A.N.: If you think Catherine Willows is the greatest thing since sliced bread, stop reading NOW!!! This parody was written in reaction to the ever-increasing (Season 3, anyone?) drama that is her life and takes up entirely too much time on CSI, in my humble opinion. It takes place approximately two years from now. Grissom and Sara are married and expecting a baby, but that's really inconsequential, since this story is all about Lindsey. ;-)
These characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and many other people who are making a profit from them. I don't happen to be one of them. No copyright infringement is intended. In fact, AZ and company should be pleased, as imitation is the highest form of flattery.
Thanks, as always, to Alison and Margaret, for being the wonderful betas they are.
This story was inspired by and is dedicated to the Grissom & Sara Forum chat "regulars."
~*~*~
"Grissom, pleeease! Come on, this is about Lindsey, you know." The petite criminalist whined.
"I'm sorry Catherine, I can't. Sara's having her initial ultrasound today. There's no way I'm missing our first chance to see the baby." Grissom calmly explained this, not for the first time.
"'The baby' this, 'the baby' that," Catherine mocked, waving her hand dismissively. Lowering her voice slightly, she leaned in toward the father-to-be. "I gotta tell you Gil, you're beginning to sound like a broken record. Take it from a friend; people are not going to want to hear about your kid – no matter what kind of prodigy it'll grow up to be – twenty-four/seven."
Grissom tried to object, but the strawberry blonde barely took a breath and never broke her verbal stride.
Putting on her best sympathetic face, the singe mother continued, "People are putting up with it now only because it's so new for you and Sara. But try to take after me, and mention your kid sparingly at work. It's really not appropriate." With that, she turned from the open-mouthed entomologist and stalked down the hall in search of another target. He has no idea what he's in for. He'll never be able to juggle being a father and a CSI.
Catching up with Nick in the layout room, Catherine counted herself lucky. Nick was so eager to please; he would do anything for her.
"Hey Nicky."
"Hey Cath. What are you up to?"
"Just looking for you. I have a favor to ask."
"Sure, anything for you. What do you need?"
"I'm due to in court today, just some simple chain of custody testimony, but I need to get to an appointment at Lindsey's school."
"Man, I'm sorry Cath, but I have plans today."
"Nicky! Didn't you hear me? This is about Lindsey. It's not like anyone else can make this appointment, you know, Eddie being two years dead and all. Your plans can't be that important, can they?" She put on her best smile, the one that used to guarantee that some grubby drunk would stuff a twenty down her G-string.
Looking around to be sure no one else was nearby, Nick confided, "Actually, Cath, I have an appointment with a therapist today."
"Oh?" Her curiosity piqued and concern temporarily shifted from her own needs, Catherine's maternal instinct kicked in. "Is everything okay?"
"Not really." The Texan hung his head in embarrassment. "I've been having nightmares…about…you know, when I was a kid, and I decided it was finally time for me to talk to someone about it. My first appointment's today."
Perturbed but trying not to let it show, Catherine worked to lace her voice with compassion. "I know how you feel, Nicky, I still have nightmares about pulling Lindsey from that car – not that I need to see anyone about it, I'm not nuts you know!" Thinking a moment, she went on, "But Nick, that happened how many years ago? Geez, what's a few more days at this point?"
"I'm sorry, Cath. I know how important Lindsey is to you, and I can only imagine how hard it must be as a single mother - "
"That's right, you can only imagine. You just don't understand, and clearly don't know how to be supportive of a woman in my situation." In a huff, she stormed off. No wonder he's still single.
Looking for Warrick in the garage, she found Sara's legs sticking out from under a car instead. Inspiration struck. "Hey, how are you feeling?"
Rolling out but remaining on the dolly, Sara grinned. "Much better, now that the morning sickness is over."
Catherine chuckled, "Oh, you don't know from morning sickness! When I was pregnant with Lindsey, everything made me sick, even crackers. It figures, the one thing they tell you helps to alleviate the queasiness, and even it made me sick."
Sara made the expected sympathetic sounds and began to slide back under the car. Afraid to lose the opportunity, Catherine jumped in with both feet. "Grissom tells me you have a doctor's appointment today."
