TITLE: Breakfast without Words

AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)

ARCHIVE: Anywhere, just let me know so I can brag. *grin*

TYPE: Gil/Catherine (what else?)


SPOILERS: Early Rollout (4-15)

DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.

SUMMARY: Takes place right before Catherine leaves to take care of some 'unfinished business'.

NOTES: Contains actual dialogue from the episode.


Catherine Willows skidded to a stop in front of her mentor's office. She acted somewhat surprised at his presence still lingering in the building, but deep down, had expected his dedication to come through.

Gil Grissom raised his head, looking at her, taken in her appearance, catching her just as she finished tugging on her skin tight jacket - her body tilting downwards for a mere second, but giving him enough skin exposure to base a month of dreams on.

"Ah, so I'm leaving." She paused. "Do you need anything?" She offered softly, a little hesitance following their earlier fight. They hadn't spoken since, and it pained her that she had disappointed him, but more so that he didn't want to comprehend her situation, that he didn't want to understand her.

Gil couldn't control his eyes taking in her tempting curves, wondering - hoping that one day she'd dress up like that for him. "No, I'm good." He replied curtly, his eyes still drinking in her being.

She watched him, slightly confused at his abruptness. One thing she always prided herself in was their ability to have the outmost respect for one another, and a skewering pain to the heart began to force her to wonder if tel respect was slowly fading. It had been bothering her all day, wondering if they could put this episode behind them. She tilted her head down, almost looking at him through her lashes. "Are we good?" Hope filled her voice, willing him to give her another chance - she wouldn't disappoint him again.

Gil considered her question, letting the folder close as he laced his fingers together on his desk. He swallowed hard, truth and lie battling in his voice. He nodded slightly, "we'll be fine." A slight smile playing off his statement, though Catherine did not miss the hint of sadness that loyally followed his words.

She glanced at him somewhat shyly, his answer not entirely convincing her. "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow."

Gil ventured bravely, curiosity winning over his unwillingness to hear her confirm his worst fear. "Going out?"

Catherine spun on her heel, somewhat taken back by his boldness at this moment; in wake of the awkwardness that had just glided through the tension-driven air. She hesitated: for some reason she couldn't tell him that she had a date, and after opening her mouth, then closing it again, her quick mind forced a rather cryptic message to reach his ears. "I have some . . . unfinished business to take care of - I'll see you." She threw quickly, and walked away. She willed herself not to look back, knowing that she'd break at any minute. She hated lying to him, keeping things from him. He was like her safe, protecting her, the keeper of her most precious memories.

Gil watched her retreating form, watched her smile, her scent - her very being, taken away from him. He knew she was going to meet someone, and he mentally kicked himself for it. He was more upset with himself for feeling this way, knowing that his cowardly heart should have known that she would eventually share life with someone else - that his inactive love should have prepared him for the pain. Gil's eyes fell down to his desk, falling on his desk-top calendar, the present date circled in red. "Breakfast with Catherine." He read quietly to himself, his eyes tracing her bubbly writing.

She had waltzed in his office a few days ago, no warning heeded, and just grasped his calendar, flipping through the days, and claimed the day for her own, amongst a few others, mentioning that she missed having their social chats. He had been touched at her desire to have breakfast with him, and he had been, like a giddy school-boy, counting down the days to each meal.

He sighed, knowing that their fight hadn't spawned her to disregard their rendez-vous, but that she had, indeed not remembered. His eyes snapped up to his door, praying to see her presence there, but only the ghost of her shadow remained. His eyes remained there, unfocused, every fibre of his body aching for her return, if only to negate a nightmarish thought that was sluggishly brewing inside his head: she was slowly forgetting him - he was being erased from her thoughts. He felt a sting in the corner of his eye, and he looked to the ceiling, a mean to remain strong. He forced his thoughts elsewhere, trying to focus on work instead of his personal life. After a few minutes of unsuccessful attempts at putting his mind at ease, he decided to head home where he was free to wallow in despair, in the privacy of his darkened townhouse, his safe haven.


Meanwhile, Catherine stood in front of the door to her Denali. She fished through her purse, looking for her keys. Her eyes caught a glimpse of her daily planner, open on today's date, red marker traces coming into view. "Oh please don't make this a sign." She sighed, and pulled out her keys. Opening the door, she climbed in, and took out the daily planner. Her eyes skimmed it, and she dropped her head on the steering wheel, banging it a few times, more for effect than anything. Catherine kept staring at her daily planner, wondering if Gil was still up to having breakfast with her. She hadn't as much forgotten as forced it to the backburner, thinking that their present stage in their relationship would put their meeting on hold, so she hadn't given it much thought. Her cell phone rang, jarring her out of her thoughts. Catherine checked her caller ID, and sighed, "Chris." Conflict arose deep within her, wondering whether to continue with a relationship or give a one with possible benefits a chance. Holding the phone between her ear and shoulder, she pulled out of the parking-lot and headed out.


