TITLE: Her darkness, his sugar

FANDOM: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation

PAIRING: Gil/Catherine

writers_choice challenge: dance

She opens the door and just resists slamming it. Lindsey must’ve been asleep for hours and she doesn’t need a grumpy proto-teenager after the night she’s had.

The one that got away. Again. You’d think a rapist with a mile-long line of corpses would wire his own chair, but the DA doesn’t give warrants on hunches. Not even Willows hunches.

One skin sample, one hair follicle, that’s all she’d need. But no, nothing, no DNA Ms Willows, and oh, weren’t you once a dancer? It seems every lawyer’s got her on file now – destroy your CSI, mention The Strip. But that’s Vegas, that’s the centre of her orbit, and she knows she loves it really. Most days.

She sighs, then pauses. Something’s wrong, something about her house isn’t quite right… She picks up the baseball bat leaning against the wall and moves cautiously towards the sounds from her living room. She thinks maybe she can hear Lindsey, and she quickens her pace, takes a breath, and throws open the door, bat at the ready.

Lindsey giggles. Catherine’s jaw drops, and Gil just smiles guiltily, idly twirling the marshmallow-smeared stick in his hand. It’s gone 3am and Gil Grissom is feeding her daughter sugar – make that a hyper proto-teenager.

“What are you doing?”

“Smores, Mummy!”

And sure enough, there are Graham cracker crumbs all over the carpet and Gil has what appears to be a carefully constructed tower of cracker-mallow mess. Catherine sighs, wanting to be angry and send them both to their rooms, but when they smile at her with wide-eyes and the light of youth, all she can do is return the grin.

“Okay, one more, and then bed!”

“We were waiting up for you! Gil said you’d want sweets, and I said smores were good, and he said…”

“Lindsey, let your mother eat.”

Her daughter glances at Gil and then at Catherine, before smiling almost warily. She jumps to her feet, pulling her pale pink dressing gown close, and grabs a smore.

“I’ll go sleep now. See you in the morning!”

She makes for the door, then turns, eyes bright and grin wide.

“Thank you for the smores, Gil.”

“It was my pleasure,” he says solemnly, but Catherine can hear the candy in his tone.

When she hears the steady rhythm of bare feet on stairs, she picks up a smore of her own and looks across at Gil. He’s watching her, halfway between caution and concern, and she loves how his eyes skim hers and can’t resist trailing her neck.

“You’re waking her tomorrow.”

Gil just smiles and bites into his smore. She finds herself watching his lips, though she’s never had a reason, and the gooey mallow sticks to the soft pink skin. She would like nothing better than to kiss it away, and then remembers that she can.

He meets her halfway, and his mouth is candy with a touch of coffee, sweet and bitter, rich and light. His hands burn like the fire in the grate, and she feels branded, owned. She pulls away then and he frowns at her, settling his hands over hers as they twist in her lap.

“You need to leave work at work.”

She shoots him a look for his hypocrisy, and replies, “All of work?”

“Catherine…” It’s a reprimand, she knows, but those lips can only speak sugar to her now, and she’s watching again. He notices her distraction, and takes her hand, dragging her up with him to stand.

“You need to relax.”

His hands rest on her shoulders, briefly touching at her tension, before he pulls her close and begins to sway. He hums something under his breath; she can’t make out the tune, but she doesn’t really care, as he holds her waist and guides her with slow steps.

“You know I don’t dance anymore.” Her voice is a whisper, but he has no excuse for mishearing.

His breath tickles her ear, when he replies, “But you’ve never danced with me.”

Gil twirls her like the marshmallow stick now staining her carpet, and then brings her to the fire of his embrace. She feels warmed and gooey inside, and kisses his saccharine lips to reassure herself that she’s not dreaming.

Because her night was dismal and now it’s sweet, and she knows it’s all because of him, a dance and a marshmallow kiss.

Smores will never be the same again.