Love comes in many forms someone once told me and that statement has been the measure of my life. Not always directed towards me. I'm an observer. Some might say I'm a voyeur, that's harsh. It's not that I'm incapable of love, or frightened of it, okay maybe I was at first, I just found it hard to trust my heart to another.

So when Catherine came to me asking about love I was at a loss.

"Gil…" The sound of her voice penetrated my seclusion.

"Catherine, I thought you'd gone home." I lied; I knew she hadn't. I just wished she had, she has a life, a daughter, and what's his name, to run around with. She doesn't need to be spending time here at the lab, prolonging my torment.

She smiled at me; I knew she'd seen through my lie. "Want to have breakfast? It's been a while. We need to catch up."

"Humph" I gestured to the pile of paperwork on my desk, avoiding her eyes and avoiding the request, or so I thought.

"Come on, don't even pretend you want to complete that paperwork, because we both know that would be a lie." There was a teasing tone to her voice, a veiled reference to my earlier lie, I hate it when she does that. But then that's also one of things I love about her, that she does that. Weird I know, but love is complicated. I've learnt that much.

That was how I found myself some ten minutes later sitting beside her as she negotiated the early morning traffic, on our way to my townhouse.

I know it seems strange that she would invite me to breakfast, then drive to my place. I could explain it as tradition. Something we'd established over years of knowing each other, caring for each other and loving each other. When I say loving I don't mean sex, this went beyond a sexual relationship without either of us having considered it. Ok I've lied again, I can't speak for her, but me, I've dreamt about it, craved it and long ago locked it in a box hidden away in the back of my mind as I want to put our friendship first.

So this tradition, it started long ago, when we first started working together. She was with Eddie then, or rather taking a break from Eddie. We'd been working long hours all week, this one night there'd been a murder; a wife had found her husband cheating and instead of filing for divorce she'd shot them both, then when she'd sobered up from the vodka and realized the consequences of her actions, she'd run a bath and slitting her wrists, joined them in death.

There was something about this case that had seemed to upset Catherine. I'd been more observant back then, now I retreat, hide from human contact, trying not to observe and withdraw from the family of colleagues around me. I have to confess to another lie, I need to admit when it comes to Catherine I've always been observant. That's what love does to you. Loving someone makes you aware of their fears, triumphs, disasters and heartache. I've done a good job so far of hiding this love from her, I think she's begin to suspect something's wrong though. It's one of the things that worries me about this sudden request to share breakfast.

Back to our first breakfast at my place, I'd seen the intense sadness on her face grow as the case proceeded. I'd wanted nothing more than to banish that. That emotion had been covering her beauty too often of late. So I'd taken a risk, for her. I'd offered to open part of myself to her. I'd not taken her out to some restaurant or diner, preferring the privacy of my home. Why? A million reasons, yet none that many would understand. I wanted above all for her to be safe; safe to express herself, pour out whatever emotions she needed to, in order for that sadness to be exiled. I didn't want embarrassment to hold her back. So we'd eaten at my place. French toast and screwdrivers, a breakfast to remember. Then we'd talked. She'd made me promise to never let her become the woman in the bathtub. As I held her as she cried and reassured her, I never thought I'd need to make good on that promise.

Five years later, I'd held her again as she recounted Eddie's infidelity, my own guilty secret hidden in my heart. I'd known he was seeing someone, or I suspected he was. Having seen him with a brunette wrapped around him at a bar. The look of guilt on his face, and his quick exit before I could confront him had been my justification for not telling her. I kept telling myself that he'd stop whatever it was, knowing how close he'd come to being caught. But I'd not counted on the arrogance of Eddie Willows, his feelings of invincibility that had led him to take a woman not only to his home, but to the bed he shared with Catherine and let her find them there. My incredulity was my lie, as she told me about this other woman. I held her and reassured her that she couldn't have known, all the time knowing I could have spared her from this image of her husband in her bed with another woman.

We got past it as friends do. I watched her as she grew into a strong independent woman. I watched her as she started to love again. Let me correct that, I watched her as she started to offer her heart to another man. There were several over the years, until we got to what's his name. I watched as she started out on each new relationship full of hope, I was there as each one crumbled. As painful as it was for me to hear about them, I listened, made breakfasts, held her, loved her, and helped her to stand back up again. That's another side of love I've learnt about. That no matter how much it hurts yourself, you will willingly sacrifice everything for someone you love. It's hard when that love is not returned.

As we turned into my driveway, my heart seemed to fill with trepidation. Was the reason for her sudden request for a breakfast because she had news? What if she was going to marry this latest relationship? Or worse, what if she was leaving?

She must have sensed my concern as before she left the Denali, she reached across for my hand and flashed me one of her smiles. "Don't worry, you're not about to lose me yet. How about French toast and screwdrivers?"

