Catherine stopped for a moment at Gil's so he could pick up some things, then drove them to her house. Once inside, the first thing she did was check her plants to make sure they were still alive. Gil stood frozen in the doorway, his gym bag in hand. Finally, Catherine noticed.

"Are you going to stand there all night?" she asked.

"I'm not sure why I'm here," he said. He had an uncomfortable look on his face.

"Gil, you've been in my apartment, before. What's the problem?"

"That was different, Catherine," he said, still not moving. "We weren't.... Well, we weren't WE, then."

Catherine was torn between feeling sorry for him and wanting to smack some sense into him. Instead, she grabbed him by the arm, dragged him into the house and closed the door behind them.

"Just what do you think is going to happen here, tonight?" she asked, her eyes blazing.

He was tongue tied. Catherine answered her own question.

"I'll tell you what. I'm going to sleep in Lindsey's room, and you are going to sleep in my room, okay? That way, you won't be alone and you won't have to worry about whatever it is you think you should be worrying about."

Catherine was surprised to realize that she was having trouble talking about their relationship, as well.

"I don't think I'm ready for this," he said.

"For what?"

He didn't answer.

"If you think we're going to have sex, tonight, think again," she said. "In the first place, you're not up to it, and I won't be responsible for anything else getting broken." His eyebrows shot up. "In the second place, this is my house. Here we play by my rules. If I want sex, I'll let you know. Don't presume otherwise." His mouth fell open. "And in the third place, I'm exhausted, and you should be, too. So march yourself right into that bathroom and take your clothes off, and I'll be right in."

"You'll what?" he asked, stunned.

"To change your bandages!"

"Oh," he mouthed, following her orders.

Catherine quickly changed the sheets on her bed and grabbed her pajamas and robe. She put his pills and a glass of water on the kitchen counter, then she went to check on Gil.

"You decent?" she asked, rapping on the door.

"Unfortunately, yes," he said, grinning to himself. He was down to his boxers.

The door wasn't locked this time, so Catherine marched in and began helping him remove his bandages. She checked the sutures, happy that they looked better. Then she carefully cleaned the wound, applied some medication and bandaged him back up. The whole time, Gil just watched her in the mirror, without speaking, admiring her strength and beauty and trying not to think of the way her delicate fingers caressed his skin. When she was done, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and kicked him out of the bathroom.

"My turn," she said, locking the door behind her.

Catherine's speech had made Gil feel more relaxed. No expectations, he thought. A part of him regretted that. He gratefully took his medication and realized that she was right, he was exhausted. A few minutes later, Gil was snoring happily in Catherine's bed, surrounded by chintz vases, satin pillows, and floral wallpaper. Catherine stood in the doorway and watched him breath. Tonight, no matter how much she ached to do so, she wasn't going to sleep with him. It was more than either of them could handle, at this point. He needed to know that he was as safe here as he was in his own domain. Tonight, she would sleep across the hall and hold him in her dreams.

*******

Catherine awoke just as the early morning sun was beginning to crest the horizon. She took a minute to get her bearings, made her morning constitution, and peeked in to check on Gil. To all appearances, he was still out like a light, but when she crept up on him to be sure, his hand sprung out from under the covers and he pulled her down into the bed with him.

"Gottcha!" he said, grinning at her.

"Grissom!" she squealed. "What the hell is the matter with you?" She was trying not to laugh.

"I missed you," he said, pulling her to his side and drowning her lips in his.

"Careful!" she said, coming up for air. "You're going to hurt yourself."

His smile was bright and warm as he pulled her tighter.

"Thanks," he whispered in her ear.

"For what?" she asked.

"For last night. For understanding."

She looked at him quizzically.

"This week has been hell," he explained, his eyes suddenly becoming haunted. "I wanted to make love with you. I still do. But the last time I made love with someone, it began in bondage and ended in murder. I don't know who is watching us. I don't know what scheme they're hatching. But I don't want to love you like that, and I don't want to lose you like that."

"Remember what you told me?" Catherine asked, running her fingers through his curly hair. He looked confused. "That was just sex. You haven't really been loved, yet."

"I haven't?" His tone was lighter.

"Trust me, you'll know when you are," Catherine assured him. "I can make you feel good without all the games."

"Be careful, Catherine," he warned, his breath hot on her skin. "There are still some things you don't know about me."

"Like what?" she asked, playing the innocent while snuggling closer to him.

Her heart was racing, and she could feel is body temperature rising and his breath quickening.

"When we work together, we're equals. We butt heads. We take turns being in charge," he said, his eyes peering into hers. "When we're not working, you take control. I've seen you do it, time and again. Like you did last night. But when we're in bed, I call the shots. I'm telling you now, up front, so you have time to say no."

His hand slid up her ribs and cupped her breast, and she gasped.

"This may be your house, and you may dictate the rules, but right now I want you. I'm giving you five seconds to say no. One..... Two..... Three..... Four..... Five!"

"Gil!"

