FF: Borderline 12/?

[doubleedog]

Title: Borderline
Author: e-dog
Summary:  A looney brother, a freak accident and a fortuitous love. It was bound to drive you a little crazy, right?
Author’s Notes: I know ya’ll kept asking about Cath and Sara and when will they just say ‘I love you’ already. Blame the muse. I’ve had the outline for that particular development written for weeks, but kept holding it off due to other developments in the story that simply took longer to write. I apologize. I’ll make up for, I promise. Enjoy the next bit and as always, thank you for the reviews.

Part Twelve

Proud

“We’ll see you everyday, Paul,” Catherine says.

You watch your brother as his face lights up again. He really loves her, you think. He grabs a bag from the car and says, “Still wish I was living with you, Catherine. I like your house. Cops live in houses.”

You frown. You forgot about that. You forgot to tell Paul that one, you’re not cops. Two, not all cops live in houses. You toss Lindsey your apartment key and watch the two of them head inside.

It’s going to be really different living back in your apartment. With Paul.

He’s already expressed his discontent that Catherine will no longer be around 24/7. To say that doesn’t worry you would be a lie. His deep connection to her worries you a lot.

When he first met Cath, you were ecstatic he could form human connections so quickly. Maybe he didn’t take to Nick and Greg quite as quickly as he took to Catherine, but they could just as easily be Paul’s brothers now. He’s still a bit iffy around Warrick, but again, he gets along with him. Paul has friends.

He has Catherine and you just can’t shake the feeling that he’s attached to her for all the wrong reasons.

You can’t take Catherine out of his life, however. That would surely end disastrously. What you can do is change how they interact with one another. It may not quell all your fears, but it will lessen them.

“Cath, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure. Anything.”

You stop, just outside your door. You say as discreetly as possible, “Could you maybe stop babying Paul?”

“Sara, I don’t baby him. . .” Catherine begins to protest.

“Look, I know you think you have to and I really love that you do,” you say. “It’s just, I’m worried that he’s getting used to the special treatment. He never had someone like you as a child and essentially, he still is a child. Just, cut back on the waffle breakfasts and cookies. One, he’ll expect that every time he sees you and two, he’ll expect me to do that every morning you’re not around.”

It’s cute, but you swear Catherine is pouting a little. “Okay, I understand. I really do. I’ll cut back. He is a grown man.”

“Yes, he is. A fact that you remind me of everyday,” you tell her, just to drive the point home.

“Touché,” she nods. “Fine. No more special treatment. I’ll treat him like an adult.”

“Thank you,” you say, pushing your way through the entryway. “And thanks for helping us move back in.”

“No problem,” Catherine replies as she follows.

Lindsey is on the couch with Paul, keeping him occupied while you and Catherine drop the duffle bags on the floor.

You look around your apartment. You’re a bit shocked, noticing for the first time how small the space really is. You’re gonna miss Catherine’s house, with the open foyer and the kitchen with real tile. You’ll miss it a lot. You glance at her, give a quick smile. She smiles back.

No. You won’t miss her house, really. You’ll just really miss having her around all the time. In that sense, you are no different than Paul. Maybe you should be more worried about how attached you’ve become to Catherine. Maybe.

“Do guys need anything before we go?” Catherine asks.

“We’ll be fine,” you tell Catherine, pulling her into a brief hug. “We’ll get settled in and I’ll see you tonight, when I drop off Paul at your place.”

“Yeah, I should get back. Greg has to be awake now,” Catherine says, laughter in her tone.

“He probably is,” you say, hoping Greg took the initiative to just go home. The last thing you need is for him to be hanging around Catherine, hungover and still pining after you. He’ll probably tell her something like, ‘oh Cath! Ask Sara out already so I know if I have chance!’.

You frown to yourself. Your mental impression of Greg Sanders is almost too good.

“Alright, Linds. Say goodbye to Paul. We’re heading home,” Catherine calls over to her daughter. You watch Paul hug Lindsey goodbye, then he bounds over to Catherine and hugs her tightly. She laughs at him. “I will see you tonight, you know. This isn’t forever goodbye.”

“I know,” Paul says. “See you tonight.”

He immediately retreats to your bedroom and you frown again, remembering how much fun you had fighting over your space with him before. Ah, yes, welcome home, Sara. Welcome home.

“Oh, Sara?” Catherine calls you.

