
3) I have no idea or if I’ll be writing a part 3.
Beta: Thanks and hugs to Margy and Rosie for helping me.
Bindings part 1 is here; community.livejournal.com/passion_perfect/377642.html
*****
“In the land of memory, the time is now. In the kingdom of ago the clocks tick . . . but their hands never move.” Stephen King, Song of Susannah.
*****
Passive suicide.
I don’t need a psych degree, or a fancy text book to tell me that.
I’m a mother after all; I understand.
I understand the depths of despair you must have gone through. I understand the anguish and grief that must have fed on you like a school of hungry pirana. Our daughters are everything, the sole focal point of our whole life. They are the reason we get out of bed in the morning, the reason we work, the reason we breathe.
Without them we have nothing; we are nothing.
So it was no surprise that you would attempt suicide. What was surprising was that you needed a second party to do the deed. Was it your rigorous Christian upbringing with edicts against suicide that prevented you from taking your own life? Or did the passivity represent the helplessness you felt, the feeling that you had so little control over your own life? Was hiring someone to kill you the only way for you to regain that vaunted control?
Whatever it was, I can’t help but wonder, had I been there, had I not been a coward and abandoned you, would I have been strong enough to anchor you to life? Would I have been reason enough for you to keep going?
I guess I’ll never know.
I can still see you standing in the doorway of the Dominion. You were dark and beautiful, and looked as you had just stepped down from Mt. Olympus. For the first time in my life I felt awe toward another human being.
I knew what kind of place the Dominion was, but it didn’t matter to me. Though most people would have found your establishment to be distasteful at best, I found my curiosity piqued. I could hear the cries of pain/pleasure and knew that the whole place ran on your word. I found along with my awe a kernel of respect was growing. I liked the idea of a woman with all that power; I liked how you made Jim and Gil squirm.
When I returned the next day to inspect masks, I found that something else was growing.
Attraction.
I could feel my pulse quicken, and warmth spread through my chest. There was just something about that moment, the two of us standing in your kitchen chatting away about our work and our daughters that made me see you as more than a domme. And I liked what I saw. I was certain you liked what she saw as well, because one minute you were telling me I’d make a good dominatrix, and the next we were kissing.
It was a perfect first kiss, the kind you dream of, practice for, but never achieve, usually because one or both of you are too nervous or too self-conscious, we were neither. It was . . . natural, and yet it felt almost as if we were under some kind of spell. We were drawn to each other by some invisible force that neither one of us bothered fighting.
The spell was broken when my pager went off. I took what I needed from the sink, and left without even a backwards glance. I didn’t know what would have been worse, seeing regret in your eyes or lust.
It took me nearly two weeks to screw up the courage to return. Though there were several times in the median I found myself turning left to your Dominion instead of right to my house, but always something made me correct my course. I think it was fear. Maybe it was of rejection, maybe it was of having read too much into something that was simply heat of the moment. Or maybe, if I were to be honest with myself, it was something about your raw sexuality that gave me pause. I could feel something in me starting to awaken when we kissed, something I had thought was long buried.
Anyway, I ended up on your front stairs. It was after a particularly long and difficult case and I was exhausted. Consciously I was thinking of going home and having a nice long soak in the bathtub; my unconscious on the other hand had other ideas. It was like a string was connecting me and you, it was pulling us together because before I knew it, I found myself knocking on your door. I was nervous and expectant, and I spent the next few moments trying to concoct a believable excuse for my long absence as I waited for you to answer.
I shouldn’t have bothered.
I barely had ten words out of my mouth before you were silencing with your hand over my mouth which was quickly replaced with your mouth. It was if no time had passed between kisses, and once again I could feel heat burning through my chest and stomach and settling right between my legs where it was joined by a dull throbbing ache. In my mind I could feel a part of my subconscious rejoice as if it were a long held captive now finally free.
It was only after we pulled apart for air that I became aware that my hands were shaking slightly. I looked into your eyes and there was no mistaken this as heat of the moment. You wanted me; I wanted you.
The trip to your private chambers was a blur. We could have sprouted wings and flown there and I wouldn’t have noticed, or remembered. I do remember practically tearing your clothes off; I do remember how you tasted, how you smelt, and how you sounded when you came.
We didn’t make love that day, nor any of the following days that I visited. It was lust. It was sex. It was two powerful women who for a brief moment were allowed to lower their guards without fear of what others would think.
