CSI FIC :: "Solace" [Catherine/Lady Heather, PG13]
Title: Solace
Author: A. Magiluna Stormwriter
Email: stormwriter@shatterstorm.net
Rating: PG13
Pairings: Catherine/Lady Heather
Date: 16-17 May 2009
Word Count: 2005
Written for: femme_fic 2009
Recipient: cat_latin
Summary: Friendships happen in the strangest of places…
Spoilers: Takes place post-"One to Go" [9x10]
Website: ShatterStorm Productions - Frisked & Conquered
Link to: http://f-n-c.shatterstorm.net/
Archive: ShatterStorm Productions only…all others ask for permission & we'll see…
Author’s Disclaimer: "CSI: Crime Scene Investigators," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Jerry Bruckheimer Television, Alliance Atlantis, and CBS Productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "CSI: Crime Scene Investigators," CBS, or any representatives of the actors.
Prompt:
Fandom: CSI Vegas
Characters: Catherine Willows/Lady Heather,
Prompt: Catherine and Lady Heather have an acquaintance based on mutual
respect. They meet socially, and swap stories of their former careers:
exotic dancer and dominatrix. They have a mutual attraction. It is up to
the writer how they act on it.
Three Things You Don't Want: No limits. Have fun.
Author’s Notes: This was a pinch hit for femme_fic. And I'm actually quite glad I got this particular set of prompts. Again, only one fandom I could write in, but thankfully I've always been fascinated by Lady Heather. Who knew I had a muse for her already? Granted, she's a combination of Lady Heartsblood and Darya, but that's okay. And who knew that my Lady Heather muse loves Manhattan Transfer? I wrote the bulk of this story while listening to my MT playlist. Woo!
Dedication: To my muses, for constantly surprising me with new ideas…
Beta: ctorres
"Solace"
By A. Magiluna Stormwriter
It still intrigues me that this meeting of the minds, so to speak, has developed in the first place. While I can still see the natural flair for domination, it's also very obvious that she'll probably never sample that particular lifestyle. No, just like I finally did with Allison, she left her former life behind for her daughter. Some days, when the memories of Zoë's death weigh hardest on me, I wish I would have left the Dominion behind to focus more on my own daughter. But alas, hindsight is 20/20, or so the saying goes, and time marches on despite our best intentions to the contrary.
Our meetings began shortly after Grissom put into motion my ability to be a part of my granddaughter's life. I don't think that Catherine ever knew that Grissom was coming to me for… absolution. I've never shared that information with her, and consider it akin to doctor-patient privilege. As for Catherine? She was looking for someone to talk to, someone that might understand certain aspects of her life. And through these meetings, I've come to see her as a friend: something I have never had many of in my life.
Catherine once told me that her benighted father had employed her when she was in her exotic dancer days, that he'd saved his "best girl" for his best clients. While I am a firm believer in the healthy expression of one's sexuality, the very idea that her own father would have no compunctions about pimping her out is anathema to me. Even if Zoë had chosen to enter into the world of BDSM, following in my footsteps, I would never have treated her like Sam Braun treated his own daughter. That Catherine still professes to love her father, in their very toxically co-dependent way, is a testament to her inner strength.
Even after all this time, knowing what I do of Catherine Willows, I can still admit to a certain curiosity regarding her trying out aspects of my former lifestyle. I believe Catherine would prove to be a worthy dominatrix if she chose that profession. But I also know that her current profession would preclude any consideration she might have in the exploration of such. Given the information both she and Grissom have shared in the past about their chosen career, the extraordinary circumstances lead them to lives and hobbies that tend toward the mundanities of the status quo. It's a pity, really, but it is her choice.
Perhaps one day, Catherine and I can discuss this in greater detail, but not today. No, today is for trivialities, trifles, and tea. Catherine has expressly requested this meeting. I must admit to a great amount of curiosity, particularly given the precariousness of her emotional state, based on how she carefully worded the request. While we try to meet once a month where permitted, her schedule has been extraordinarily busy ever since Grissom left to meet up with Sara Sidle. But that seems appropriate, given her promotion to supervisor in his stead.
Glancing at the clock, I slip the ribbon into place and close up the leather-bound journal. It was part of an extravagant gift to myself when I received my credentials to practice therapy. I've worked my way through two of the half dozen volumes in the set, dealing with my own life's trials. At this rate, I'll need to get another half dozen volumes soon enough.