You turn to her. “Forget something?”

“Actually, I wanted to ask if you thought about the compromise I mentioned before?” she inquires.

Oh no, not the compromise about seeing the psychiatrist. To you, that’s not a compromise at all! That’s a death sentence! Before you can protest that idea again, she holds up a hand to silence you.

“Look, as much as it pains you to think about it, please think about it. I was being quite serious when I told you that maybe Paul doesn’t want to go it alone. I talked to Grissom and he thinks he can set you up with a friend. Just think about it.”

She pins you down with her eyes. You squirm and groan aloud, then finally say, “Fine, I’ll think about it.”

“Good. See ya tonight,” she says, walking down the hall. You shut the door after her and lean against it.

Hmph. Think about it. You know damn well you’re not going to think about it and Catherine knows that too. She knows you have no other choice if you want Paul to get evaluated by a shrink. He’ll need convincing and this compromise is about a good idea as any.

You look up when Paul returns to the family room and he waves at you. You wave back, the awkwardness between you two never more evident. It’s going to be really different, living here with Paul.

You smile at him and say, “Hey, buddy. I got this idea. I won’t force you into anything you don’t want, but maybe we can try a different approach to our problem.”

“Is this about the doctor?” Paul nearly whines, rolling his eyes. Hmm, there’s no pulling a veil over his eyes. You’ll need to ease into this compromise.

“Hey, you want to be treated like an adult, right?” you ask him.

He nods.

“Adults listen to one another. They try to see the other person’s side and guess what? I put myself in your shoes,” you tell him. “If I were you, I wouldn’t want to see a doctor either.”

“So you understand,” he says, sighing in relief.

“Yeah, I do, but this isn’t about wanting to go,” you tell him. “This is aboutunderstanding that people do things, not out of want, but out of need. That being said, I think. . ..since we both don’t want to see a doctor, but probably should...I think we can both go. Together. What do you think?”

Saying the words aloud make you visibly wince, but Paul isn’t paying much attention to your obvious discomfort.

His eyes squint and you know he’s confused by your suggestion. He steps forward, cautiously. Good. His movements aren’t aggressive and this relaxes you. He doesn’t want to fight you. He’s actually considering your words.

He scratches at his beard and says, “You don’t like doctors either, but you want to see one anyway?”

I don’t want to see one. . .

“Okay, let’s clear one thing up. It’s a psychiatrist, not a doctor. There’s a difference. Psychiatrists ask questions and sometimes recommend medicines. They don’t poke or prod at you or anything like that. They just want to get to know you,” you explain. “They help you understand yourself. Once you understand yourself, it’s easier to interact with those around you. Make sense?”

“Sure, yeah,” he nods. “Some of the doctors were like that at the home.”

The home. Again, you’re happy that place did some good, even if Paul will be mad at you for all eternity for leaving him there.

“Like I said, I don’t want to go to this psychiatrist either, but I think if we both go together, we can learn to understand each other better,” you finish.

Hmm, not bad. You just pulled that whole ‘understand one another’ speech out of your ass, and while it sounded good on the surface, you don’t know if Paul will bite. He’s smarter than he lets on.

He rocks on his feet, his eyes flitting about with concern. “What if this psych’trist tells me I can’t go back to school? What if they tell me I have to go back home?”

There it is. That’s what you were searching for. You weren’t quite sure what it was Paul feared most. Sure, Catherine’s reasoning wasn’t too farfetched. He didn’t want to go it alone, but ultimately, that wasn’t his greatest fear. He was afraid a doctor would send him back to Tamales Bay, back to ‘the home’.

“Hey,” you say, stepping toward him. You’re careful not to touch him, because you’re still wary of his potential strength. “I won’t let them take you away from me, okay? You’re not going anywhere you don’t want to go, alright?”

“You promise?” he says.

“I promise,” you tell him. He surprises you when he hugs you tight to him. You hug him back.

You like hugging Paul. You especially like when he initiates the contact. It means that the little brother you remember still resides in him somewhere. It means he is capable of loving another person, he’s capable of considering someone other than himself. Hopefully, when you find a suitable psychiatrist, they will give you some insight on Paul’s somewhat violent tendencies. Honestly, you’re still afraid that someday, you’ll say something that’ll set him off.

You’re afraid that nothing you could say or do would stop him from hurting you or anyone else.

