Catherine quietly entered into her house, quietly shutting the door behind her. Fear of waking Lindsey from her sleep startled her thoughts as she had pulled her vehicle up the driveway and parked it away for the night. Her Prussian eyes traveled across her living room, then into her kitchen. Everything was surprisingly `neat and tidy'. Her guess was that Lindsey had decided to help out Mom while Chris was babysitting her.

Chris…

Guilt almost struck her heart when she realized she was arriving home much later than expected. It had been a long day and Catherine was beginning to wonder if a relationship between her and Chris would work out. Well, it was obvious that they could manage, but the question of whether or not she wanted it to work out entered into her restless mind. Of course she liked him—in fact, she loved him. But her feelings for this man, which she had been dating for a couple weeks, were beginning to slightly change. And unfortunate for her at the moment, she could not tell which direction her feelings for Chris were heading.

That night was supposed to be special. The two of them would've enjoyed a nice supper together, while Lindsey was tucked away in her warm bed. But things changed—things always changed. And of course, once again, her job interfered with her personal life.

God, I need a different routine, Catherine thought, a variety of emotions running through her head.

She ran her fingers through her curly, blond hair that was lined with lush strands of strawberry. While doing so, her freshly manicured nail was caught in the root of her ravishing locks. She let out a muffled wail of both disappointment and frustration, repeating something in the order of `And I just got these done…' through her cherry-plumped lips. It seemed that everything since getting into her car that night had been all wrong—very wrong. And one of those things was actually leaving the lab.

For the past couple of weeks, her and a very good friend had been having some `bumps' in their long-time relationship. It had all started out when this friend had learned a few of her untold secrets. Well, they were told; now Catherine wondered if that's where she had gone wrong. But in a friendship as of this, she would vow to keep no secrets or lies from him—Gil Grissom.

And he wasn't just her friend. He was her mentor, partner, and one of her best friends in the world, which she didn't have many of. When you were seeking life in a job of investigation, who would? But sometimes a job with the CSI could take away all that you once found much time in, and Catherine could name a few: her daughter, her relationships, her life.

She quivered onto her couch, covering her forehead with the palm of her cold hand. The bitterness of her skin was a relief as it made contact with the inner-migraine that she was suddenly experiencing. Migraines came rare, just as they did with Gil. They usually came when she was under a lot of tension or stress, which she seemed to be getting more and more of lately. Her share was definitely given, and Catherine had just about had enough of it. And that's when it hit her— or rather he hit her:

Gil…

"Gil," she murmured, cranking her eyelids shut just at the sound of his name. She hadn't even stopped by his office to say an abrupt `hello' in weeks. Their cases had been taking them apart to two whole different spots of Las Vegas. When would they have time to catch-up with each other? Weeks was a long time, and weeks grew even longer as they were spent carelessly.

As she lay in silence, trying to manage a headache into the back of her thoughts, two men sat in the darkness of her mind, each trying so hard to win her impotent musings. The trouble was that she couldn't be sure of which one she wanted to win.

Catherine rolled over on her side, trying not to admit the definite truth that was overcoming her heart and all of her inner being. It wasn't by fate that both of those two men were settled into her mind, refusing to let go of her soul—it was by mere stubbornness. It was true; she didn't want to let go of either, no matter how hard they tugged.

Gil Grissom: the man who she had known for the longest time—the man who had understood her when no one else had—the man who she had sought solitude and comfort in when her own husband betrayed her.

The other man—a selfless being that she knew was in love with her. The problem was that she had only known him for a couple of weeks. It would only be a matter of time when she would find herself feeling uncomfortable about her feelings. She had learned not to trust people very easily—especially new men in her life.

But is it true? Catherine asked herself. Am I pondering these two men because they both have something in common in my set of lines?

Tossing to her other side, Catherine shot her eyes open, which were now red with tired circles and weariness. The blue circles outlined her fear of what she may consider to be truth among her standards. And what wasn't the truth scared her even more, if it would at all enter her thoughts. And the honesty was, she had no idea what the truth was, which brought her to the conclusion of why she was pondering this all to begin with. At the moment, it was as if she was entering insanity, emerging from the darkness.

And then it happened, the `truth' that she had been looking for, asked her a question—a question she mused over in agony.

Do you love Gil Grissom?

"Of course I do," she mumbled out loud, in somewhat of a hushed whisper. Almost slapping herself over the head, she realized that that wasn't the kind of answer the `truth' had been seeking.

No, Catherine, do you love Gil Grissom?

"I-I…" she stuttered, her words trailing off. Suddenly, some clatter interrupted her thoughts and she shot up her head, realizing that that someone knocked at the door.