*******

The next time Catherine woke up, she understood the meaning of the word 'ravished.' She was wound up in the satin sheet from her bed, overcome with emotion and still aching for him. But Gil was nowhere to be seen. Her legs were shaky as she stood up and found her robe. Every time she took a step, she could still feel him, in her, on her, touching her. Her hands trembled as she reached for a water glass in the kitchen. Whatever Heather had been teaching him, it worked, she realized. And like everything else in life, when Gil Grissom set his mind to learning something, he became an expert at it. She heard the shower turn on, and she was drawn to the bathroom. The door was unlocked. She let herself in. Slowly, still tingling in every nerve, she dropped her robe and stepped into the shower with him. His eyes locked on hers and he pinned her to the tile wall so tight there was no room for the water to run between them. And when he took her, she knew it was all over. From that moment on, whenever and wherever and however he wanted her, she was his.

When they finally pulled apart and stepped out into the steaming bathroom, Catherine thought she would faint.

"Whoa!" he said, grabbing her as she started to fall.

"I'm dizzy," she said.

"Stand still," he ordered, then he proceeded to wipe her dry with a towel, carefully catching every drop from her glistening hair, rubbing her gently front and back until she wanted to scream, using the towel as much to dry her as to stimulate her further.

"Gil! Stop!" she finally yelled, clenching his hair in her fingers. "I can't take anymore!"

And he did. He stood up, a sheepish grin on his face, and kissed her swollen lips.

"Get dressed," he said. "When I see you like this, I don't want to stop."

He left her standing there and went in search of some pants and dry bandages.

Her legs were still shaky a half-hour later, when Jim Brass banged on her door.

"I hoped I'd find you both here," he said, glancing from Gil to Catherine and back, again. They were dressed and eating breakfast, but even Jim could feel the tension in the air between them. "Please, tell me you spent the entire night here, Gil," Jim continued.

"I did. Why?" Gil asked.

"You haven't been watching the news this morning, have you?" Jim countered.

"What's going on, Jim," Gil asked, his voice grave.

Brass picked up the remote control and flicked on the news. The cameras were just catching the end of a press conference with Sheriff Atwater. Reporters were beginning to hurl questions at him. Then the camera cut to the anchorwoman.

"Stay tuned for more on the tragic death of CSI Director Conrad Eckley," she said. The program went to commercial.

Gil stared at the screen in shock, until Catherine grabbed the remote and shut it off. She turned in time to see Gil dash for the bathroom before being sick. Catherine grabbed a kitchen towel, soaked it in cool water and ran after him. She found him kneeling on the floor, hugging the toilet bowl. He was pale and sweating and shaking. She flushed the toilet and knelt down to wipe his face.

"We did this," he said, his face tortured. "We killed him."

Catherine drew him into her arms and soothed him.

"This isn't your fault," she said, over and over again. "This isn't your fault."

"I should have seen this coming. He was a loose end. I should have known."

"This isn't your fault."

"I just wanted him to lead us to Braun. I didn't think.... Damn, I just didn't think!"

Jim waited patiently until they emerged.

"How did it happen?" Gil asked, as he fell into a chair, still shaking. Catherine stood next to him, her hand on his shoulder.

"He was found dead in his apartment, a bullet to the back of the head at close range. Professional job. Coroner fixed the time of death around 5:30 this morning," Jim said. "Everyone's been out looking for you. You weren't at your town house, and no one could find you. That made you a suspect."

"He was here all night," Catherine said. "I'll swear to that."

"Even at 5:30 this morning?" Jim asked. "How can you be sure?"

Catherine looked Jim in the eye.

"You have to ask?"

"Ahhh." He nodded, understanding.

"I need to go home," Gil said.

"I'll take you," Catherine offered, as she gathered up his things.

"This really wasn't your fault, Gil," Jim said. "When you get mixed up with Sam Bruan, things happen. Eckley knew that. It was his mistake that got him killed, not yours."

Grissom wasn't sure he believed him. He was even less sure when he opened the door to his apartment and found it vandalized. Catherine and Jim walked in on Gil's heels, and Catherine could see the life drain out of him as he stared at his place. His invaluable butterfly collection was smashed on the floor. His leather sofa had been slashed. His heavy table was gouged. His music system was shattered on the floor. In a panic, he ran for the bedroom, to find his tarantulas dead in their cage.

The rage that had been building up in him all week reached volcanic levels. He turned to Jim and Catherine.

"Get out!" he ordered, pointing to the door. "Get out now, before I hurt someone!"

They both looked stunned, frozen in their tracks.

"Get -- out -- now!" he picked up a broken lamp and threw it past Jim's head.

Jim grabbed Catherine and dragged her out the front door.

"I can't leave him like this!" she protested.

"You don't have a choice," he said. "Go home."

"No!"

"Fine, then don't go home. But you can't stay here. Not now."

"I can't leave him!"

Jim, frustrated, looked like he was about to belt her.

"Fine, stay here, then. But don't go in there for at least an hour! He needs time. He needs to work through this!"

Catherine could hear Gil screaming inside, and she sank to the steps, in tears, thankful the reporters had given up their perches for the day, to gather at Eckley's house.

-- TBC --