You continue to embrace him and promise, “We’ll get through this. It doesn’t have to be forever. Just a few appointments, see what they have to say. Can you do that?”

He doesn’t let you go as he says, “I’ll go, but I won’t like it.”

--

Well, you’re back. Finally.

You make it to work without crashing your car. Kudos to you. You’ve made it through the evening without tripping over your own feet. Again, more kudos. What you’re not ready for is work.

The one place you were itching to get back to and you’d rather be anywhere but here. You find yourself imagining dinner at Catherine’s. Lindsey and Paul; talking about school. Lily; chastising Catherine about one thing or another. You; finding any chance you can to watch Catherine incognito. That sorta thing.

You’d rather be there than be at work.

A shadow passes by the locker room threshold and you know it’s her. You smell her perfume.

You can identify her scent with no problems now. You don’t know if that has to do with familiarity or the increasingly giddy sensation bubbling in your stomach.

Damn, it’s the unutterable thing again. That something you’ve refused to name until now. It’s been getting stronger, your attraction to Catherine. Yes, you’re calling it ‘attraction’ now. (Baby steps, right?)

Attraction. An invisible force that tends to push you in Catherine’s direction more often than you care to admit out loud.

You think Paul has noticed. You don’t know why. He hasn’t changed the way he is around you or Catherine, but you think he’s noticed. What you don’t know is if he’ll approve. Not that you need his approval, but you have unpleasant memories concerning previous suitors. Paul swinging a bat at one of them being the most haunting. You furrow your brow in thought. He wouldn’t swing a bat at Catherine, would he?

You shake your head. No sense in getting ahead of yourself. Catherine isn’t even your girlfriend.

Okay. You’ve stalled long enough. Time to work.

You look up and see Grissom. You would be startled by his sudden appearance, but he’s always done that. Shown up in doorways like some nerdy version of the Batman, his movements quiet and methodical.

You stand, wait on him to approach you. His expression would seem unreadable to others, but you know something is up with him. He’s been a little off ever since your ‘glad Sara is all better’ party at Treasure Island. Maybe he’s finally ready to talk to you.

He offers up a little smile. The intensity in his eyes spells out a sense of loss. He feels lost.

Paul isn’t the only one who’s noticed the way you and Catherine have changed around each other. You think Grissom knows too. You also think Grissom still feels for you. He feels for you what you can’t return to him now.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you say back. “What’s up?”

“Just checking in. You’ve been out a while,” he shrugs. He’s trying for indifference. It’s not working.

You sigh, “Grissom. . .”

“Sara,” he cuts you off. That’s different. Usually, you’re the one cutting him off and ending conversations before they even begin. He steps closer to you and says, “Sara, I just wanted to say welcome back. See how you were doing.”

“I’m great,” you tell him. You see his expression deflate ever so slightly. He’s always been so guarded with his feelings, but sometimes he forgets that you can read him.

“That’s good,” he manages to reply. He quickly hands you a business card. “Catherine tells me you’re looking for a psychiatrist, for Paul. I thought it would be easier for you to go through the department, rather than search for an outside source. She agreed to see both of you. Paul’s sessions will be free of charge.”

Wow. Free? You take the card, warily. You’ve never known Grissom to be conniving, but this act of generosity seems too charitable. Why would he pull strings for you, for Paul?

You laugh nervously. “Grissom, I. . . don’t know what to say.”

“I know,” he says. You feel the pad of his thumb on your cheek. He repeats softly, “I know.”

Suddenly, Grissom is talking about a completely different thing or maybe he isn’t at all. This whole encounter was never about the psychiatrist or even your well being. It’s about him knowing you are lost to him. It’s his goodbye.

You lean into the touch with a forlorn smile. Gil Grissom. Mentor, friend. You pined over him for so long, you can’t blame him for hoping. Maybe somewhere down the road, you’ll regret not trying. Maybe.

His touch, his palm against your cheek is transferring everything he never said to you and it sucks that you’re learning all this now, in this moment. When you look at him, all you can express is your sympathy. You say softly, “I’m sorry. I warned you. I told you it would be too late.”

He nods again, words failing him once more. His hand lingers, his thumb continues its soft, circular motion.

Your eyes happen to glance up, look over his shoulder. Catherine is in the doorway, paused in what seems like a bit of shock. She’s holding a report, something she was probably reading while walking by. You back away from Grissom quickly, your jaw dropping slightly. Grissom recoils quickly too, turning around to see what has turned you as white as a bed sheet. Before either one of you can say anything, she’s gone.