Sara's voice carried from under the car. "Yep."
"You know, as good as you're feeling, it's alright to miss a prenatal visit every once in a while."
"Why would I want to do that?"
"I asked Grissom to cover for me in court later today and he said he would, except that you had this appointment."
Emerging from under the car again, Sara stared at the other woman in disbelief. "Are you asking me to postpone my sonogram so that Grissom can do you a favor?"
"Well," Catherine had the wisdom to look ashamed as she scratched her head. "You know I wouldn't if it weren't important, but it's about Lindsey."
"What's the matter? Is she sick?"
"No, I have a meeting at her school today."
"Cath, I can't believe you're asking me this! Just reschedule your meeting."
"I can't. I've already done that twice, plus one time I just didn't show up."
"Why?"
"The first time I had a manicure I'd completely forgotten about, and believe me, if I miss one of those, my nails go to shit. And I would have had to wait two weeks for another available slot. Um, for the second appointment, it turns out I was able to get in for an emergency touch up for my roots – you know how that had been bothering me. And the one I missed was because Lord & Taylor was having their once a year sale. They don't come around very often, you know. You should see the handbag I -"
"No."
"What?"
"I said 'no' Catherine. I will not change the date of my child's first ultrasound because you had to take care of your grooming."
"But this isn't about me, it's about Lindsey."
"It was about Lindsey the first three times you were supposed to go, too. Sorry, but this is too important to me to - "
"You know, when you become a mother, you're going to realize that it's not all about you anymore." Suspecting she would not get anywhere by being snarky with the younger woman, Catherine decided to play nice and offer Sara something in return. "I know! I'll give you the video of Lindsey's first sonogram. Believe me, they all look alike at this stage. They're pretty much interchangeable, you know: big head, spinal cord, beating heart. That's basically it."
Watching Sara shake her head and roll her eyes as she got back to her inspection of the underside of the car, Catherine strode away muttering, "Bitch."
She finally found Warrick a few minutes later in the locker room. He was changing his shirt, showing off his well defined pecs. Catherine gave an appreciative whistle, figuring it wouldn't do any harm to butter him up.
He smiled. "Hey. That could be construed as sexual harassment, you know."
"Please. Sexual harassment is having dozens men ogle you up and down while they hoot and holler at you to 'Take it off, sweet cheeks.'"
"Cath, you were a stripper. That's what was supposed to happen."
"Exotic dancer," she automatically corrected, then shrugged. "Doesn't mean I felt good about it. Besides, I only did it so Eddie could catch his big break. Of course he ended up snorting most of what I made up his nose, and then dragging me into it. Bastard."
"I hear you." They exchanged looks for a brief moment, Warrick trying to figure out what to say or do. He finally settled for, "You on your way home?"
"I was on my way to see you, actually."
"Oh?"
Can you do me a huge favor and cover for me in court today? You see, Lindsey - "
"Sure, no problem."
"You know I wouldn't ordinarily ask, but this is about Lindsey, and I - "
Chuckling softly, he cut her off again, "It's okay, Cat, you don't have to explain anything to me. You need the day off, that's all I need to know."
Catherine stared at Warrick for a few moments, blinking occasionally. Doesn't he even care why I'm asking? She sat on the bench, letting out a dramatic sigh. "Thanks, War. I have to go to Lindsey's school. They asked me to come to a meeting about her. You know there's nothing I wouldn't do for her."
You just couldn't resist getting that in, could you? Heading toward the door, he called over his shoulder, "Why don't you just take a few minutes to go over the case file with me and you can be on your way."
~*~*~
"Mrs. Willows, it's nice to finally meet you." Ms. Davis, Mountain View Elementary's principal, greeted Catherine with a firm handshake.
"You too. And I apologize for having to miss the last few meetings, but my job is unpredictable, and I often have to work overtime."
"I understand, although I'm sure your daughter is a priority as well. Please, have a seat." She directed Catherine to a table at which another woman sat, jotting notes on a pad of paper.
Slightly indignant, Catherine remained standing, "Of course she is, and I am equally sure that if you were the victim of a crime, you wouldn't want the crime scene investigator to rush through the scene and do a shoddy job."
