All characters belong to the creators of CSI. The title's from Tom Waits. Please send feedback.

And A Broken Shoe... II: Dance, Have A Good Time
Cinnamon

"I needed lettuce."

Catherine took a bite of her sandwich. "You needed lettuce?"

Gil nodded. "Yeah."

"What, for some African squirting slug?"

"For your sandwich," he said, gesturing across the table.

Catherine slid another bite to the side of her mouth and showed her sandwich to Grissom. "There's no lettuce on my sandwich. There's no mustard, either."

"Sorry," he said, starting to rise from the table.

She motioned for him to sit back down. "Forget it. It's too late now, anyway." She took a long drink of beer. "So, you needed lettuce."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. That's why I went to the store."

"So if you didn't get lettuce, what'd you get?"

"Treated badly."

Catherine raised her eyebrows at Gil. "Oh?"

He shrugged and stole a pickle from her plate. "I shouldn't say that. I just ... I was looking at the vegetables when this woman came up to me."

"Ooh, Grissom! Picking up hot babes in the produce aisle!"

He pursed his lips. "It wasn't like that. She was pretty, I suppose, if you're into that sort of thing."

"Which sort of thing would that be?"

"She was wearing a lot of lipstick, a lot of eyeshadow."

Catherine broke a potato chip into pieces and popped one of them into her mouth. "You're not a makeup man?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I like makeup when it's tastefully done."

"I see. And hers was not?"

"It was very heavy, but applied in such a way that said she meant for it to look like that."

"He's always observant," Catherine said to the room at large. "So what did this mystery woman want?"

Gil drank from her bottle of beer. "She asked me if I wanted to go dancing with her tonight."

Catherine laughed. "The first time I saw you on a dance floor, I feared lives would be lost."

"Hey, at least I'm not like Stokes with the jazz hands."

"You could both stand to benefit from a couple of dance lessons." She nibbled on another piece of potato chip. "So, what did you tell her?"

Gil cocked his head. "That I had to work. She said that she did, too."

Catherine's eyes widened. "A prostitute?"

"Right there in Century Food Mart."

"Huh. I guess even a hooker needs groceries."

He looked at her sandwich. "She was hungry."

"You know, they say that you should never shop when you're hungry. You end up buying all of this food that you don't really need. Impulse buys, you know?"

"Catherine, she was hungry. That's why she came up to me."

She blinked. "Was she carrying a little sign that said, `Will fuck for food?'"

Gil sighed. "She saw my gun and asked if I was a cop. She was scared, Catherine."

She threw up her hands. "Fine, fine. So she saw your gun."

"She couldn't have been more than twenty. God, she was just a baby."

"What was she doing on the streets?" When Gil looked at her, she continued. "I assume you found out."

"She grew up in Winnemucca. Came from a good home, but when she turned eighteen, she wanted excitement. She was drawn to the bright lights of the Strip."

"That happens."

He shook his head. "I wish it wouldn't."

"I wish babies wouldn't get left in hot cars all day, but that happens, too."

Gil widened his eyes. "And you go around trying to stop that."

"Yeah, I do. But a couple of lousy parents are a hell of a lot easier to fix than the entire prostitute population."

"I just wanted to help this girl out, Catherine."

She drained the beer and went to the kitchen for another. "Gil Grissom, saving America one teenaged hooker at a time."

"Why are you so angry?" He leaned back in the chair.

"I'm not angry." Catherine slid back into her seat. "I just think -- this is so typical of you. Of men."

"Oh, so I'm the lone representative of the male population now?"

She tossed the lid onto the table. "You have to do the parade all by yourself."

"Cute."

"You guys walk around like you can fix everybody's problems, like it's what you're put here to do. Has it ever occurred to you that not everybody wants to be fixed?"

"Catherine?"

"Like this girl. Exhibit A. She just wanted fifty bucks, and you tried to turn her into 'Pretty Woman.'"

"Well, she did have a heart of gold."

She lobbed a piece of her crust at him. "Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not." Gil bit back a grin.

"I mean it, Grissom."

"So do I, Willows."

Catherine laughed in spite of herself. "I'm serious, though. All men have a rescuer complex."

"There are no absolutes. You, of all people, should know that."

"You have one. Warrick has one. Nick sure as hell has one."

He picked up the beer bottle but didn't drink from it. "We're in law enforcement. I think it would be a little strange if we didn't."

"So you guys have an excuse. The rest of the men in America do not."

"I'm guessing that now would not be the best time to tell you that I bought her dinner."

Catherine chewed on a pickle. "Got it in one."

"I paid fifteen dollars for a prostitute with too much makeup and a broken shoe." Catherine raised her eyebrows. "She tripped in the parking lot."

"That's why you didn't get my lettuce."

"Sorry."

She batted her eyelashes at him. "It was still worth the trip."

"I thank you for that."

"Thank you." She took another long drink and pushed back her chair. "Hey, have you seen my shoe?"

"It's by the couch." Gil slipped into his jacket and held the door open for her. "Come on."

Catherine hopped to the door, still trying to slide into her shoe, and maneuvered around Grissom. Together, they stepped into the night.


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