That. . .that wasn’t good, was it? The way she stormed off like that wasn’t good.

“I’ll go,” you both say at the same time. You both pause, blushing smiles on both your faces.

Grissom moves aside, “You go.”

“Thanks,” you smile softly.

You leave him in the locker room, you’re next mission to find Catherine. That look she gave you, it’s a burned image in your mind. You have to talk to her, not only to find out what that look means but to explain what she saw. The rumors of you and Grissom are still alive and well around this lab. You want to set the record straight.

So, what are you going to say?

You round the corner and bump right into Catherine. Damn it. You’re not ready.

You quickly mumble, “Sorry. . .I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Look, Cath. About what happened in there. . .”

“None of my business, Sara,” Catherine says curtly.

“But. . .”

“The Wright case is back open. We found her son,” Catherine says quickly. Her tone is a bit flustered.

Okay, work mode. Not in personal life mode. Work mode. You can do that. Switch gears. Get it together.

God, you have no idea what she’s talking about.

“Um, the Wright case?”

“Termite House. You know, the house that collapsed under you. We found the owner’s son, finally,” Catherine reiterates, now her tone one of annoyance. Her flippant attitude about your accident also has you a tad worried.

“Oh,” is about all you can get out.

“Let’s go. He’s over at PD with Brass,” she orders abruptly, pushing past you. She sounds pissed. Wait? Why is she pissed?

“Catherine, wait,” you say, grabbing her arm and keeping her near. You soon realize that’s a mistake.

She yanks her arm back, her voice is low and angry. “I get it, Sara. Run back to him because it’s easy. No need to explain. I get it.”

“Wait? What?” you say, stepping back in a daze. “I don’t think you understand.”

Okay, no longer in work mode. Back to personal life mode. This switching back and forth is giving you a damn headache, that’s all it’s doing. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. . .

“I’m not blind, Sara,” Catherine hisses, trying desperately to keep her voice modest. “I just saw the two of you, okay? I get it.”

“No, honestly, I don’t think you get anything,” you hiss back. Before she can get out another word, you insist, “I think we should take this in your office, please.”

“Fine,” she literally spits at you, then storms off.

Geez! Where the hell does she get off acting like that? Now you’re mad. No, you’re royally ticked off.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, open your eyes and see Hodges in his lab just staring at you. Hodges, you know, will believe whatever is the most juiciest and/or naughtiest. You know he still believes you’re screwing Grissom and/or still want to. Maybe now he suspects something of you and Catherine as well. Great.

You ignore him, because you really don’t have time to dwell on Hodges or his perverted mind. You only have to time to sort things out with Catherine. Hell, you just need to sort things out in general!

You walk into her office, shutting the door behind you. She’s leaning on her desk, arms folded, lips pressed together tightly. You swallow hard, not sure how to proceed.

So what now? Um, okay. Yeah. Time for a little honesty.

“I don’t even know why you’re mad at me!” you declare.

“Oh, c’mon, Sara,” Catherine gripes.

Your eyes narrow of their own accord. “Look. What happened in the locker room, it was just. . ., I don’t even know what it was, okay? Grissom has this uncanny ability to confuse the hell out of me.”

She lowers her head. You’ve noticed she’s not good at keeping eye contact with you, especially during an argument. She finally huffs out, “I’m not mad at just you. I’m mad at both of you.”

“Both of us?” you repeat. “Why?”

She doesn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. One second, her arms are crossed. The next, they are at her side, fists balled up. Finally, she says, “I don’t know!”

You shake your head in disbelief. “You don’t know?”

“I mean, I do know, I just don’t know how to say it. Look Sara, we don’t have time for this,” Catherine says, trying to focus on work, but you don’t want to focus on work. You want to finish this.

You look around, just to make sure you still have some semblance of privacy. The glass walls of the lab are irritatingly see-through, but fortunately, Catherine’s office has some blinds.

As Catherine goes to walk by you and leave, you grab her arm and keep her there. You say firmly, “We’re not done.”

“Sara, let me go,” she orders you. When her fiery eyes meet yours, you have a sudden sense of deja vu. You think back on your relationship with Catherine, before Paul showed up.