I should have been reassured; she'd chosen what we'd referred to over the years as the `Break-up Breakfast'. However the word in her sentence that I focused on was yet. What did that mean? Had she had enough of the disappointments the men of Vegas had proven to be for her? Was she warning me of her impeding departure?

We prepared our contributions to the meal. In other words, I made the food while Catherine mixed the drinks. As tradition dictated I waited for her to tell me her troubles. This was our long established routine; we'd eat, talking of nothing, saving the true troubles until our hunger had been fed.

So, as we made our way to my sofa my heart once more began to thud. The truth behind her invitation was about to be revealed. I took her hand and waited, wondering how much more my heart could take, but knowing that I would be there for her until my last breath.

She smiled again. Smiling was good wasn't it? "Gil?"

"Yes." I took to stroking her hand, watching the lazy circles my fingers were making and in so doing hiding my eyes and my feelings from her. I hate having to do that. Can love be born from deceit? If not then I'm lost as my love for her has been nothing but deceitful, but what have I done? I've lied, hidden my thoughts, why? Simply because I love her, surely there is some loophole; some justification for deceit for the greater good, all I was doing was protecting her.

"Do you…I mean…why don't people love me?"

That caught me off guard. My eyes shot to her face. Barely managing to mask my feelings as I did so. What I found there was the sadness, the pain I'd tried to banish so long ago. Instead of confronting it, confessing what I'd hidden, I tried to dodge the question. "I take it you and what's his name…."

"James, Gil. His name was James and I really don't want to talk about him. He's gone, not returning. I…", she started to cry. Not the heartfelt sobs of a broken heart, but the silent tears that frightened me. I tried to pull her to me, but she waved me back, not wanting my comfort. My fears grew, she'd had enough, and she was leaving.

"Am I that hard to love?"

"No. Catherine, sweetheart you've been hurt, come here." I succeeded this time, pulling her into my arms so her head was against my chest. I stroked her back, kissing the top of her head, trying to sooth away her troubles.

As her tears subsided she pulled back, then her eyes fixed on mine, there was no escape. I was trapped. "Do you love me Gil?"

"Of course I do, we're friends." I tried to sidestep that question. I didn't want to lose her. She was fragile; the most precious thing in my life, what we had could so easily be shattered by an ill-timed confession.

"I know we're friends Gil. You are one of my best friends. I'm not asking if you love me as a friend. I'm asking if you love me. Do you, do you love me Gil?"

There was a flash of something in her eyes. Could it be she returned my feelings? I couldn't answer her question, couldn't risk losing her. I needed some reassurances of my own. "Why? Why would you think that?"

"I just…" She shrugged. "You are always there. Always ready to help me, care for me, I wondered why."

"That's what friends do."

"No." She shook her head. "This is beyond friendship. You don't judge me. You are willing to drop everything for me. With you I feel safe. How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make me feel safe. No man has made me feel safe."

I shrugged this time. I resorted to mumbling hoping to disguise the love in my voice. "I care about you."

She leant forward, kissing my cheek. A warm tingle spread across my cheek, filling me, my stomach seemed to somersault, I regretted eating that last piece of toast. "I care about you too. I care about you a lot. Did you know that?"

"No." My answer was simple yet filled with a sentiment she seemed to recognize.

"Did you know when I kissed you then, I felt more than I've felt for a long time?" The mask on my emotions must have slipped, as unprompted she continued. "You are surprised, I can tell. I do care about you. You fill my thoughts at night. I know it's wrong of me. I was with James, my thoughts should have been of him, but they weren't. That's why I'm asking you, do you love me?"

I swallowed hard. I took her left hand, turning it over so the palm was facing upwards. I brought it higher until my lips could kiss her wrist, where her pulse would take that kiss straight to her heart. I heard her sigh, not an impatient sigh, no, a contented sound. I made Catherine sigh. "I love you. I've loved you for a long time. I know you care for me, but do you love me?"

Her answer was half swallowed as our lips met, for our first lovers kiss.

That was it; from that moment on we were together. My years of loving her were repaid one thousand times as she loved me. Now as I lie here a contended man, I can afford to smile, not in smugness but out of pure joy. Our life together has been the epitome of love.

My wife and I welcomed a little girl into our lives three months ago, Ellena Rose, a sister for Lindsey, a symbol of our love. I'm not going to lie, I've given that up, I spent the ninth months of my wife's pregnancy between ecstasy, at the thought of becoming a father, and complete terror, as I contemplated the possible complications that could arise. When we'd married we'd not expected to have children, due to our age. But the blessing of Ellena has filled our lives, sealed us as a family.

I lie on our bed, my wife's naked body entangled with mine, so I no longer know where I end and she begins. It seems a cliché but that sums up our lives now we are one. My heart is hers, hers is mine, and both are complete. I have good reason to smile as I love and I'm loved in return.

The End.