DISCLAIMER: Some other lucky beggar owns the characters. Sorry for treading on any toes.
NOTES: This was written for the 1000 Whispers CSI fic challenge. The challenge, to incorporate a given T.S. Eliot stanza into the fic in anyway possible. I'm not repeating my stanza here because you might get a little tired of it by the end :)
WARNING: This *is* the story of a life so it might very well contain hatches, matches and dispatches.
SPOILERS: Minor reference to LHB, Crash and Burn, and Getting Off
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Snapshots of a Lady
By Debbie
Now that lilacs are in bloom
She has a bowl of lilacs in her room
And twists one in her fingers while she talks.
As the day finally draws to a close, I find myself staring at our window seat, lost in the silence that surrounds me. Subconsciously, I reach for a sprig of lilac from the coffee table and begin twining it through my fingers. On the table is the still open photo album, from when Lindsay was showing it around earlier today. I consider having a look myself, but, as the breeze gently catches my hair, hair that I swear has more gray than yesterday, I smell the fresh scent of the nearby lilac tree drafting into the room, and I think instead of my own private snapshots: snapshots of a lady.
Not just any lady I might add, *my* lady. You know how you collect photographs through time and there is one scene that keeps repeating itself over and over again. A place you love and visit often leaving snapshots through time. Well this is mine: Catherine Willows, beautiful, silent, wrapped up in her own time and space, twirling a sprig of lilac over and between each one of her long, sensuous fingers. Oblivious to the outside world she is just perfect, a true icon of beauty in every sense of the word.
You see, I don't need a photograph album, my snapshot through time sits right here in my head, or is that, in my heart? Either way I need to explain exactly what I mean.
Now that lilacs are in bloom
She has a bowl of lilacs in her room
And twists one in her fingers while she talks.
The first time I saw this view was the first day I realized that my lady was gorgeous. Of course, she wasn't my lady at this time. No. Catherine Willows was just my work colleague. Nothing more, nothing less. We worked together and we tolerated each other. That was it. Jeez, at times, I think we hated each other.
Like a few weeks previous when Eddie, Catherine's ex-husband and the father of her daughter was murdered. Me, Sara Sidle, ace CSI, given the assignment because Grissom thought I could handle Catherine's interference, failed to bring the perp to justice. I was distraught and Catherine was enraged.
Surprisingly, I was invited to the funeral. I remember sitting in church watching her quiet calm and the gentle care she took of Lindsay. I remember the wake and walking about her house for the first time ever. I remember being 'adopted' by Lindsay, which was unbelievable really. I was not good with youngsters yet, for some reason, Lindsay took a shine to me.
Maybe that was the moment Catherine's view of me changed because, the day before I took my first snapshot, she invited me out for a drink. I know pity had a big part to play in the invite but I didn't care. That day I needed her. Hank, the idiotic paramedic I had been dating in order to get a life, had been using me to cheat on his girlfriend and I hadn't known. Unfortunately for him, he had been involved in a fatal incident at a restaurant that Cath and I had been assigned to. Long story short, Hank and his girlfriend Elaine were there, I interviewed Elaine and saw a photograph of Hank and immediately knew I had been duped. Let's just say I was rather dejected. Catherine took me for a drink, gave me a shoulder to cry on, and a bed for the night to sleep off my excesses.
So, there I was, on the morning after the night before, waking up to the first day of the rest of my life, walking into Catherine's family room, to be knocked for six right out of the left-field. You see I was a goner even then. Sara Sidle, intelligent beyond compare, reduced to a cliché driven moron by the sight that beheld me: Catherine Willows. Sitting in her window seat, bare legs thrown over the arm of the chair, hair down and flowing over sleek, mellowed shoulders, backlit by glorious April sunshine, she was twirling a sprig of lilac between gloriously sensual fingers. A Goddess.
Now that lilacs are in bloom
She has a bowl of lilacs in her room
And twists one in her fingers while she talks.
The second time I saw this view of my lady, she *was* my lady. Two years had passed since that first epiphany. Two years in which our friendship had grown and blossomed into something much more. Just like the lilac bushes that I had learned Catherine adored and cultivated, out friendship had developed into a deep, soul fulfilling love. Neither of us had expected love to develop yet neither of us had been able to stop it.