And that’s how things started going downhill.
I don’t know when it happened, or how it happened, it came upon me slowly and insidiously.
In less than six months we had gone from pure sex to something I didn’t dare name, but in hindsight knew damn well what it was.
First there was awe, then there was respect, then there was attraction, and then . . . and then there was love.
If it had remained purely physical, things would have been different. They certainly would have been simpler. I would not feel this overwhelming desire to be by your side, nor would I feel guilty because I’m not there, I can’t be there. I gave up that right the moment I chose to care about what others would think of my actions.
But you have to understand something, I’ve worked my whole life to be respectable. It took a lot of effort to bury my old life under the facade of normalcy. I don’t smoke, strip, or take drugs. I go to pta meetings (when I can), and I’ve even baked a cookie or two.
I wanted to be thought of as normal, as just another little drone buzzing about trying to provide for my daughter, something more secure than my mother provided me. I never expected to meet someone like you, or that the walls I built around my old life, my old urges would crumble so easily. I thought they were made of bricks, but in the end it turned out they were made of cards.
And now it’s too late to do anything even if I wanted to. I saw you at the park with Gil and Allison. He had his arm around your shoulders and the two of you were watching the toddler. You looked like a real family, it was like a dagger was thrust into my chest. You didn’t need me anymore (if you ever did). And even if I could make myself go to you, what would I say? What would I do? Too much time has gone by to simply pick up where we left off. Besides, he’s there. And of course out of all the times I chastised him for not having people skills, this is the time he decides to listen to me.
I have no right to anger, and yet I feel my face burn with it. I have no right to jealousy, and yet my eyes I’m certain are a nice shade of green. But mostly I have no right to deny you the support and care of a friend.
And if something should grow, who am I to deny you love?
Even if it’s with Gil.
*End.*
Author: angel1972
Feedback Email: angelaumbrello@yahoo.com
Rating: PG (just to be on the safe side)
Pairing: Catherine/Lady Heather
Fandom: CSI: LV
Fragment: #36 “or you love some man more than me.”
Word Count: 1455 (w/o the header)
Summary: A companion piece to Bindings part 1. Catherine’s point of view on a doomed romance.
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or any of the characters, this is done purely for entertainment puposes.
Author's Notes: 1) If you want to archive this story, just tell me.
2) This is a stand alone companion piece to part 1 as opposed to a sequel, so if it’s been a while since you read part 1 then you should be okay to read this.
3) I have no idea or if I’ll be writing a part 3.
Beta: Thanks and hugs to Margy and Rosie for helping me.
Bindings part 1 is here; community.livejournal.com/passion_perfect/377642.html
*****
“In the land of memory, the time is now. In the kingdom of ago the clocks tick . . . but their hands never move.” Stephen King, Song of Susannah.
*****
Passive suicide.
I don’t need a psych degree, or a fancy text book to tell me that.
I’m a mother after all; I understand.
I understand the depths of despair you must have gone through. I understand the anguish and grief that must have fed on you like a school of hungry pirana. Our daughters are everything, the sole focal point of our whole life. They are the reason we get out of bed in the morning, the reason we work, the reason we breathe.
Without them we have nothing; we are nothing.
So it was no surprise that you would attempt suicide. What was surprising was that you needed a second party to do the deed. Was it your rigorous Christian upbringing with edicts against suicide that prevented you from taking your own life? Or did the passivity represent the helplessness you felt, the feeling that you had so little control over your own life? Was hiring someone to kill you the only way for you to regain that vaunted control?
Whatever it was, I can’t help but wonder, had I been there, had I not been a coward and abandoned you, would I have been strong enough to anchor you to life? Would I have been reason enough for you to keep going?
I guess I’ll never know.
I can still see you standing in the doorway of the Dominion. You were dark and beautiful, and looked as you had just stepped down from Mt. Olympus. For the first time in my life I felt awe toward another human being.
I knew what kind of place the Dominion was, but it didn’t matter to me. Though most people would have found your establishment to be distasteful at best, I found my curiosity piqued. I could hear the cries of pain/pleasure and knew that the whole place ran on your word. I found along with my awe a kernel of respect was growing. I liked the idea of a woman with all that power; I liked how you made Jim and Gil squirm.
When I returned the next day to inspect masks, I found that something else was growing.