The doorbell pulls me from my reverie, and I stop to start the kettle before reaching the front door. Upon opening it, my smile wavers at the sight of a much disheveled Catherine Willows standing on my doorstep. Without thought, I usher her in, divesting her of jacket and handbag in no time, and settle her on the couch in my sitting room. Only when I know she's comfortable do I return to the kitchen to complete the tray for our afternoon tea. Upon returning to the sitting room, I find Catherine curled into the corner of the couch, arms wrapped around her legs, and looking simultaneously far older and younger than her age.
"Catherine?" I ask softly, as if speaking with a frightened child, and kneel in front of her. That one word is all it takes; Catherine falls into my arms, tears soaking my shoulder. Comfort is automatic as my hands stroke down her back repeatedly, letting her cry out her emotions.
"I’m sorry," she finally whispers raggedly, but doesn't move from my embrace. "It's been a really rough week."
I shift to join her on the couch, never losing the comforting grip I have on her, and smile. "You've no need to apologize, Catherine. What good is a friend if not to bolster you when you're not strong enough to do it yourself?" She nods self-consciously and slowly extricates herself from my embrace. Keeping a watchful eye on her, I move to pour the tea, sweetening it to her preferences, and hand her the first cup. Fixing my own cup of tea, I settle back and take a slow sip, savoring the spiciness, before facing her again. "So tell me, Catherine, what has happened to shake your resolve so?"
She sets her cup on the table and lets out a harsh burst of strained laughter. "I'm not sure I'm cut out for this supervision thing," she finally says slowly. "I'm not sure how Gil did it, and I don't see how I'll ever actually do it as well as he did it."
Ah, now things begin to make sense. I take a moment to formulate my thoughts, searching for an equitable mix of professional and friend. "You can't compare yourself to Gil Grissom, Catherine. You and he are nothing alike. He lived his life for the job, for the challenge of the science. Your life is far more social, including your daughter and friends."
"He had Sara," she snorts, an almost derisive note to her tone. "And that damned dog that I've now inherited. He just up and abandoned us, and left me to pick up the pieces, clean up his messes. I hate men and their damned mid-life crises."
I bite back a smile at the correct assumption of a mid-life crisis at the crux of Grissom's decisions of late. I even told him as much the last time we saw each other. But that still doesn't condone the sloppiness of his actions before he left Las Vegas to search for his elusive gold ring of happiness with a woman who spurned him more times than not. But I hold no grudges against his choices, if he made them in good faith. Much has changed between the two of us over the last few years, but I will hold our former relationship as a dear memory.
"And that bothers you that he left you behind for another woman?" Once the words are out, I hear the faintly teasing tone that I hadn't consciously intended. But the reaction from Catherine is very telling. "You and he were very good friends for a long time, Catherine, and you turned to him for a sort of stability and safety that is no longer there. It's perfectly normal to feel betrayed by that, but that has nothing to do with your ability to supervise your team. You've done it before. What's the difference now?"
"Before…" There is a long pause as she contemplates the question and her answer. "Gil was still around before. He was my buffer zone, my sounding board when I had issues. Now he's gone and Warrick's gone, and I don't really have anyone left that can be that strong sounding board anymore. It would be different if Jim was still intimately involved with the CSIs, or if Doc Robbins would leave the morgue a little more often. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love Greg and Nicky to death, and Riley and Ray are too new to really know where they stand."
"But the two men you could always count on are no longer there for you," I finish the thought smoothly and reach over to stroke her cheek gently. "Catherine, you have survived so much in your lifetime. You are a strong woman in your own right, and more than capable of meeting any and all challenges you face. You don't need to have a man in your life to validate your actions and choices, whether that man be friend, colleague, or lover."
"Now I really do sound pathetic when you put it that way." Her tremulous smile actually reaches her eyes, a good sign that this discussion is helping. "I just… There's always been someone that I could rely on, and it was coincidentally always a man. Now I feel like I'm floundering a bit."
"You aren't floundering nearly so badly as you think you are," I reply with a smile. "The fact that you can admit this 'flaw' of yours is more telling of your strength than any perceived weakness."