"No, I don't suppose I would," the principal replied smoothly, "But we're here to talk about Lindsey right now." Gesturing at the chair again, Ms. Davis waited for the mother to sit before continuing. "Mrs. Willows, this is Dr. Conte, our school psychologist. I hope you don't mind, but I've asked her to join us today."
The women shook hands and greeted one another. Plastering a polite smile on her face, Catherine spoke to the principal. "I'm not sure why there needs to be a psychologist here, it's not like there's anything wrong with my daughter."
Dr. Conte, used to this type of reaction from defensive parents, responded, "We're not saying there's anything wrong with Lindsey, Mrs. Willows, but I do think she could benefit from a little more…support, both here and at home."
"You don't even know my daughter, lady. How could you possibly know what she needs?"
"Actually, I do know your daughter. Quite well, in fact. At her teacher's request, I spoke with Lindsey when she retuned to school after her father's death. I left a message on your home answering machine alerting you to this, and letting you know that if you wanted, I could see her on a regular basis. You never responded."
Thinking for a few moments to pull such a message from the recesses of her own mind, Catherine came up blank. "I don't remember that. It was a very hard time for me, as you can imagine. You can't expect me to remember all the phone calls I got back then. Besides, it was over two years ago. If that's what you're basing your knowledge of my daughter on, I'm afraid I'll have to disagree with your analysis of her."
"Mrs. Willows, I've been seeing Lindsey every week for nearly the past year."
Jumping up from the table, Catherine practically shouted, "You have no right to do that. I never said my daughter needed therapy!"
Calmly, the psychologist pulled two pieces of paper from a folder that had been hidden under her pad. "First of all, this is counseling, not therapy. There is a difference, and now that you've brought it up, one of the issues I wanted to address with you today was my belief that Lindsey does need therapy." As do you, lady. "And as for my right to speak with your daughter on a regular basis, you have given your consent, twice, for such interaction to occur. Once midway through last school year, and again at the beginning of this school year." She slid the signed consent forms to the criminologist for her inspection.
Upon seeing the forms and what was indeed her signature at the bottom of each, Catherine regained her composure and returned to her seat. She had a vague recollection of Lindsey explaining to her that the school psychologist had been helpful in teaching the child how to control her temper in the months after Eddie's death. There had been a spate of phone calls home just before that time reporting that Lindsey had been getting herself into fights at school.
"I apologize. My mistake. You see, there had been an explosion at the lab where I work the night before Lindsey asked me to sign this. I'm afraid in all the stress and confusion that surrounded that time, this simply slipped my mind."
"Apology accepted. I understand." Alcohol Abuse? Histrionic Personality Disorder? Narcissistic PD? Plain old neglectful? Dr. Conte mentally flipped through the DSM-IV to try to accurately categorize this woman. She's tried twice now to turn the conversation to her own crises, and hasn't once asked about Lindsey. Poor little girl. "If I may, I'd like to express my concerns about Lindsey."
Crossing her arms over her chest, Catherine nodded her assent.
"As you know, shortly after her father's death, Lindsey was involved in several fights."
"Of course I know, you people called me enough about it. But Lindsey and I had a talk and she stopped doing that." Baby, you need to stop hitting people at school, I can't afford to take the time off from work every time you get suspended…
Ms. Davis chimed in, "That's true, she hasn't been in a physical altercation in quite some time. But her grades have deteriorated over the past two years, and she has withdrawn from her peers. She no longer associates with her friends."
And I can't tell you how much of a relief it is not to have to drive her to those incessant play dates, sleepovers, and birthday parties.
The psychologist continued with gentleness, "In fact, Lindsey's classmates have expressed a desire to distance themselves from her as well, as when they do try to talk to her, all she wants to discuss is death."
"Well, isn't that kind of natural? My ex-hus…her father did die, and two years is not very long in the grief process."
"That's true, although a reduction in that kind of talk would be expected by now, if that was what I was referring to."
"Then what are you referring to?" Catherine glanced at her watch, wishing they would get on with it. If she got out of here soon, she could hit the mall on her way home. Isn't Lancôme having a giveaway this week?