Attraction.
I could feel my pulse quicken, and warmth spread through my chest. There was just something about that moment, the two of us standing in your kitchen chatting away about our work and our daughters that made me see you as more than a domme. And I liked what I saw. I was certain you liked what she saw as well, because one minute you were telling me I’d make a good dominatrix, and the next we were kissing.
It was a perfect first kiss, the kind you dream of, practice for, but never achieve, usually because one or both of you are too nervous or too self-conscious, we were neither. It was . . . natural, and yet it felt almost as if we were under some kind of spell. We were drawn to each other by some invisible force that neither one of us bothered fighting.
The spell was broken when my pager went off. I took what I needed from the sink, and left without even a backwards glance. I didn’t know what would have been worse, seeing regret in your eyes or lust.
It took me nearly two weeks to screw up the courage to return. Though there were several times in the median I found myself turning left to your Dominion instead of right to my house, but always something made me correct my course. I think it was fear. Maybe it was of rejection, maybe it was of having read too much into something that was simply heat of the moment. Or maybe, if I were to be honest with myself, it was something about your raw sexuality that gave me pause. I could feel something in me starting to awaken when we kissed, something I had thought was long buried.
Anyway, I ended up on your front stairs. It was after a particularly long and difficult case and I was exhausted. Consciously I was thinking of going home and having a nice long soak in the bathtub; my unconscious on the other hand had other ideas. It was like a string was connecting me and you, it was pulling us together because before I knew it, I found myself knocking on your door. I was nervous and expectant, and I spent the next few moments trying to concoct a believable excuse for my long absence as I waited for you to answer.
I shouldn’t have bothered.
I barely had ten words out of my mouth before you were silencing with your hand over my mouth which was quickly replaced with your mouth. It was if no time had passed between kisses, and once again I could feel heat burning through my chest and stomach and settling right between my legs where it was joined by a dull throbbing ache. In my mind I could feel a part of my subconscious rejoice as if it were a long held captive now finally free.
It was only after we pulled apart for air that I became aware that my hands were shaking slightly. I looked into your eyes and there was no mistaken this as heat of the moment. You wanted me; I wanted you.
The trip to your private chambers was a blur. We could have sprouted wings and flown there and I wouldn’t have noticed, or remembered. I do remember practically tearing your clothes off; I do remember how you tasted, how you smelt, and how you sounded when you came.
We didn’t make love that day, nor any of the following days that I visited. It was lust. It was sex. It was two powerful women who for a brief moment were allowed to lower their guards without fear of what others would think.
And that’s how things started going downhill.
I don’t know when it happened, or how it happened, it came upon me slowly and insidiously.
In less than six months we had gone from pure sex to something I didn’t dare name, but in hindsight knew damn well what it was.
First there was awe, then there was respect, then there was attraction, and then . . . and then there was love.
If it had remained purely physical, things would have been different. They certainly would have been simpler. I would not feel this overwhelming desire to be by your side, nor would I feel guilty because I’m not there, I can’t be there. I gave up that right the moment I chose to care about what others would think of my actions.
But you have to understand something, I’ve worked my whole life to be respectable. It took a lot of effort to bury my old life under the facade of normalcy. I don’t smoke, strip, or take drugs. I go to pta meetings (when I can), and I’ve even baked a cookie or two.
I wanted to be thought of as normal, as just another little drone buzzing about trying to provide for my daughter, something more secure than my mother provided me. I never expected to meet someone like you, or that the walls I built around my old life, my old urges would crumble so easily. I thought they were made of bricks, but in the end it turned out they were made of cards.
And now it’s too late to do anything even if I wanted to. I saw you at the park with Gil and Allison. He had his arm around your shoulders and the two of you were watching the toddler. You looked like a real family, it was like a dagger was thrust into my chest. You didn’t need me anymore (if you ever did). And even if I could make myself go to you, what would I say? What would I do? Too much time has gone by to simply pick up where we left off. Besides, he’s there. And of course out of all the times I chastised him for not having people skills, this is the time he decides to listen to me.
I have no right to anger, and yet I feel my face burn with it. I have no right to jealousy, and yet my eyes I’m certain are a nice shade of green. But mostly I have no right to deny you the support and care of a friend.
And if something should grow, who am I to deny you love?
Even if it’s with Gil.
*End.*