It had taken a year of friendly dinner dates, theatre outings with Lindsay, drinks after shift, and numerous other boyfriends on both of our parts before we realized it was love. I remember the night we declared our love for each other. Catherine had a date with Chris Bezich, the casino/nightclub manager, and I happened to be leaving the crime lab as she climbed into his sleek sport's car. The jolt of electricity that shot through me at the sight could only be jealousy. Cath spotted me and her eyes bore into mine as Chris roared off. She must have seen something in my eyes for later that evening she turned up on my doorstep demanding entry. We talked, we wept, we kissed, we loved, and Cath dumped Chris that very night.
That night turned into a week, into a month, into a lifetime. We eventually told Griss and the guys about our relationship and they were all great. But Lindsay? Lindsay was the revelation. She was overjoyed. The child that had taken a shine to me at her father's wake was now an interesting 11 year-old fascinated by science, and she loved me *and* my mind. She loved to tease me by calling me "dad" whenever her friends were around. We became as inseparable as her mother and I had become. So inseparable that the inevitable happened, Lindsay asked me to move in with her. Luckily for me, Catherine loved me enough to agree.
So, there I was, two years after my first snapshot slowly wandering into 'our' family room, exhausted from carrying box upon box of music CD's, and box upon box of scientific regalia, not to mention the weighty police scanner I had still not weaned myself away from, when I saw her: Catherine Willows. Once again sitting in the window seat, short shorts showing bare legs thrown over the arm of the chair, long hair flowing over slightly sweaty shoulders (she had been helping me after all), twirling the ever present lilac sprig between long slender fingers that were beckoning me forward for a sweet, gentle, welcome-to-our-home kiss. My Goddess.
Now that lilacs are in bloom
She has a bowl of lilacs in her room
And twists one in her fingers while she talks.
The third time I saw this view of my lady probably wasn't the third time at all, but it is the third time I remember with such clarity. Twenty years had passed in glorious love filled family days and Catherine still cultivated and adored lilacs. She had taught me all there was to know about the flower. Aside from roses, there is no flower as beautiful and aromatic as the lilac. They have a scent that carries for yards and often it was the scent of the lilac that filled our memories for days on end. Many a warm spring night, Cath and I made love under the stars with the gentle scent of lilacs wafting over us.
Unfortunately, lilacs bloom for only a very brief couple of weeks in the spring, and so many of our memories occur in late April, early May. Just like my third snapshot, a glorious May Day, the day young Lindsay had chosen as her wedding day. She insisted the day was chosen so she could incorporate her mother's love for lilacs into her wedding service, which she did to perfection.
Lindsay and Catherine floated down the aisle over a carpet of lilac, purple, white and pink sprigs with the wonderful aromatic background of its scent, to meet a handsome and very nervous Jase at the alter. Catherine was so proud to give our daughter away to a wonderful young man. Me? I was just proud to be there and to be a part of this family.
All that changed at the wedding breakfast. Don't get me wrong, I was still proud but all of a sudden I was nervous as hell. After a gorgeous meal shared with all our friends, Gil, Warrick, Nick, Greg, Jim, and their respective partners, it was the time for speeches. Jase stood nervously and called the room to attention. Throwing a sheepish glance my way he pulled Lindsay into his arms and spoke quietly but confidently. I looked to Catherine as I heard her give a little chuckle, it seems she knew what was coming next. Jase said that historically the father of the bride gave the first speech of the evening, and seeing as how Lindsay's father was no longer with us, that they would like to ask Lindsay's "dad" to make a small speech. They beckoned me across with huge grins, and all I could do was cry. Very dad-like of me, not.
Anyway, once I had cuddled with my daughter and son, I looked out over the assembled guests and was enraptured once more by the love and acceptance that flowed from all those present. I guess Catherine and I were lucky to have a "family" like this, and so that was the basis of my short but heartfelt speech. I remembered to talk of Eddie, he may have been an ass-hole but he did produce Lindsay, and Catherine had loved him once, and no matter how I felt before, it was me that had spent the last 20 odd years with Catherine not him. I remembered to thank Cath for being mine and sharing her wonderful daughter with me. I remembered to thank Lindsay for being *my* daughter too, and I remembered to thank Jase for loving her, and for loving Catherine and me. And finally, I remembered the toast.