Quickly leaping off of the couch, Catherine closed her eyes in pain. Her head rattled at the force of her body weight being lifted up at such a fast pace. But shaking it all off in a single moment, she walked towards the door, pausing a few feet in front of it.

I can almost sense his presence…I just know it's him…

"Catherine, please—it's Gil. I know you're in there." His voice was clear and distinct in its normal form. But there was something else there—something else that Catherine had never, in all her years of knowing him, heard before.

Taking a few steps forward, her fingertips reached out and grasped the door handle, gently swinging it open. For a moment, they each just held each other's gazes. His light-blue eyes met her darker ones, which were profiled with redness. In amidst of all her thinking, Catherine hadn't even realized her situation of crying. She quickly wiped a single tear from her eye, which was on its way of streaming down her cheek.

"Gil."

It felt almost like a relief to say his name that way. It had been the name that was entering her thoughts too many times that night; not that it disturbed her. She loved the sound of his name, especially coming from her lips.

"Catherine."

Finally, the arousing sound from his lips, she thought in a content state of being. Just the way he spoke her name…the passion he whispered it in…

"Do you want to come in?" she asked, noting his forward stance. Catherine could tell by the way that he leaned on the door post that he was not satisfied with standing out in the cold, where the bitter evening wind nipped at his skin.

"I don't know. I just came over for a few…" he began.

"No, I insist. Come in at once and I'll get you some beer," Catherine interrupted. Seeing the slightly flustered look on his face, she backed off a bit, creating a larger space between them.

"I think I'll be fine with coffee—or tea—if you have any," Grissom told her, trying his hardest to turn his irritation into a smile.

"I can make some tea up quickly. Just bought some herbal tea because Lindsey has been having some soar throats lately," she said.

"Sounds good." He walked in, feeling a warm blast of air, after her gestures to have a seat on her small sofa. Choosing the far right side of the couch, Grissom made himself comfortable in the warm home, away from the fall winds.

"So, would you like peppermint or green tea?" Catherine asked the man who had just entered her home. As he answered, she studied him carefully, wondering if he had come to her home to simply talk after not seeing each other for such a long period of time—or was he here for solitude? Quite a few times, as friends should do, they would come to each other for comfort, knowing they could trust a caring person as the other.

"Green tea sounds more natural," he said, swallowing hard. Now she could really tell that his expressions held nervousness, something she saw very rarely in the life of Gil Grissom.

"Alright then. If you want, you can flick on the television, though I doubt there's anything but news and late shows on right now," Catherine told him, motioning towards the controller that was set on the coffee table.

"No thank you, Catherine," Grissom answered plainly.

"Well," she said, after returning from setting some water on the stove to boil, "what's up?"

"I suppose we should have a lot to talk about, after not talking for about two weeks," he replied with a flat tone. His outer being was confusing her more and more. It was if he was angered at her, but for what for, she didn't know. They hadn't actually spoke for weeks, except now-and-again a quick `hello' or `goodbye.' It wasn't right. Does Gil think I'm ignoring him? she wondered thoughtfully.

Ignoring the subject completely, Catherine decided he would speak about it on his own if he wished. So she spoke, "So why'd you come?" she asked quickly.

"To talk."

"About what?"

"Us."

Catherine froze in her position on the opposite side of the comfortable couch, covered a dark-blue slipcover. Us? she repeated selflessly. Oh god, if it's going to be `us,' please make this `truth' come out of my mind and through my lips now…

She expected him to speak about the subject he had mentioned, but instead, they sat in silence for a few minutes, until finally, she began to move her lips—but no sound came out.

"U-us?" she asked in a hushed whisper, trying to act as normal as possible.

"Yeah, us…" he repeated, his words trailing off. This can't be that hard, he mused, slapping himself mentally in the head. "Catherine, I get the feeling that you are…" Again he stopped short of himself. "I get the feeling that you're mad at me and I have no idea why that is!" he exclaimed, his single words rushing into one being.

"Me—mad?" she asked in a shocked tone. "That is simply unbelievable! I thought you were the one who was mad!"

"Me?" he asked, this time his voice beheld the shocked voice of tone. She nodded her strawberry-blond locks, her curls bouncing off her shoulders as she did so.

"Yes you, Gil. You've been ignoring me—acting cold whenever I try to speak to you, if I have time. It seems like every time I rarely had a chance to say a quick `hello' or `goodbye,' you answered with a quick one too, not even stopping to note me at all…"

"Wait, every time I tried to speak with you, you would act as if you were too busy for me. I thought that you didn't want to speak with me, Catherine. Should we each be telling each other something, or am I missing the `it' that I can't put my finger on?" he asked. For a moment, a redness crept onto Catherine's blushed cheeks. She looked to the ground and sighed.