After debating whether or not to leave, and throwing a few more glances at the files on his desk, Gil picked up a few stray case reviews to take home, and threw on his jacket. He was locking his office as Jim strolled up beside him.

"Heading home?" He asked, rewarded with an nod of confirmation from Gil. "Thought you were doing more work after work." Jim grinned, lightly mocking the supervisor's earlier response.

Gil sighed, no note of humour latching on to his words. "Same plans, different environment." He held up his case reviews to prove his point.

Jim smiled, and the two chatted as they headed to the parking lot. "Sure you won't take up my offer for breakfast?" Jim offered the supervisor.

Gil put up his hand. "Thanks, but I just want to go home." He turned the ignition switch and waved to the captain through his open window.

As Gil drove off, Jim noticed the somewhat depressive air tailing his Denali. He watched the car disappear and looked at Catherine's empty parking spot, knowing that choices were to be made, and he just hoped, for their sake, that the right ones would surface.

Gil's eyes scanned the road, as his SUV cruised along. His thoughts flitted back to the past few hours, and how one small piece of information could seemingly destroy almost eighteen years of friendship.


Gil finally pulled up to his townhouse, anger still present in his state of mind. He couldn't believe his own insecurities almost cost them their friendship, and he admired Catherine even more for not having any ill-feelings towards him. He pounded a fist on the wall, right beside the door, trying to release his pent up frustration. He finally took a deep breath, and put the key in the lock, opening the door. The darkened state was inviting, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in the comfort of his bed, and sleep his sorrows into tolerance. Stepping inside, he dropped his briefcase and kicked off his shoes, leaving them in a pile near the door.

Taking off his jacket, he hung it up lazily on a hook and walked sluggishly towards his living room, some classical music his incentive to reach his destination. He froze, head cocked to the side. "Hey." He said, with soft surprise.

Catherine looked up, finishing lighting one of the two red candles that were placed in the middle of the round table.

"Hey." She smiled sheepishly. "Hope you didn't forget." She offered a little humour.

Shivers caused him to let out an audible breath. "No." He replied, attaching the word to the exhalation, causing it to come out even more breathy. "Of course not."

She smiled shyly. "Good, I didn't know what you wanted, so I just made our usual."

An inner joy sprung from the term 'our usual' and this surge or energy forced him to become more animate. "Sounds good." He pointed towards his bedroom, causing her to raise her eyebrow, her thoughts floating to his tempting offer, before their fight had ensued.

"Ah . . . I'm just going to change." He walked the path towards his bedroom, contemplating what to wear for this special occasion. After finally opting to keeping it casual, he emerged from his room a few minutes later. He stopped and leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Catherine's form - so comfortably busying herself in his kitchen.

Catherine felt his eyes on her, and she spun around, her blues meeting his. She took on his new appearance: hands thrust into the pockets of a pair of deep blue jeans, causing them to rest on his hips, giving his upper-torso some extra length. Her eyes travelled across body, following the trail of buttons of his black shirt, loving how he always left the two top buttons undone. Catherine hoped he didn't pick up on her obvious lusting and motioned to the table. "Ready?"

Gil smiled and followed her, enjoying the feeling of Catherine somewhat taking control of his townhouse. He grinned at his thoughts, thinking that perhaps Catherine *was* his roller coaster, his way to just let loose was through her...thanks to her.

They both sat down simultaneously, and began to pick at their food. After several moments of silence, Catherine finally cracked. "You said that we'll be fine." She dropped her fork on the plate.

Gil looked up from his food, uneaten but disturbed. "You said you had some unfinished business to take care of, so what are you doing here?" He countered, his fear forcing his mind to concoct alternate discussions that would save him from revealing his inner-most feelings.

"I took care of it, one phone call." Catherine shrugged. "Do you not want me here?!" Her features softened, sadness creeping to the surface. "Will we be fine, Gil?" She asked, a child-like innocence touching his heart.

He sighed, wanting things to go back to the way they were before, not just before her recent evaluation, but way before - before Sam Braun, before Lady Heather, heck, even before her marriage to Eddie...to when he could have taken a chance with his heart, to when he *had* a chance to take...

He chuckled morosely, thinking she had probably just postponed her rendez-vous. "So who's the lucky guy?" He asked, curiosity winning.

Anger flared in Catherine's eyes. "Gil, that's none of your concern." She shot back at him.

He shrugged. "A right of concern from a friend." He stated evenly.

Silence one again encompassed both, which was this time broken by Gil. He tossed his napkin on the table, pushing his chair back. "Well, I guess if you don't want to talk, then fine." He stated angrily, hating the fact that there was still a roadblock in their relationship. "I thought we were done keeping secrets from each other, Catherine." He began to leave. "But if you don't want to tell me who the lucky bastard is, then I guess we have nothing left to discuss. I'm going to go take a nap." He dismissed himself, heading towards his bedroom.

