"Denial is very easy to accomplish, don't you think?" Gil said evenly, head resting against the back of his couch, scotch-on-the-rocks cradled casually between his knees.

"Mmm," Catherine responded noncommittally, the red wine in her half-empty glass swirling lazily in time with the ceiling fan above.

"Excuses, rationalizations," he continued, and Catherine, prone on the couch, rolled her head toward him in an effort to feign interest, "are inherently and inversely more convincing to oneself, because the juxtaposition of the truth and an intentionally fictitious substitute are ­ "

A deep sigh, followed shortly by an inelegant snort, interrupted his musings.

"Is there a problem, Catherine?" Both his head and his eyebrow raised, mouth quirking in response to the self-assured and fairly mischievous smile gracing his companion's face.

"You know, Gil," Catherine began, sitting up and turning to face him while simultaneously placing her wine glass on the coffee table between them, sparkling blue meeting warily amused grey, "there's a party in my pants. And you're invited."

"Catherine," Gil chuckled good-naturedly, being careful to keep eye contact.

"I'm serious, Bugman," she smiled, "VIP pass. All-access."

"I never should've let Lindsey talk you into Anchorman." A fondness entered his voice at the mention of the precocious teen.

"Don't distract me. And don't blame it on my daughter. This," she gestured somewhat sloppily to the space between them, "is a very special invitation. I mean, do you know how much trouble I can get myself into by inviting people to a party in my pants?"

"Is that a question I want to touch?"

"C'mon, Gil. Don't be a grouchy birthday boy."

"Catherine," Grissom sighed, sipping his scotch to hide his mirth.

She grinned triumphantly, though not in reaction to his attempt to conceal his laughter.

"That was a smooth segue, wasn't it? Get you all sidetracked with conversation and then SMACK!" ­ her hand hit the table with surprising speed, and, Gil noted, dangerous proximity to her glass ­ "I snuck that word right in when you least expected it." She reclined once more against the couch, satisfied.

"Least expected, yes. Smooth? No."

"Denial," she teased lightly. "Do you feel old?" she questioned, before he had time to launch a retort.

"I appreciate your forthrightness," he muttered, and took another drink.

"I mean, fifty years," Catherine bulldozed. "That's a long time."

"Thanks." A tinge of chagrin, laced heavily with affection.

"I mean, hell. We've known each other for…." Her eyebrows drew together. "For…."

In an effort to prevent her from counting her fingers, Gil offered, "A long time, Catherine."

"A long damn time, Gil," she agreed emphatically, nodding her head. "And ever since you pulled your head out of your ass ­ "

"You wound me," he chided.

"Ever since you pulled your head out of your ass," she repeated, the brilliance of her smile softening the crude epithet, "we've been having really AMAZING sex."

"Thank you."

"Speaking of, I think I'm a little drunk. Wanna take advantage of me?" Her tone was distinctly seductive, in spite of the sorority-girl phrasing.

"Only if you want to be taken advantage of, Cath."

She giggled. "Only if it's by you, Gil. Only if it's by you."

A genuine and comfortable silence ensued.

"Gil?"

"Yes?"

"Are you gonna be `up' for it? I mean, now that you're old." Her words had begun to slur.

"The question, my dear," he replied, "is whether or not YOU will be up for it."

"Ha!" She struggled tenuously to her feet. "I'm always ­ " And with that, she promptly lost her battle against gravity.

"Damn," she swore, frowning, the prospects of getting laid becoming, for the first time that evening, discouragingly distant.

Gil set his glass down and rose, slowly moving to her side.

"I can be on my back?" she offered.

He stroked her hair away from her face, before gathering her in his arms.

"C'mon, dear. It's time for bed."

"Am I at least gonna get to blow out your birthday candle?"

A laugh from her companion.

"Later, Cath."

"Promise?"

"Always." He dipped his head, lips grazing her forehead, then gently lay her on the bed, spooning himself behind her.

"You know," he whispered in her ear, "I don't mind the aging process, as long as I get to experience it with you. So thank you, Catherine, for making the years I've had you in my life memorable, and those ahead bright."

A tender pause, a moment of silent adoration, and then ­

"I love you too, Gil."

And it was, by far, his favorite birthday yet.

le fin.