She laughs at that, a lovely sound, and reaches for one of the dainty cucumber sandwiches I've become enamored of lately. In only two bites, the morsel is gone, and I find myself watching her as she chews. Her eyes take on that contemplative, faraway look again. A second sandwich is quickly dispatched and suddenly she flushes hotly as her stomach growls in a most intimidating manner. Before she can say anything, I'm on my feet and holding out a hand toward her.
"I'm going to guess by your reaction that you haven't been taking very good care of yourself lately." I cut off any chance at protest with a finger against her lips. "Let me make you something more substantial, and I won't take no for an answer. Allow yourself to be pampered, Catherine, and accept the solace and safety that I and my home offer you willingly."
She blushes again, but nods nevertheless and follows me into the kitchen. Pointing to the counter, I wait until she settles on a stool before retrieving the tea paraphernalia from the sitting room. When I come back, she's toying with a strand of her own hair, worrying the pale strawberry lock around her finger. Tea replenished for both of us, I pull out the ingredients for a simple chicken and shrimp stir fry. A comfortable silence descends upon us as I task her with slicing vegetables and putting together a salad while I prepare the proteins and rice.
Once the meal is completed, I dish it up and join her at the counter. Again, there is no conversation while we eat, but the companionable peace is like a balm to the soul. I can sense that Catherine is equally grateful for the peacefulness, and I watch surreptitiously as the strained set of her shoulders eases. Only after she's stuffed herself do I lead her back into the sitting room to further relax while I clean up the remnants of our meal.
"Thank you," she murmurs around a sudden yawn when I again join her on the couch.
Clicking a remote fills the room with soft classical music, and I reach over to pull her head to my shoulder. She resists initially, but quickly acquiesces as lassitude begins to settle over her. I continue to stroke her back and hair as she drifts into much needed slumber. The simple domesticity of the situation is not lost on me, and I have to wonder exactly what it means that Catherine has turned to me for solace in her time of indecision and need. I certainly won't deny that it's a heady sensation to know that she could be visiting more often. I have long enjoyed our repartee, and she brings out something in me that I haven't felt in a very long time.
Perhaps once she's awake, we can discuss this emerging shift in our relationship. Only time will tell what will come of this and, for once, I am eager to meet the future head on.
Author: A. Magiluna Stormwriter
Email: stormwriter@shatterstorm.net
Rating: PG13
Pairings: Catherine/Lady Heather
Date: 16-17 May 2009
Word Count: 2005
Written for: femme_fic 2009
Recipient: cat_latin
Summary: Friendships happen in the strangest of places…
Spoilers: Takes place post-"One to Go" [9x10]
Website: ShatterStorm Productions - Frisked & Conquered
Link to: http://f-n-c.shatterstorm.net/
Archive: ShatterStorm Productions only…all others ask for permission & we'll see…
Author’s Disclaimer: "CSI: Crime Scene Investigators," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Jerry Bruckheimer Television, Alliance Atlantis, and CBS Productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "CSI: Crime Scene Investigators," CBS, or any representatives of the actors.
Prompt:
Fandom: CSI Vegas
Characters: Catherine Willows/Lady Heather,
Prompt: Catherine and Lady Heather have an acquaintance based on mutual
respect. They meet socially, and swap stories of their former careers:
exotic dancer and dominatrix. They have a mutual attraction. It is up to
the writer how they act on it.
Three Things You Don't Want: No limits. Have fun.
Author’s Notes: This was a pinch hit for femme_fic. And I'm actually quite glad I got this particular set of prompts. Again, only one fandom I could write in, but thankfully I've always been fascinated by Lady Heather. Who knew I had a muse for her already? Granted, she's a combination of Lady Heartsblood and Darya, but that's okay. And who knew that my Lady Heather muse loves Manhattan Transfer? I wrote the bulk of this story while listening to my MT playlist. Woo!
Dedication: To my muses, for constantly surprising me with new ideas…
Beta: ctorres
"Solace"
By A. Magiluna Stormwriter
It still intrigues me that this meeting of the minds, so to speak, has developed in the first place. While I can still see the natural flair for domination, it's also very obvious that she'll probably never sample that particular lifestyle. No, just like I finally did with Allison, she left her former life behind for her daughter. Some days, when the memories of Zoë's death weigh hardest on me, I wish I would have left the Dominion behind to focus more on my own daughter. But alas, hindsight is 20/20, or so the saying goes, and time marches on despite our best intentions to the contrary.