Catherine cringed as she heard the door slam. She stared back down at the table, anger and passion building up. She pushed the chair back roughly, causing it to fall on the floor.

Gil whipped his head around, staring at an irate Catherine, a form which he had expected. He squinted his eyes, his keen observational skills detecting a small hint of lust, of passion . . . and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Catherine swallowed hard, forcing herself not to be thrown off by Gil's somewhat state of undress; clad in a pair of dark green checked pants, a t-shirt clasped in his right hand. Her eyes travelled his smooth chest, and she felt her fingers tingle, aching to touch it. She shook her head, once again gaining her drive. "Fine, you want to know who the bastard it?"

She stepped into his bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Gil took a step back, his t-shirt dropping to the floor as his breathing deepened. He was always in a state of arousal whenever Catherine was around, but it seemed to be intensified whenever she was furious. The stronger her feelings of anger, the harder he got. "Who, Catherine?" He breathed out, a taunting grin he hopped would push her over the edge.

"You." A tear escaped. "Always you . . ." She shook her head, closing the space between them. She practically jumped in his arms, straddling his waist. Gil's hands immediately sought her hips, holding her to him as their lips struggled to find the other. Catherine wasted no time in exploring his mouth with her tongue, her body ever so often rubbing against him.

Gil groaned into her mouth as he lowered her slightly, his erection pressing against her center. He nipped at her neck as she wound her fingers through his hair, grabbing tufts of salt-and-pepper curls. He smiled against her targeted lips, a chuckle drowned out by her moans.

He turned, lowering her on his bed, mesmerized by her beauty - her golden curls fanned out underneath her, sinking into his king-sized bed, dwarfed by his weight on top of her.

"Jerk." She breathed out.

Gil retreated slightly, but her hands still grasping his hair held him close to her. He searched her eyes, the green-blue orbs contradicting her statement. "Did you just call me a jerk?" He asked, utterly confused.

A Cheshire grin peeked out from her kissably-bruised lips. "I still love you, Gil, but that doesn't change the fact that you're a jerk." She let her hands caress his skin, stopping at the small of his back.

His lip slipped into a pout, his mood tugging the corners of his lips slightly upward. "Well, you're no Saint either. . ." he began, his mouth once again finding her neck. He let his tongue taste her, gliding past her collarbone, right to where his libido savoured the most. One hand sought her breast as the other ventured into the wild, untameable tangles of her golden locks.

Catherine arched her back, holding him to her chest as he explored the terrain of her body. She felt him move against her body, feeling him contract into a little ball over her, straddling her waist. She felt his arms go around her, his head resting against her tummy, hugging her to him.

". . . but I still love you beyond words." He continued his earlier thought.

She smiled, running a hand through his hair. Her silence prompted him to look up, and the lust-battling-with-love look in her eyes took his breath away. He crawled up her body, his lips tunnelling hers.

Catherine moaned as he pressed himself against her, aching to feel him inside of her. "I guess you are going to help me reach one of my goals." She panted into his mouth.

He places feather kisses from her temple, down the side of her face, right up until her chin. "Well, I'm not too sure about the two consecutive days, and we'll see about triple shifts - but I can help you with your last problem." He slipped his hand under her shirt, seeking out her skin.

Catherine gasped, her hand brushing against his arousal. "You're willing to babysit Lindsey, so I can go have a personal life?" She asked, innocently.

Gil let out a small chuckle and withdrew away from her. His fingers traced the sequins of her tank-top and he reached behind her to unzip it. Once off, he gazed at her unabashed, his eyes feasting on her body.

"Gil, this is not a toy store - you can look *and* touch." She said, taking his hand and guiding it down to where her dreams had not even permitted her to visit. She sighed, eyes slipping closed as he touched her for the first time. She opened her eyes, the intensity of his gaze piercing her heart. Suddenly, she desperately craved his mouth, and she leaned towards him, her lips capturing his.

Gil pushed her back into the bed, mischief gleaming in his eye as he reached for his bedside table lamp, blanketing them with a comfortable darkness, allowing their other senses to explore one another.


Gil lay behind Catherine, his naked body spooning hers, skin on skin. One arm was folded underneath his pillow while the other was draped across her side, tracing abstract figures with his fingers on her thigh. He let it slide down to her tummy, and pulled her closer to him. He propped himself on his elbow and gazed down at her, taking in her eyes, even beautiful when closed; the slow, even rises of her chest . . . it was then he realized that he loved to watch her sleep as much as he loved to witness her energy - it was the mere fact of being with her that caused his heart to palpitate, and at that moment, he knew that his heart beat for her. He remained there, his eyes refusing to part from her angelic ways. He leaned towards her, his lips ever caressing her ear, in a whisper, "see, I told you we'll be fine."