So, there I was, twenty years after seeing the first snapshot of my glorious lady, creeping into the family room on my way to get a glass of much needed water when I saw her: Catherine Willows. Once again sitting in the window seat, bare legs showing through her sheer negligee, shorter hair sitting beautifully on slightly thinner shoulders, twining the ever present lilac sprig through still gorgeous fingers. Smiling up at me, she whispered, "Nice speech, hon." Sixty years of age and still my Goddess.
Now that lilacs are in bloom
She has a bowl of lilacs in her room
And twists one in her fingers while she talks.
Another fifteen years passed before my last view of this snapshot of my lady. Four weeks ago Lindsay and Jase came to visit, bringing our grandchildren over from Arizona where they were now living. There was our beautiful grand-daughter aged eight going on twenty-eight, and our handsome grand-son aged four, both of them perfect in their own special ways. And then the news they had come to deliver, Lindsay was pregnant once again. Catherine was overjoyed and in a celebratory mood. The weekend turned into one long happy party.
The only regret from that weekend was Lindsay taking me to one side and asking if her mother was all right. My answer? Cath was getting older, as we all were and, although extremely happy, the weekend was taking it out of my old lady. I reassured Lindsay that her mom was fine and that a few days rest would be all she needed to recover. But I was wrong; Catherine didn't recover that quickly.
She quite suddenly seemed frail and elderly: still my beautiful lady, still as graceful as she had been all those years ago as a dancer, but now her grace was older and much more fragile. I had a sudden fear that our life together was drawing to a close and so, I initiated one gorgeous night of gentle, sweet lovemaking like we hadn't enjoyed for a little while. We pressed all the right buttons, touched all those perfect little spots we had found in the last thirty plus years, whispered our eternal love for each other and basked in the awareness that the life we had shared was nigh on perfect.
So, there I was, later that very evening, walking though the family room on the way to... well maybe that would be too much information for you, I am after all only eight years younger than Cath. I was walking through the family room and there she was: Catherine Willows. A 75 year-old model of perfection sitting quite naturally in the window seat. Her bare legs flung over the arm of her chair still looked capable of twirling around a pole, while her silken hair was gray and thinner but still framed her wonderful face, giving real meaning to the term, beautiful. In her fingers was an aromatic sprig of lilac. To my dismay, for once in a lifetime, the sprig looked a little drab and lifeless. My Catherine glanced up and gave me one of her brilliant loving smiles, reaching out she pulled me onto her lap and kissed me senseless. Without prompting, as if we were one, we both whispered one word, "Eternity." Two Goddesses as one.
Now that lilacs are in bloom
She has a bowl of lilacs in her room
And twists one in her fingers while she talks.
Now my snapshot has changed. Exactly three weeks after that final snapshot I lost the love of my life to time. Today was the funeral and lilacs have been the theme of the day once more. Cath would have liked that. Her casket was showered with lilac sprigs and we had placed one of her beloved sprigs in her hands. The church was once again awash with the beautiful aroma of lilacs.
The order of the day has been one of celebration, not regret. How could any of us regret the life we have shared with this beautiful woman? Certainly not me. I have been the luckiest woman alive to share my life with Catherine. Now, it is my role to continue her good work with Lindsay, Jase and the kids. I am blessed, and I will fulfil her promise of that I am sure.
So, here I am, on the loneliest night of my last thirty plus years, walking across our family room. I cross to sit down in the window seat. Scanning the room before me, I throw my legs over the arm of the chair and hold the sprig of lilac to my nose. Gently smelling the sweet scent I close my eyes, and open the worn pages of my personal photograph album. Once again I see Catherine Willows: beautiful, silent, wrapped up in her own time and space, twirling a sprig of lilac over and between each one of her long, sensuous fingers. Oblivious to the outside world she is just perfect, a true icon of beauty in every sense of the word. Forever my beloved Goddess.
The End