Another night would have seen Catherine Willows ready for sleep at the end of shift, climbing into her Tahoe and headed for the nice warm bed in her house across town. Any other night would have seen her there, buried beneath the covers and sleeping away the dawn. But tonight had her sleeping on a short leather couch, a thin crocheted quilt haphazardly drawn over her khaki pants and mauve turtleneck.

She'd driven the Graveshift supervisor home that night, the bags under his eyes rivaling any she'd ever brought home after a day at the mall. Three shifts, a fingerful of peanut butter...the motherly instincts of his partner kicking in at full force once she'd laid her eyes on him. 50-year old men, it seemed, were no better at taking care of themselves than little boys.

She heard the shuffling of his bare feet on cool oak floorboards and raised her head, sleep tousled blond hair catching the sunlight through the venetian blinds as he heard her movement and turned.

"I'm sorry, Catherine. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's all right. I wasn't asleep." She hadn't been, mind too wrapped up in planning Lindsey's weekly schedule, and thinking of the man in the room down the hall. "You should be, though."

"Water." To prove his point, Gil Grissom held up a partially filled glass, looking through the liquid at her distorted image. She, on the other hand, was surveying the at-ease version of the man she worked with. Baggy blue-and-grey flannel pajama bottoms just rested on his hips, drawstring untied and dangling. He wore a shirt from UNLV, one she recognized as a gift she'd given him upon her graduation, the day he'd offered her a job at the crime lab. He was comfortable, and despite her position as his closest friend, it occurred to her that she rarely saw him that way.

"She looked a lot like Sara." It had to be said, and she shifted as she did so, making room as Grissom crossed the floor and sat beside her. He offered her the glass and she drank, crossing her legs and leaning into the soft leather that rose behind her back. "You know, Gil, you're going to have to deal with this eventually."

He didn't answer.

"You know she heard your little speech. It might have helped to bring her closure, and she may never ask you to dinner again...but you're going to have to deal with her on a personal level eventually."

"I do deal with her on a personal level." He didn't look her in the eye, his own gaze focused on the framed butterflies he'd hung around the living room. "Debbie loved butterflies. Fragile, beautiful- just like a human life."

"Gil-" Catherine's eyes were glazed with fatigue, and for the first time Grissom truly noticed the beautiful woman who sat beside him. She could have argued, but he found her youth and beauty to surpass that of anyone in their twenties, thirties.... To Gil Grissom, his best friend was a conundrum, a myriad of colors, beauty and unsurpassed grace he thought rivaled that of even his precious butterfly collection.

"Thank you, Catherine." She barely reacted when he kissed her, mouth poised to speak words he never heard as he pressed her body deeper into the couch. Aged, fine leather, a couch he'd bought in his first year of being a full-fledged CSI. Not quite as old as he, although as he held his young, beautiful love in his arms, he knew he never felt more alive.

"I never wanted Sara as much as I wanted you," He whispered, lips brushing her chamomile-scented hair with a soft whisper of warm breath. "And you're always here."

"Because I know you." Catherine's words were not 'I love you', but meant much the same to Grissom's ears as she leaned into his embrace. Never more attractive in crumpled work clothes with the tattered quilt around her shoulders. Her eyes were ocean-blue and held within them her determination to stay within his arms as long as they needed one another.

He'd need her forever.

How he hadn't seen it sooner, he didn't know.

But he'd never forget, never take too long to tell her so again.

~Fin