You recall how often those tempestuous eyes were directed at you. You remember what things were like before and you remember how gratifying those moments were. There was always something enjoyable about quarreling with Catherine. In some ways, fighting with her is still satisfying, but this time is different. This isn’t about a difference of opinion on the job. This is more personal. This will hurt. If things don’t end well, this will hurt more than any other argument you’ve ever had.

“No,” you tell her. “You’re obviously upset and I want to fix it now.”

Catherine escapes from your hold, but she doesn’t make a run for the door. She huffs, “I shouldn’t have to explain this to you.”

“Humor me,” you beg.

Your begging releases the floodgates. Her words are fast and almost incomprehensible.

“Okay, I’m mad at him because he took me to a bar the other night to wine and dine me, his good ol’ friend, in hopes I would help him repair the damage between him and his subordinate. Let’s keep in mind that this subordinate was in a bed at my house trying to recover from a broken wrist and pneumonia.

“Did he care? Of course not! He’s Grissom and he has a one track mind about everything. He never considers the implications of his words or actions and on top of that, I have very good reason to suspect this subordinate (that he so desperately seeks reconciliation with) has fallen for me and is no longer interested in him! Need I go on?”

Need she go on? Uh, no. That about sums it up.

You watch her chest rise and fall, obviously out of breath. You don’t think she paused for a nanosecond during her little rant. As for you? You’re not so sure you can breathe either. You remember what Greg told you. He told you that Grissom and Cath had drinks together, but he assumed it meant nothing. Now you know it most definitely meant something.

“Sara, for God’s sake, don’t pull that stupid, numb silence thing that you do!” Catherine almost shouts.

“I’m s-sorry,” you stammer, stepping back a little. “That’s a lot to process.”

Catherine laughs, at you or at something you said. You don’t know which, but the laugh is borderline evil. She looks at you and says pointedly, “Sara, there is nothing to process. Grissom loves you, probably always has. He confessed all this to me over a glass of wine I guess in some last ditch attempt to make things right between you two. Quite frankly, I don’t care what you two do just as long as you leave me out of it.”

Leave her out of it? What is she saying? That this bond you two have formed is now defunct?

You feel your legs wobble in frustration.

“Catherine, for the last time, there is nothing going on with Grissom and I. Okay? Nothing. I don’t know what I have to do to convince you of that and I’m sorry he can’t seem to get his own affairs in order and that he turns to you for everything, but you are his friend and I guess he felt you were the only one he could turn to.

“I’m sorry he still has feelings for me and I’m sorry that his influence on my life is just as strong as it was when we first met. I’m sorry that I even decided a friendship with you was even doable, because obviously it isn’t. I . . .I don’t know what else to say.”

This time, you go to make your exit, but Catherine grabs your arm to hold you back. You look at her and this time see remorse in her features.

“Sara, I don’t regret our friendship,” she says quietly. “But I do agree with you that a friendship is no longer doable.”

You feel your heart crush into tiny pieces. She doesn’t want to be your friend. She doesn’t want that anymore. You keep it together because you always knew in your soul that a friendship with Catherine would be hard to keep. You can’t cry now and you won’t. You just nod again.

“Sara,” she calls out to you. “Please, don’t think I hate you.”

“I don’t think you hate me,” you tell her, but the words sound flat.

“I don’t hate you,” she repeats. “And I’m not really mad at Grissom. He thought he was pouring out his soul to an objective friend.”

“Objective?” you repeat.

She half smiles. “Yeah. I don’t think he realized that, while confessing to me his feelings for you, that maybe I, too, had developed some. . .”

Her phone rings, startling you both. Damn it, she’s distracted and she didn’t finish her thought.

Oh what does it matter? This interruption is really a good thing. You’re ready to bolt. You need a moment to yourself, to think. She looks at you and requests firmly, “Don’t run, Sara.”

You hate how well she knows you.

You nod, agreeing to stay put until she’s done on the phone.

“Hey, Jim.. .I know. We’re on our way. Hodges was talking our ears off, you know how it goes. See you soon.” She hangs up, looking at you. “Sara, I think I should say something.”

“Later,” you say, desperately needing to escape now. “Jim’s waiting on us. We still have a case to work on.”

“I know, I just feel like such an asshole,” she laughs uneasily, playing with the phone in her hands. “I mean, between my bewilderment and Grissom’s unmindful-ness, I will surely go crazy.” As an afterthought, she adds, “I have gone crazy.”

