Serenity was something cherished by Gil Grissom, though it was something rarely experienced. When his mind wasn't on cases, it was on his colleagues. How Nick was taking the let-down about the budget cut and no lead CSI position. How Sara was recovering from her stint with alcoholism, and whether or not she was finally getting over her feelings for him. What Warrick was doing with his night off. What Catherine was doing at that very moment in time.

Catherine Willows was always the forefront of his thoughts, however. Especially on nights like tonight, where he didn't get a chance to speak with her. She'd gotten her bangs trimmed; he noticed that as soon as she breezed into the breakroom at the beginning of shift. He'd been momentarily stunned by the way the shorter cropped bangs brought focus to the teal gems of her eyes, and had wanted to compliment her, but... like usual... he'd swallowed the kind words and had merely stared in admiration while she went about getting herself a soda from the fridge.

Tonight he had a chance for experiencing serenity. The case he'd worked with Sara and Greg had been closed; the lab had been so quiet upon his return, he found he'd actually been able to start *and* finish the paperwork. Now he could look forward to a day alone, a day to experience peace, and what was he thinking about?

"Gil!"

The sound of his office door slamming back against the wall shattered him from his reverie, and he looked up to meet Catherine's azure eyes. When he tossed a glance at the very noticeable gouge left in the wall, then back to the seemingly irate strawberry-blonde, she offered an apologetic frown, which he acknowledged with a slow nod. It's okay.

She nodded back. Good. Moving past her abrupt entrance, she strode over to his desk, her eyes once more flashing with the intensity they'd shown when she'd first burst in. "Do I look old to you?"

His eyebrows did a skyward crawl, and he peered up at her over the rims of his glasses. "Hello to you, too."

She said nothing in response to his wry comment, but merely plopped herself down in a very un-ladylike fashion and repeated her question. "Do I look old to you, Gil?"

His mouth slid open in a mixture of amusement, at her ire, and being just plain speechless... not knowing where the line of questioning was coming from. As usual, the issue became Gil's partner in a verbal waltz, twirling briefly to the back of his mind as he cracked, "Well if you're old, what does that make me?"

She was clearly unamused. The thin line her usually plump lips formed became evidence of that. "A damn decomp," she snipped. "Gil, just answer my question."

"I don't understand where this is coming from, Catherine," he answered calmly, resting his elbows on the desk blotter and lacing his fingers together under his chin.

On another night, under other circumstances, she may have mocked the way he was studying her and made a crack about not needing a shrink. But not tonight. Her teal irises now pleaded with him, and she leaned forward slightly... elbows resting on her thighs, hands clasped in the space between her knees. "Please just answer me."

Without hesitation, he replied, "No, you don't look old to me, Catherine." He searched her eyes. "Where is all this coming from?"

And out came a sickening story... one that was all-too-common for wealthy women hitting their prime. It was a twisted tale, woven of botox injections, accupuncture, and urine-consuming socialites all afraid of the same thing: aging. Afraid of looking their true age. Of looking a day over twenty-nine. He merely nodded along while listening to this, feeling as though a mental blindfold had been removed. The story had now offered him a window into the complexities of the strawberry-blonde's inner workings. Catherine was aging. And that fact was grating on her. How, he understood. But why... that was what he couldn't wrap his mind around.

Catherine Willows was stunning. And a statement like that could be made only when one wanted to say the very least about the amazing woman he'd cherished for twenty years. She *was* stunning, but in every way imaginable. Her beauty was breath-taking; her mind, sharp as the blade of a ginsu knife and growing sharper with every case worked. Her soul was mind-boggling in its complexities; her spirit was bruised from years of verbal and physical abuse, true, but one could never guess this by conversing with her. Her lust for life was something Gil himself envied, and the love she carried for her twelve-year-old daughter was so intense and so pure that sometimes it was blinding.

She was strong, independent... vivacious. She could easily hold her own if she were ever to be completely abandoned by those she loved, but Gil had made a solemn vow years before to never allow for this to happen. As long as she would let him into her life... as long as she would deem him worthy enough to call himself her friend, he would be there for her. With her. "Catherine, you know you're nothing like those women, right?"

"Am I?" The fear in her eyes glimmered in the dim lighting, and he had to fight not to rush over and scoop her into his arms. "I'm forty-three, Gil. I have a daughter who's now less than a year away from being a teenager."

He could only shrug at this, as of yet unsure what words he could offer to placate her. "Yeah...?"

"I'm getting so old!"

He rolled his eyes. "Then I guess *I* must be knocking at Death's door. Right, Cath?"

It was brief, but Gil was positive he saw her expression soften at his use of her nickname. Seldom were the younger CSIs or any of her other colleagues allowed to call her that. It was something special she allowed only from him. The younger guys, like Nick, Greg, and Warrick would get a 'look' if they were to shorten her name to its first syllable... and Sara only occasionally took to calling her 'Cat'... a nickname which, Gil had to admit, was endearing as it was a sign of emerging friendship between two women who, until the past couple years, could only lock horns.

She managed to chuckle through her anxiety. "You know what I mean, Gil."

"Actually, I don't. You might have to walk me through it."

She sighed, a puff of air propelling from her glossy lips to her newly cropped bangs... ruffling them briefly and illuminating each high- and low-light in the silken strands. Gil couldn't help but crack a smile, making a mental note to compliment her coif later. She was too attractive for her own good sometimes. "It's not as big of a deal for men to age as it is for women," she explained, with a certain calmness that told him she was trying desperately to hide her anger over this situation. "When a man ages, he looks distinguished. Wise. When women age, they just look..." her adorable, pert nose wrinkled, "Old."

He nodded. "And... you're assuming that because you've passed the forty-year mark, that you too are showing signs of aging? And that it's somehow making you less attractive?"

