"You know, you're not convincing me that you /do/ like Sara, Cath." A splash of orange juice and a scotch glass of vodka joined Catherine Willows upon her overstuffed, mint green sofa, Gil Grissom's hand offering the beverage forth. "Greg's bound to think you were doing it out of passion."

"Oh, I see. My hot, savage lust just got to be too much for me, and if I couldn't act on it, no one else could have him. Is that it?" Three days after the lab explosion found Catherine and Grissom sharing dinner on the eve of her return after a three-day suspension. She was apprehensive and edgy, understandably, and along with Vodka, salad dressing and apple pie, Grissom was determined to bring levity to the situation as well.

"I'm sure he hopes so." Cradling his own drink- scotch neat- Grissom settled onto the couch beside her and touched his lips to the sensitive spot behind her left ear, smiling against her skin. "You can be a pretty impressive woman, Catherine."

"And you could...stop..." She sighed, a throaty purr that had his smile growing and his crotch throbbing mightily. "But I wish you wouldn't."

Drinks were secured before she leapt into action, lithe body launching across the distance between them and landing playfully upon his lap. Her fingernails danced down his torso, toying with the tab of his zipper as his breath caught in anticipation, and his lips caught a taste of the skin at her neck.

"You wish I wouldn't stop...and I wish you'd let me in." His soft hiss rivaled that of any hissing cockroach as her hands freed his penis and began to memorize every detail. "Damn it, Catherine."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to do /that/." She whispered in response, as he began to unfasten her white capris. he'd once had a discussion with her about beauty, encountering it in so many forms, every day that he worked...although he'd left out the fact that it was her beauty that most influenced him. That conversation brushed through his mind in a distant whisper, and he took that moment to gaze at her and confirm just how beautiful she really was. "I'll let you in anytime you're ready, Gil."

He was, and she was, and he thrust hard, slipping into her hot, wet opening with vigor, increasing pace as she raised her voice and dug into his arms with the same nails that had so teased him before. Making sure he was his- making sure he would never let her go, and he swore, as she called his name and he hers, that he wouldn't. He loved her, aching from the past few days and knowing that he had failed her, determined to make everything all right with the few acts of love he was capable of.

It was later, as the sun drunkenly slipped below the horizon, that Catherine raised her torso up from the couch and met his eyes again. Her own were wide, blue as the summer sky at dawn, and love gave was to anxiety as she searched into his.

"I'm not sure if I'm ready to go back." Her voice held an edge of fear, and she pressed her torso to his chest, strawberry blond hair falling to brush his bare skin as she looked up into his eyes. He inhaled, bathed in the gentle scent of green apple and fresh sex, and ran one hand down her back and over the slight hill of her bare buttocks. "Greg accepted what I told him, and told me he forgives me. I'm not sure Sara ever will...but even if that didn't matter, I don't think I'm ready to go back and face them."

"It's not a matter of their forgiving you, Catherine. It's a matter of you forgiving yourself." Grissom took a deep breath, blew it out through the tangle of hair in front of his lips. "Mistakes happen. It's what you do about them that helps you to accept that you're human."

"All this from the man who hasn't taken a vacation in his lifetime." He smiled through her hair as she jested, was pleased she'd managed a joke at all. "Gil-"

"I'll be there. I promise." She'd been ready to ask if he'd be nearby, her Galahad in case things went sour, and she needed the shoulder. He'd assign her to him, work with her, and they'd do it the way they always had- together.

After a few moments of quiet, Grissom realized with a hint of amusement that she was asleep, and reached up to pull a cream-colored crocheted blanket over their naked bodies. It was amazing, he mused, how she only needed to know he was there before she could rest, and how easy it was to admit to himself that the feeling was indeed mutual.

Ten minutes, and he too was asleep.

~Fin