Our meetings began shortly after Grissom put into motion my ability to be a part of my granddaughter's life. I don't think that Catherine ever knew that Grissom was coming to me for… absolution. I've never shared that information with her, and consider it akin to doctor-patient privilege. As for Catherine? She was looking for someone to talk to, someone that might understand certain aspects of her life. And through these meetings, I've come to see her as a friend: something I have never had many of in my life.
Catherine once told me that her benighted father had employed her when she was in her exotic dancer days, that he'd saved his "best girl" for his best clients. While I am a firm believer in the healthy expression of one's sexuality, the very idea that her own father would have no compunctions about pimping her out is anathema to me. Even if Zoë had chosen to enter into the world of BDSM, following in my footsteps, I would never have treated her like Sam Braun treated his own daughter. That Catherine still professes to love her father, in their very toxically co-dependent way, is a testament to her inner strength.
Even after all this time, knowing what I do of Catherine Willows, I can still admit to a certain curiosity regarding her trying out aspects of my former lifestyle. I believe Catherine would prove to be a worthy dominatrix if she chose that profession. But I also know that her current profession would preclude any consideration she might have in the exploration of such. Given the information both she and Grissom have shared in the past about their chosen career, the extraordinary circumstances lead them to lives and hobbies that tend toward the mundanities of the status quo. It's a pity, really, but it is her choice.
Perhaps one day, Catherine and I can discuss this in greater detail, but not today. No, today is for trivialities, trifles, and tea. Catherine has expressly requested this meeting. I must admit to a great amount of curiosity, particularly given the precariousness of her emotional state, based on how she carefully worded the request. While we try to meet once a month where permitted, her schedule has been extraordinarily busy ever since Grissom left to meet up with Sara Sidle. But that seems appropriate, given her promotion to supervisor in his stead.
Glancing at the clock, I slip the ribbon into place and close up the leather-bound journal. It was part of an extravagant gift to myself when I received my credentials to practice therapy. I've worked my way through two of the half dozen volumes in the set, dealing with my own life's trials. At this rate, I'll need to get another half dozen volumes soon enough.
The doorbell pulls me from my reverie, and I stop to start the kettle before reaching the front door. Upon opening it, my smile wavers at the sight of a much disheveled Catherine Willows standing on my doorstep. Without thought, I usher her in, divesting her of jacket and handbag in no time, and settle her on the couch in my sitting room. Only when I know she's comfortable do I return to the kitchen to complete the tray for our afternoon tea. Upon returning to the sitting room, I find Catherine curled into the corner of the couch, arms wrapped around her legs, and looking simultaneously far older and younger than her age.
"Catherine?" I ask softly, as if speaking with a frightened child, and kneel in front of her. That one word is all it takes; Catherine falls into my arms, tears soaking my shoulder. Comfort is automatic as my hands stroke down her back repeatedly, letting her cry out her emotions.
"I’m sorry," she finally whispers raggedly, but doesn't move from my embrace. "It's been a really rough week."
I shift to join her on the couch, never losing the comforting grip I have on her, and smile. "You've no need to apologize, Catherine. What good is a friend if not to bolster you when you're not strong enough to do it yourself?" She nods self-consciously and slowly extricates herself from my embrace. Keeping a watchful eye on her, I move to pour the tea, sweetening it to her preferences, and hand her the first cup. Fixing my own cup of tea, I settle back and take a slow sip, savoring the spiciness, before facing her again. "So tell me, Catherine, what has happened to shake your resolve so?"
She sets her cup on the table and lets out a harsh burst of strained laughter. "I'm not sure I'm cut out for this supervision thing," she finally says slowly. "I'm not sure how Gil did it, and I don't see how I'll ever actually do it as well as he did it."
Ah, now things begin to make sense. I take a moment to formulate my thoughts, searching for an equitable mix of professional and friend. "You can't compare yourself to Gil Grissom, Catherine. You and he are nothing alike. He lived his life for the job, for the challenge of the science. Your life is far more social, including your daughter and friends."
"He had Sara," she snorts, an almost derisive note to her tone. "And that damned dog that I've now inherited. He just up and abandoned us, and left me to pick up the pieces, clean up his messes. I hate men and their damned mid-life crises."