The left corner of her mouth twitched into one of those wonderful 'Catherine' smiles. The one where her mouth would open only slightly, and the brilliant whites of her teeth would show. Gil adored that smile... counted the times in a day or week that he saw it, even. "Yes," she responded, her voice willowy as it sighed out the single syllable.

For how many times he had to will himself not to reveal too much to this petite woman, there were twice as many times his heart seemed to scream at him to just lay everything out there. Now was one of those times. He drew in a slow breath, eyes making a languid sweep over the strawberry-blonde's facial features, taking in every angelic curve, every sensual line. "Catherine, I don't think you need me to tell you how attractive you are."

The amused twinkle in her eyes he'd seen only milliseconds before faded and dulled to a light sheen of desperation laced within her oceanic orbs. She spoke strongly, with conviction... voice minutely quavering. "I *do* need you to tell me, Gil." Her desperation indented the space between her brows, a thin vertical line that tore at Gil's heart more than any amount of pouting could manage. "Please."

He sighed, eyes slipping closed against the pain written in her face and in her tone... and he slowly took his glasses off, setting them in front of him on the desk blotter. He took his time, building whatever courage he'd accumulated over the years... knowing his hesitation was irking Catherine, but finding himself unable to do anything about it. His words needed to be carefully chosen. Enough had to be revealed to reassure her... but not so much that their two-decades-long friendship could be compromised.

"Catherine..." he began slowly, opening his eyes to find her chair empty. He paused, furrowing his brow. "Cath?"

He jumped upon feeling a hand glide onto his knee, and he swiveled quickly to find her kneeling in front of him, gazing doe-eyed up at him in anticipation of whatever would next tumble from his lips. He drew in a sharp breath, and was powerless to stop his hand from reaching out... fingertips just barely making contact with the hair at her temples... before he glided his digits downward in a feather-light motion, just a whisper away from grazing her cheek and jaw. "Cath..." he whispered, retreating his hand back to his lap.

She said nothing; merely wet her lips, pressed them together, and waited for his next move. He took a moment to swallow, seeing a hint of something more than desperation in her eyes, and he searched for his voice. "Catherine. You are a very beautiful woman." When she began to roll her eyes in exasperation, he dared to reach forward once more, this time grasping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, locking their eyes together in what could only be described as an intimate embrace. "Let me finish."

He felt her gulp inaudibly before she emitted an almost imperceptible nod, and he continued. "To me, your beauty can't be defined by your chronological age. It can't be catalogued by how you looked when you were twenty-five, versus how you look now. Your beauty in my eyes, Catherine... transcends all of that. It is timeless. You will be as stunning at sixty as you were when you were twenty. As you are right now." His eyes bored into her, strong and sure. "Believe me."

When his fingers released her chin, she closed her eyes... whether at the relief of being able to move her head again, or at the loss of his touch, Gil couldn't be sure. He was too busy indulging himself in tracing her face... fingers gliding up her cheekbone, strumming featherly over her eyelids that fluttered open when his touch had passed them.... down the bridge of her pert nose before skipping for a split-second down her lips. When he pulled back, she met his eyes, exhaling the air she'd drawn in, in an almost wistful sigh. "I want to believe..."

He nodded, emitting a hint of a smile. "Then believe, Cath. You're an exquisitely beautiful woman in my eyes, and you always will be." He waved dismissively. "If anyone else views you differently, then they're not worthy of even having you in their sightlines."

She closed her eyes again, shaking her head adamantly as she reached her arms out, rising to stand. He followed, reading the implication in this movement, and outstretched his arms to accept her... smiling as she stepped into the circle of his arms, her head tucking perfectly under his chin.

For a long moment they held each other, both with eyes closed to augment their other senses... to savor the tactile and olfactory sensations. "It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks of me if that's how you see me," Catherine finally replied, her voice a mumble against her fist, which rested against his chest clutching the fabric of his shirt.

He smiled, one hand around her waist stroking the small of her back while the other meandered into the golden locks of hair splayed across his chest. "Good," he murmured back, and allowed himself another moment of indulgence as he bent his head to kiss her hair, closing his eyes once more when the herbal scent of the strawberry-blonde silk swirled around him.

Silence descended upon the pair once again, though this time it was laden with an undercurrent of tension, questions racing through each brilliant mind as to whether or not it would be wise to cross the line so carefully drawn twenty years before. They then simultaneously pulled back, teal searching cerulean in a shared quest for permission to take the next step while Gil's hands framed Catherine's face.

Upon sensing no hesitation or impending regret from Catherine's side, Gil focused visually on her lips... trailing back up to her eyes ever-so-briefly to silently inform her of his intent. When she cracked a smile... that brilliant, adorable 'Catherine' smile, he couldn't help but smile a little in return. His hands slipped from resting against her cheeks... to taking up residence below her jawline, his thumbs stroking just in front of her ears while his lips began their slow descent to hers.

Two sets of lips parted, drawing closer and closer... breaths intermingled, swirling between the two bodies approaching their destination. When the surfaces of both their top and bottom lips began to touch, a shrill wail jolted them apart, and Gil looked accusingly down at the pager hooked onto his belt. He glanced up at his companion, still hovering tantalizingly mere inches away. His expression was apologetic, and she smiled in response. "Duty calls," she quipped.

He nodded silently, and gave her one last apologetic glance before squeezing her hand and brushing past her to head out the door. Catherine, meanwhile, let out the soft sigh that had built within her during their close call... a smile trailing behind the wistful exhalation. Disappointment had laid heavily on his distinguished features... but she, however, was quite content to leave things where they were for now. She was quite content to merely stand in his office and stare at the doorway... at the ghost of his presence; knowing, eventually... he'd be back to finish what was started.

~FINIS~