"Truth be told, Gil, I don't think I wanted to speak to you…but that was because I thought you didn't want to speak to me! I thought you were mad at me so that made me mad. Oh, I think it was just a big misunderstanding. But, Gil, you have to admit that we've both been extra busy lately," she explained, watching him as he threw his head in his hands and shook it tremendously.

"And all this time…no, Cath, I was never mad at you. I would never be mad at you like that, even if I did disagree with you or something else in that order. I would confront you about it if I ,at all, were angered." Grissom sighed, shaking his head again.

"I know that, Gil, but god, I thought you were…" she stopped short, trying to rephrase all of her oncoming words.

"You thought I was—what?" he asked, slightly cocking his head to one side, studying her face harder than he had before that night.

"You're going to think I'm…oh, it's dumb, Gil. Just never mind."

"What, Catherine? Matters probably aren't dumb, actually," he said with a small chuckle. "You know you can tell me anything," he persuaded.

"Well, truthfully, I thought you were jealous," she shot out, biting her lips, wishing that she hadn't spoke so quickly.

"Jealous?" Grissom raised his eyebrow, trying to meet her gaze. When their eyes did finally meet, they held each other's stare for what seemed like the longest time before he cleared his throat, trying his best to make his tone sound as normal as possible. "And what I be jealous of?"

"Never mind, Gil, it's nothing. Anyway, the tea's ready."

"Catherine!" he exclaimed, as he watched her slim figure walk away from him. He studied her every move as she readied the tea, pouring the boiled water into two separate mugs and setting afloat two herbal packets inside of the water. When she turned around, the mugs in each of her hand, there was a warm smile upon her lips. He gave her a smile of his own back, but it wasn't as melodious as he would have wished it to be.

"Here you go—one green tea," she said with many hints of happiness in her tone.

"Thanks, Cath," he replied, feeling the warmth of the cup surround the palm of his hand as he held the mug.

Hesitating for a few moments, Grissom pondered whether or not he should continue the subject they had withdrawn from their lips. It was natural that she used the tea as an excuse to escape from the subject. So why would he be the one to continue it?

She'll talk on her own, if she wants to, he decided.

Catherine stirred her tea a bit more, adding some honey and extra herbs before sitting down on the couch. But this time, she sat closer to Grissom than she had before. Instead of taking a seat on the opposite side of the sofa, Catherine desired to be right next to him, where she could inhale his impulsive scent. And it just felt so right— so normal; it was how they would usually sit if there wasn't that `it- factor' there. And it was her turn to take a shot at ending the factor altogether.

Grissom flinched a bit at her touch brushing up against him. He knew that his outward appearance had made no sense of movement, but inside, it was all starting to collapse and fall down. Her scent—the most wonderful thing he had inhaled for a couple of weeks. He didn't know whether it was a body wash or shampoo, but he liked it. Neither of them wore cologne or perfume, for it distracted them from work. But whatever it was, he decided that he had missed it during their weeks of `separation.'

"Gil," she began, setting her mug in her lap with her palms clenched tightly around the warmth. "Are we fine?" she asked. Her question seemed to startle his mind from rest. Are we fine? he repeated.

"Uh, of course, Cath," Grissom replied, turning his gaze to meet her icy-blue eyes.

"No, Gil, I'm mean, are we really fine?" she asked once again, this time in a more solemn tone than before.

"Out of curiosity, why do you ask?"

"Because a couple of weeks ago, on the last day that we were fine, we had a bit of an argument. And when I left, I asked how we were, and you said: `we'll be fine.'" Catherine stopped for a moment, pausing to rerun her impending words through her head before they emerged from her lips.

"Catherine."

"It doesn't seem like we're `fine,' Gil, and I hate it," she continued, ignoring the look of incognizance on his face, although he was very much aware of what she spoke of.

"Catherine."

Hearing him whisper her name again frustrated her. Was that all he could manage? No answer, no reply? Just Catherine?

"Would this have to do at all with the subject we were on before? Something about jealousy?" Grissom asked slowly, very cautious of his words. She let out a sigh from her lungs before looking directly at him and answering.

"That night…oh, god, I feel so stupid. That night, Gil, I should have never left you. I'm so sorry," she said, nearly inaudible to his ears. Her whispers continued with a bit of mumbling before she came back to reality. "I feel terrible…"

"For what?" he asked, studying her features. He could clearly see the tears forming in her eyes, outlining the vivid blue circles with a red streak. "You have nothing, of my concern, to be sorry for."

