With very little effort, Gil balanced the ingredients for caramel apples and simultaneously opened the door to Catherine's house. He heard shrieking laughter from the party as he walked towards the kitchen.

There stood Catherine as she waited for the popcorn to finish. Empty pizza boxes adorned the counter while a black garbage bag commandeered the corner. It was over-filled with various plastic- wares.

"Looks like a good party," commented Gil.

"Gil!" Her smile of greeting was part welcome and part relief. "And you got my message. You're a lifesaver."

"I'm glad you called. I also bought a couple of bottles of soda, waffles, milk, and some toothbrushes in case this turns into an overnight thing."

Catherine laughed. "You don't need to make that sound like a bad thing."

"I'm not."

"Uh-huh." She looked at him with a dubious expression. "Then, explain why your tone is so defensive."

Lindsey saved him from fabricating a plausible answer when she entered the kitchen.

"Mom, where's the pop--," she began to say but changed mid- word. "Uncle Gil! Did you get our message? Oh! You did. I'll go tell them we'll make caramel apples after the movie. You're the best, Uncle Gil. Thanks for the popcorn, Mom."

With that, she left the room with the popcorn bowl in hand.

Gil continued to stare at the empty doorway long after echoes of the girls' movie had begun.

"Did she breathe at all?" he asked, intentionally adding a note of extreme perplexity into his tone.

"Funny," replied Catherine without raising an eyebrow at his question.

She resumed unpacking the grocery items and sorting them into their respective culinary piles.

Gil drifted unobtrusively towards the stacked pizza boxes and began to open the lids. He found a partially empty box, lifted a slice out, and began to eat.

"Sure, help yourself to leftovers," came Catherine's voice over his shoulder.

"I did go to the grocery store for you."

"Speaking of which, can I have the receipt?"

"Why?" Moved by curiosity, Gil turned towards her.

It was then he saw the plate and napkin Catherine offered him. Hands free, she grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured him a drink.

"To reimburse you. Did you really think I'd ask you to go without paying you back?"

"I didn't expect it. I went because you asked."

He watched her play with the soda bottle's label. Her face made him both nervous and apprehensive.

"Cath? Did I do something wrong?"

The ensuing silence was eerie against the echoes of the movie and the girls' commentary of it.

When she spoke, she looked him straight in the eyes; her gaze was clear, which hinted at a clean conscience.

"I wasn't going to say anything because who doesn't need the extra money these days. But I asked accounting about it anyway--as a favor-- and it's not a mistake."

"I'm not sure I follow, Cath."

Gil kept his voice and expression as confused as he could. On a normal day, he was no actor and, on a good day, Catherine could see through him like sheer fabric.

She braced one arm on the counter; the other persisted in playing with the label on the bottle.

"I got the impression that the recent shift changes weren't the end of things at the lab. There's going to be another transfer and soon, isn't there?"

"Get to the point."

Suddenly, uncharacteristically impatient, Gil's clipped reply produced no surprised reaction in her.

"You and I both know that accounting should've docked my pay when I returned to nights. You're the supervisor so I shouldn't still be getting your pay equivalent."

Gil understood why she stopped. She knew he now had enough information to complete her blanks.

He stepped away from the counter while straightening to his full height.

"I handed in my resignation to the Director the same day you transferred back to nights."

"Resignation?"

The bottle label separated from its glue in a jerky movement. Gently, it fluttered to the floor where both Catherine and Gil forgot about its presence.

"Are you telling me that you're leaving CSI? And I had to find out through my paycheck? Gil!"

Whenever he imagined this conversation, he prepared himself for her anger. She was right, of course; there were definitely better ways to discover bad news, but none that would save him from giving an explanation. Or, when it came to Catherine: a full confession.

Life already had changed faster than he could assimilate so he ignored the emotions swirling in her and in him to concentrate on the facts.

He cleared his throat and found his trusty monotone 'informative' voice.

"You are fully qualified, Catherine, otherwise they would never have transferred you to swing. And by the time they accepted my resignation, you were back on nights. It seemed pointless for accounting to change all their paperwork; they'd have to do everything again in a few weeks anyway."

She moved fast; he had to credit her with that. However, the current circumstances were not how he imagined her to be so close and digging her nails into his shoulders. The painful shaking she was giving him was not part of his dreams either.

"How can you stand there and say that so calmly?" she was saying.

Gil focused on her face and finally saw the tears he had tried to overlook.

"I've had weeks to think about this." He pitched his next words so low that they became soothing, gentling her. "Cath, listen to me, please."

She stopped shaking him and would have withdrawn altogether had he not stopped her departure by pulling her close again.

"I can't let them separate you from Lindsey again. Nightshift isn't the best--we both know you ought to be on days--but with you as supervisor on nights, you can't get back on swing. Ever. Cath, let me do this for you, please."

Catherine did her best to smile.

"At least tell me this, Gil, because you've taken the decision away from me. Just tell me where you're going. Then, I'll consider forgiving you for not telling me before tonight."

"I didn't want you to change my mind." Gil shrugged and it made a small, genuine smile grace her lips.

"There's a taskforce forming to combat the northward spread of Apis mellifera scutellata. There's also a few other projects that I've been following and would like to see their progress. I can't do that from here."

She pulled away from him only to return with a pointed finger added to the mix. Gil felt the accusation easily from her glare.

"You're leaving Vegas?"

Both adults winced automatically when their senses registered that the question had been asked just a little too loud. Thankfully, the movie masked their conversation.

"I can accept you're leaving CSI; I can accept you're going back towards experimental science. I cannot accept that you need to leave Vegas to do it."

Gil heard the emphasis she left out on the 'not'. It confused him.

She let a short, ironic chuckle precede the last non-work related sentences she would speak to him during the interim before he left.

"I should've expected that you wouldn't see this. Let me spell it out plainly for you, Gil. After Eddie's death, there were three things Lindsey and I had that didn't change. Things we could count on. Things we thought would stay the same until the end of the world: we had each other; Lindsey's birthday; and you, Gil." She turned and headed towards the room where sounds of the movie no longer emanated. "I can't believe I thought you would always be there for me. I guess you really can't rely on the past to predict the future."

Gil watched her walk away like so many times in their long, shared history.

"I wish I could be a part of your future, Cath, but I've been living in the past. It's wishful thinking; I can see that things'll be better this way. But I'll miss you both."

He spoke into the sink where he rinsed his dishes to ready them for the dishwasher. Taking another precious minute to memorize their voices, how a full house felt, and the layout of her house, Gil left as alone as he entered. He dumped the trash bag into the can, all to prolong his stay but knowing the fantasy of 'just another evening' never would last.

Catherine heard his car engine start and returned to the kitchen. The tears that did not fall earlier spilled onto her cheeks when she took in the missing garbage bag and the humming dishwasher.

The evidence was there in how helpful he was, in thought and in action. Gil was now gone from her life and, only now, she discovered just how far apart she and Gil had drifted in the weeks since the initial shift changes. Not even that knowledge could prevent her from wondering if she would ever get the chance to bridge the widening gap between them.

FIN

© RK 05.Nov.2005