They were kissing suddenly, the feel of his lips against hers something out of a dream, a day she’d thought would never come in their twelve years of working side by side, together as a team. He’d argued, she’d countered- each playing their cards and laying it all out on the table. But he held back, much more than she’d ever wanted him to, and in her attempts to bring all of his thoughts to the surface, the tension had broken and thrown them into each other with the abandon she’d never expected.

“Catherine...this isn’t right.”

“And it isn’t wrong, either.” When they were apart, seconds later, she was concious of the eggs sizzling in the frying pan between them, the sunlight streaming through the venetian blinds and the sound of Chopin playing softly from the stereo. “Gil-”

“I’m sorry.”

“And you shouldn’t be. I’m sorry to bring Sam Braun into this. He gave me that check, and I wasn’t going to cash it.” She took her glass of orange juice- straight up, her anger having been enough to intoxicate her without the alcohol- and moved to the couch. Henderson was asleep all around them, ignoring the dawn while she and hers were forced to bathe in it, feel the warm rays wash over them with a freshness very few in their sleepy town ever felt. “But I had to think of Lindsey. You understand that. She’s growing up faster than I can keep up with her, Gil- and for all the time I lose with her every time I go to work, I need to make up for that with something.”

“The money won’t fix everything.”

“But it’s not going to leave me wondering how I’m going to pay for college.” Her hair was bothering her again, and she pushed the melted-butter locks away from her eyes with a sigh. His couch fit her- she fit the couch, body sinking into the soft, brown leather depths like it belonged. And she wondered if she did. Or if it was just another moment in her life when she thought something false was something real. “And I don’t care what it looks like for the department. My daughter comes first, Grissom. She always has, and she always will.”

“Even before me.”

“Even before you.” She smiled, a weary, heartsick smile that made him wonder if he was doing the right thing, sharing the mornings with her, feeding her breakfast and trying to reach out to the only person he hoped would understand him. She’d seemed to understand that which made him tick so long and so quietly, hiding him behind the Grandfather clocks, cuckoo clocks of the world that ticked and tocked much louder than he. She’d dated many of them, discovered that her father was one of the most powerful men in Las Vegas, and he never imagined that her sight could be lost so quickly. “And you have no idea how much I didn’t want to say that.”

“I know.” He scooped eggs onto plates and said nothing while he shuffled around the kitchen, arranging dill and toasting the ceremonial bagel for himself. Untoasted for her. She never faltered, and he wondered why he faltered, himself. When he delivered, her eyes stayed on the butterflies, hanging on the wall and restrained by crooked pins or dark, sticky adhesive. “I know how much you don’t want to do things you do.”

They chewed in silence, words never crossing between them while they ate. Somehow, it was a tradition that the two always grasped, and Grissom was happy for it. Catherine was not- but the morning demanded it, if circumstances did not.

“When are you going to stop blaming me for Eddie?” It was disgust that laced her tone, not hope or despair, none of the components he’d expected to hear falling from her lips. The words hadn’t been expected either, and when they came he could do nothing to quell the bubbling of regret that soured the eggs in his mouth and the words on his tongue.

“As soon as you forgive me for not being there when he died.” His tone was acrid, the taste of toasted, buttered bagel no longer desired on his lips, and he spat the fragments into a napkin. “As soon as you let him go, Catherine. I couldn’t be there for you then.”

“You couldn’t be there for any of us. Heather was a murder suspect, Gil. You let it get personal. It’s always going to be personal, whether you like it or not. That’s not an aspect of our lives you can just wash away.” The look on her face held the words she didn’t force into the open, and Grissom found it painful to try and read them.

“I don’t know what to do about this, Catherine.”

“And I don’t either. But that’s what comes with the personal baggage, Gil- not knowing just what we’re going to have to deal with the next time it comes around.” She took her jacket from the edge of the couch and rose, leaving a plate half-filled with eggs atop the coffee table. “I’m taking Lindsey to Cape Cod for a week. When we get back, we’ll talk. My paperwork is on your desk.”

Grissom remained silent, fork frozen, embedded in the foamy bed of yellow yolk and egg whites that slowly drowned his bagel.

And before he could reply, she was gone with the door slamming behind her. A finality that only caused him to wish he hadn’t regained his hearing.

So he wouldn’t have had to hear the goodbye.

~Fin