“I think we’re all a little crazy,” you reply, half-joking.

“No, I mean, you drive me crazy,” she says simply. You can’t help but give her a very befuddled stare. She half smiles at you. “Has it occurred to you yet that I just reacted like a raging, jealous bitch when I saw you and Grissom in the locker room just now?”

Your mouth drops open slightly before you admit sheepishly, “Uh, no. Not until you pointed it out.”

“God, you and Grissom were separated at birth,” she remarks.

You shake your head, “I wish you would stop comparing me to him.”

“And I wish you would figure out what you really want,” Catherine says pointedly. “Because once you figure that out, then maybe Grissom will move on with his life and then maybe I’ll figure out what to do with mine because something happened. Something has happened in the last month between us and hell if I know what it all means, but Sara, when I said a friendship was no longer doable, I meant that I don’t think being your friend is enough.”

Maybe being her friend is no longer enough.

The tiny pieces of your heart rise from the floor and slowly put themselves back together. A bubbling chuckle comes up your throat and escapes as a strangled, “What?”

She steps a little closer and you’re suddenly very aware of the blood pulsing through your veins. Aware of how close you two are standing. Catherine’s fingers intertwine with yours and you feel the blush on your cheeks. She says quietly, her tone colored with a hint of amusement, “I’ll admit, I didn’t think I would be having this conversation with you right now, at work. I just figured you would be too proud to point out the obvious first and I was tired of waiting.”

“That obvious, hmm?” you manage to say.

Catherine grins. “Yeah, that obvious.”

“What gave me away?” you ask, not even sure you want to know.

Catherine tilts her head to the side, thinking. She whispers, “Your eyes.”

You have to chuckle. “My eyes, you say?”

“Yeah, they sorta do this cute flutter thing whenever I hold your hand,” she tells you, her voice almost whimsical. She fleetingly brushes hair from your face, then adds, “Or if I do something like that.”

You are turning absolutely tomato red right now (this you know for sure) and you can remember just about every time your eyes did that ‘cute flutter thing’ in Catherine’s presence. Including just a few seconds ago, when she lightly brushed hair off your forehead. Doesn’t mean you have to admit to it, though.

“My eyes don’t do that,” you say stubbornly.

“Oh, yeah, they do,” Catherine insists teasingly. “It’s cute.”

“I’m not cute,” you say weakly. Her close proximity is overwhelming. Overwhelming because there’s nothing to hide behind. There’s no thin veil of denial to shield your heart. She knows. Hell, she knew all along that you had fallen for her and now her earlier comment makes sense.

Girssom didn’t know that Catherine had fallen for you too. He thought he was confessing his feelings to an objective friend. He thought Catherine could give him advice, but in reality, she couldn’t help him. She couldn’t, not even if she wanted to. She had fallen for you too.

You think Catherine is going to kiss you now or something, but she doesn’t do that at all. Instead, she reaches past you to grab the handle of her office door to open it. She asks tentatively, “Can we talk about this after shift? Please?”

You can only nod because you’ve lapsed back into that ‘stupid, numb silence thing’ that you do. You step out, mumble something about finding your coat and you practically sprint to the locker room. Thankfully it’s empty and you plop down on the hard metal bench to collect yourself.

Did Catherine just admit that she has feelings for you too?

Uh yeah, stupid. She just did that. She clearly just did that.

Question is, what the hell are you going to do about it?

Well, one, you shouldn’t panic.

You’re panicking.

Calm down, idiot. Calm down. This is what you wanted, right? You may have denied what was going on in your heart, but knowing how she feels too lifts a huge burden off your shoulders.

Catherine wants to be more than your friend. She wants you.

You grin stupidly, then sense a presence behind you. It’s Grissom, in the doorway. You might’ve expected traces of sadness on his features, but all he does is smile softly at you. The way he used to smile at you years ago, when you first met him. Before you two started dancing around whatever thing was there between you. That soft, encouraging smile. Gil Grissom. Mentor, friend, supporter.

He quietly walks away, graciously accepting defeat. He lost you. You gained her.

Finally, your thumping heart stills.

Catherine appears in the doorway next. “Hey, you ready?”

Are you ready? You think so.

You stand, hoping Catherine doesn’t notice you never grabbed a coat, then walk up to her. After a long moment of contemplation, you say confidently, “Yeah, I’m ready.”

to be continued. . .