"Of course I do!" she exclaimed, nearly falling apart—something that Catherine Willows would kill herself for doing in front of Gil. "I could see the pain that was in your eye. You don't get migraines on just a random condition, Gil, you get them when you're under stress or you're deeply sad or depressed. And don't you argue with me, saying that you didn't have a headache because I could tell by your…"

"Catherine, shhh," Grissom said calmly, taking his hand and resting it on her knee. "I forgive you, but it wasn't you that gave me that migraine. I believe it was the case, the paperwork, and the loss of food that day combined," he explained with a sigh. Feeling the touch of his fingertips rounding about her knee caused a rush of emotions to encircle her head and heart, causing it to thump harshly against her chest.

"But, Gil, then what's wrong with me? What's wrong with us?" she cried, a single tear rolling out of her eye. At the moment, he couldn't think of a time when she had actually `let go' in front of him.

"Catherine."

He had spoken her name so many times that night, in that tone; it was beginning to worry her. Something was different—something that she just couldn't place her finger on. Again, it was that `it-factor' that no one could identify. But what exactly was it?

"I want to be more than `fine,'" she sobbed. "I want to be the way we used to be…" She stopped short with the rush of contentment she felt as his hand touched her cheek, caressing the tears away until the wet streaks were dried out.

"So do I," he whispered softly, pushing a strand of her brilliant hair behind her ear.

"Really?" she asked, titling her head slightly to look at him from an angle. A small smile crept upon her cherry-plumped lips. He nodded his curly, peppering-gray head and returned a smile as well. "But where do we start?" she asked, setting her mug on a coaster. She turned back and fully faced him.

"At the beginning, of course," Grissom answered with a laugh. "Just pretend you're solving a puzzle, Catherine—our lives are puzzles. Now it's time we piece them together again."

"The only thing is, with a puzzle, you usually start with the corner pieces," Catherine giggled, her hand slowly finding his. Their fingers locked together absentmindedly.

"Yes, you do have a point," he answered with a chuckle. "Okay, then the corner pieces signify the beginning, I suppose. The last piece we put together is the end, which I hope never comes," he added in a whisper.

"Gil?" she asked. Her voice was a hushed tone.

"What?"

"Why are we talking so quiet?" Catherine leaned towards him, their eyes locking and their lips inches apart.

"I have no clue," he said, suddenly breaking into a tremendous laugh, causing them to separate. Her blue eyes dazzled as she continued to keep his gaze, blue on blue. "Maybe we don't want to wake Lindsey," Grissom suggested.

"Yeah, that was my first motive when I came home tonight." Catherine sighed, leaning her back against the couch; her shoulders brushed up against his. Their hands still remained locked together, resting on her knee. She turned her head to stare at his handsome profile. "Gil, what did you come here for again?" she asked, curiosity striking her mode with awkwardness.

"Well, it's really not important…"

"Gil Grissom, you did not let me drop the subject that I felt `unessential' and you probably still won't let me. So I demand an explanation!" she said in her usual orderly voice.

"We basically discussed it…in different matters," he added quickly, running his hand through his short hair.

"In different matters? Gil, what the hell is going on in your mind?" she asked, letting out a bungling laugh.

"Catherine, where would you put our relationship, on a 1-10 basis?" he asked, his normal `scientific-correct' status taking a hold.

"Could you define relationship for me?" she questioned, nearly crossing her fingers inside of her mind.

"Just in general, Cath, tell me," Grissom continued.

"Well, at the moment, I'd say we're doing pretty well…an seven," she decided aloud, looking up at the ceiling, as if pondering her past conclusion.

"Seven? Is that all?" he asked, crossing his arms and staring at her in disbelief.

"Well, yes, considering the two weeks of probably low fours and fives, if even that, of course," Catherine added. Grissom sighed, biting his lip and raising his hand towards his head, stroking his forehead. "Uh oh, another migraine?" she asked cautiously.

"No, not that bad—but I may have one coming on soon," he explained disgustedly.

"Aw, do you want some Motrin or Tylenol?" she asked in a sympathetic voice.

"Nah, I'm good for now. But thanks for offering." He looked towards the ground, suddenly getting the urge to pace it with his blue eyes.

"You look very disappointed. Gil, does this have to do with my answer in your little poll?" she asked.

"No, I'm fine…"

"Right! Okay, my man, let it out and let it out good. I know that you've wanted to discuss something ever since you came over about a half-hour ago." Catherine reached her hand up and cupped his chin, feeling the soft hairs of his beard peel through her fingers. She lifted his chin up, forcing him to make eye contact with her.