"She talks about your cases." Rifling through what Catherine now knew was Lindsey's file, Dr. Conte located the notes she needed. "About people being left in oil drums and turning into soap; a human eye found in a tree; a scuba diver found in a tree; a college co-ed found in a dumpster; a severed finger you found in a box; women being kidnapped, killed, and kept in a freezer; a young child accidentally smothering his infant sibling; a child drowned by her mother at the carnival; a boy who was accidentally killed by his mother and his therapist; children who killed an old lady for a cat; the list goes on and on. Oh, and she also tells people that your father is in prison for killing people. Surely you can see why we're concerned, Mrs. Willows."
"Now you know what kinds of things I have to handle on my job. It's very stressful, you know, and it helps to have someone to talk to."
"Lindsey is only 11 years old! You can't burden her with these images and thoughts. Don't you see how inappropriate this is?"
"Inappropriate? Inappropriate? I'll tell you what inappropriate is! Inappropriate is having your husband convince you to finance his "big dreams" by stripping twelve hours a day and then turning you into a cocaine addict so you won't notice what a loser he is. Inappropriate is suffering through withdrawal, putting yourself through school, and then getting knocked up just as you were about to kick said husband's ass to the curb. Inappropriate is never getting the full amount of child support when you finally are able to divorce the louse, but having a child who still wants to spend time with her 'daddy' despite the fact that he cancels fully half of their plans at the last minute. Try having a social life with that kind of inconsistency! Inappropriate is having to risk your life to rescue your daughter from a sinking car, after she's left there to die by her father's girlfriend. Inappropriate is not being eligible for a much-needed promotion at work because of a technicality on your yearly re-certification exam and a small explosion you caused because you were distracted by the fact that the your daughter's school kept calling to tell you she was getting into fights. And inappropriate is finding out that the man you thought was only your mother's lover is actually your father, and will probably be convicted of the murder of a police officer – so now there goes any chance of getting your hands on any of his millions!" Exhausted, Catherine ended her tirade and slumped in her chair.
The school personnel simply stared at the woman, stunned by her outburst. She had begun quietly enough, practically hissing out the first several words. As she gained momentum, however, slamming her fist on the table with every utterance of "Inappropriate," she stood to her full height, her cheeks reddening and her previously well coiffed hair hanging in wild tendrils around her face.
It was clear to the psychologist that the best way to help Lindsey would be to get her mother into treatment. The woman was so engrossed in the drama of her own life that she only seemed to remember she has a daughter when it was convenient. Of course, bringing up therapy to her would likely be akin to walking through a minefield. In as non-threatening a tone as she could muster, Dr. Conte broke the silence a few moments later. "Mrs. Willows, you and Lindsey have obviously been through a great deal in the past two years, and this on top of a life of struggle for you. Have you ever thought of seeing a therapist yourself?"
At Catherine's hate-filled glare, the psychologist continued quickly but calmly. "Let me explain. You've expressed a desire to share about work and other stressful events in your life. I'm telling you that doing this with Lindsey is detrimental to her mental health, and ultimately, to your mother-daughter relationship. I suggested earlier that Lindsey may benefit from outside therapy, because frankly, in-school counseling is not sufficient any longer. I'd also like to recommend that you seek therapy yourself – find someone for you to vent to, for lack of a better word, who will be able to help you make sense of and process all the dra…er, pressure in your life, and who may also be able to help you interact with Lindsey more…" she hated to use the word, "appropriately."
Catherine's mood lightened. "Someone who'll listen to me, with undivided attention, and no interruptions?"
"Yes, and maybe eventually you and Lindsey could attend sessions together to help you communicate better with each other."
"Could you recommend someone? A man, preferably."
"Sure, I have some names I could give you." Dr. Conte tore a sheet off her pad and began jotting names down.
Toying with her hair, Catherine smiled at the women and shook their hands, accepting the names from the psychologist. "Thank-you so much for your help. I'm glad my daughter has you to talk to." To the principal she added, "And thank-you for suggesting we get together to talk about Lindsey. You were right, this was very beneficial."
"You're welcome. Lindsey's a great girl."
Catherine beamed, "Isn't she? Everyone says she takes after me."
~Fin~