I bite back a smile at the correct assumption of a mid-life crisis at the crux of Grissom's decisions of late. I even told him as much the last time we saw each other. But that still doesn't condone the sloppiness of his actions before he left Las Vegas to search for his elusive gold ring of happiness with a woman who spurned him more times than not. But I hold no grudges against his choices, if he made them in good faith. Much has changed between the two of us over the last few years, but I will hold our former relationship as a dear memory.
"And that bothers you that he left you behind for another woman?" Once the words are out, I hear the faintly teasing tone that I hadn't consciously intended. But the reaction from Catherine is very telling. "You and he were very good friends for a long time, Catherine, and you turned to him for a sort of stability and safety that is no longer there. It's perfectly normal to feel betrayed by that, but that has nothing to do with your ability to supervise your team. You've done it before. What's the difference now?"
"Before…" There is a long pause as she contemplates the question and her answer. "Gil was still around before. He was my buffer zone, my sounding board when I had issues. Now he's gone and Warrick's gone, and I don't really have anyone left that can be that strong sounding board anymore. It would be different if Jim was still intimately involved with the CSIs, or if Doc Robbins would leave the morgue a little more often. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love Greg and Nicky to death, and Riley and Ray are too new to really know where they stand."
"But the two men you could always count on are no longer there for you," I finish the thought smoothly and reach over to stroke her cheek gently. "Catherine, you have survived so much in your lifetime. You are a strong woman in your own right, and more than capable of meeting any and all challenges you face. You don't need to have a man in your life to validate your actions and choices, whether that man be friend, colleague, or lover."
"Now I really do sound pathetic when you put it that way." Her tremulous smile actually reaches her eyes, a good sign that this discussion is helping. "I just… There's always been someone that I could rely on, and it was coincidentally always a man. Now I feel like I'm floundering a bit."
"You aren't floundering nearly so badly as you think you are," I reply with a smile. "The fact that you can admit this 'flaw' of yours is more telling of your strength than any perceived weakness."
She laughs at that, a lovely sound, and reaches for one of the dainty cucumber sandwiches I've become enamored of lately. In only two bites, the morsel is gone, and I find myself watching her as she chews. Her eyes take on that contemplative, faraway look again. A second sandwich is quickly dispatched and suddenly she flushes hotly as her stomach growls in a most intimidating manner. Before she can say anything, I'm on my feet and holding out a hand toward her.
"I'm going to guess by your reaction that you haven't been taking very good care of yourself lately." I cut off any chance at protest with a finger against her lips. "Let me make you something more substantial, and I won't take no for an answer. Allow yourself to be pampered, Catherine, and accept the solace and safety that I and my home offer you willingly."
She blushes again, but nods nevertheless and follows me into the kitchen. Pointing to the counter, I wait until she settles on a stool before retrieving the tea paraphernalia from the sitting room. When I come back, she's toying with a strand of her own hair, worrying the pale strawberry lock around her finger. Tea replenished for both of us, I pull out the ingredients for a simple chicken and shrimp stir fry. A comfortable silence descends upon us as I task her with slicing vegetables and putting together a salad while I prepare the proteins and rice.
Once the meal is completed, I dish it up and join her at the counter. Again, there is no conversation while we eat, but the companionable peace is like a balm to the soul. I can sense that Catherine is equally grateful for the peacefulness, and I watch surreptitiously as the strained set of her shoulders eases. Only after she's stuffed herself do I lead her back into the sitting room to further relax while I clean up the remnants of our meal.
"Thank you," she murmurs around a sudden yawn when I again join her on the couch.
Clicking a remote fills the room with soft classical music, and I reach over to pull her head to my shoulder. She resists initially, but quickly acquiesces as lassitude begins to settle over her. I continue to stroke her back and hair as she drifts into much needed slumber. The simple domesticity of the situation is not lost on me, and I have to wonder exactly what it means that Catherine has turned to me for solace in her time of indecision and need. I certainly won't deny that it's a heady sensation to know that she could be visiting more often. I have long enjoyed our repartee, and she brings out something in me that I haven't felt in a very long time.
Perhaps once she's awake, we can discuss this emerging shift in our relationship. Only time will tell what will come of this and, for once, I am eager to meet the future head on.