"Catherine, really…"

"Gil, really…" She released her grasp on his lower-face.

"Well, okay," he finally concluded. "I basically wanted to discuss us, as I had said before. And we did that."

"But not the way you wanted?" she asked slowly, remembering how he had worded his feelings earlier over the matter. He nodded.

"When I asked you where you'd place our relationship, I mean our actual relationship. And the reason I've been very obstinate about this is because…Catherine, there is something that I'm jealous about."

That was all she needed—those words—that word—his voice speaking it. It all sent her up to heaven and back, including that unsure smirk that his face often beheld from corner to corner, ear to ear. She loved it—she loved it all. And no one was ever going to take it away from her. Well, his approaching actions and words may have taken away her hopes, but nothing could separate the feelings that she felt for Gil Grissom. And it was then and there that she actually admitted it to herself—gazing into his eyes.

I love Gil Grissom—I love him.

"Gil?" she asked sweetly, tears again coming to her steel-blue eyes, which were again turning into a misty color. "Can I tell you something before you say anymore?"

"Uh, sure…"

"I think I know exactly what you're going to say, and if I'm incorrect, then bring on the humiliation. If I know you well enough to predict your words, you're about to tell me that you're not sure of how to tell me—you love me and you're afraid that if you admit it, it may ruin the relationship as friends that we already have. Am I right?" Catherine asked, nearly clamping her eyes shut to hear his harsh and surprised `no.' And what came out of his lips next, shocked both of them to the very chilling of the bone.

"No, Catherine, my dear, you're wrong."

"What?" she asked, completely shocked. But there it was again—that smirk; the one that she adored.

"I don't love you—I have the deepest affection and passion for you in my heart that I cannot describe the feeling. It's more than love, Cath, it's something in the order of that `it-factor.'"

She gulped, meditating on every word that was released from his being before replying, "I feel the exact same way. It's been the most noticeable since that night that I saw the pain in your eye and walked off. And then, in our last case when we had contact, the whole `act' we played brought so much chilling to my bone. Gil, I love you so much. Oh, god, this may sound dumb, but someday I hope to really be your wife. I know, I know, it's too big of a jump right now, but a girl can dream, right?" Grissom laughed, realizing the rush of words that had been blurted from her taunting, sweet lips.

"I know that whatever you just said, was said with love, so I'll just agree with whatever was rushed out of your big mouth," he joked, squinting as he felt a punch in his shoulder. "I knew that was coming."

"You bet you did!" Catherine laughed, leaning her head on his shoulder, right in the area in which she had `given him the blow.' "Hey, Gil?"

"Yeah, Cath."

"Now what do we do about this?"

"Well, I suppose we could start with something like this…" his words trailed off, for his lips had come to close to hers for any more noise to emerge from them. She could feel his warm breathing on her nose, his contemplating decision still yet at hand.

"Something like…what?" she asked dreamily, her eyes wandering over his face. "Can you demonstrate it for me, Gil?" Catherine questioned, her taunting features calling his name.

And then it happened: his lips brushed against hers and Gil Grissom and Catherine Willows shared their first real kiss. And it wasn't just any kiss—the passion was deeper than the depths of both of their souls. The power was a strong, affectionate impact. The emotions were indescribable.

His taste, she moaned to herself.

Finally they released each other just for enough time to gasp for air and look each other in the eye. And then they impacted again, their lips meeting and exploring each other's tenderly.

"Gil," she moaned, "Can we just stay like this? Can you just hold me for a lifetime?" Catherine asked, breaking away from the kiss and leaning into his hard embrace.

"If only it could be, Cath, I would say `yes' and I would repeat it for a millenium," he answered, smiling as he gently stroked her hair.

"I need to tell you something," she began tentatively.

"And what's that?" he asked, pushing her a bit back so her glowing face was visible under his blue eyes.

"Gil Grissom, you're the one man who's on my mind tonight." And it was true. Gil Grissom was the one who was in her thoughts and the one who would remain there. No longer, in that moment, did she at all ponder `the other man' who hopelessly awaited her love. Who would have ever thought that it would be her long-time friend that she finally sought true love in?

With that, their lips found each other, struggling for more and more as their acts continued for a while longer during that evening. They were oblivious to the world, and the world was oblivious to them. Nothing was real—not even kiss. Well, it didn't seem like reality to them, as they were bearing their emotions in a tangle towards each other. The only time they would break apart, was to hold each other's gazes for a bit, or to reach for a needed gasp of air.

Well, Grissom thought, I think we both found our `it-factor.'

THE END