Feedback: ooooh, yes please :-) If you can spare a moment or two.
Rating: Trainee
Summary: Gil and Catherine sitting in a tree…
Disclaimer: If it's CSI, it's not mine
A/N: It's fluffity fluff fluff… I do believe there's not much of a plot.

Keeping her body as still as she could, for fear that one slight movement could knock her off balance and send her tumbling to the ground, Catherine had turned only her head to look, angrily, at Grissom ­ who was sitting beside her, eyes fixed on the branch that his other side leaned against.

Initially he had ignored the feeling of her `unimpressed' glare boring into the back of his head, choosing instead to pretend that all of his attention was occupied by the tiny creatures that were running in and out of a hole in the bark just twenty centimetres in front of him. But as he felt the glare intensify it became clear to him that he was going to have to turn round.

Slowly his head twisted to face her, and she narrowed her eyes at the innocent smile that he offered. That wasn't going to do it this time. He had tricked her. He had known her long enough to know that sitting in a tree observing bugs was not her idea of interesting, but he had brought her along on this little excursion anyway ­ under false pretences. Research. He had told her they were going to do research. No bugs, or trees had been mentioned. So, she was unamused ­ to understate it highly - and when he proffered a questioning flick of his eyebrows in response to her pointed look, she said: "Research is not something I usually do in trees!"

Smirking at the fact that she had left herself wide open for a come back, Grissom responded with: "So what do you usually do in trees?", earning himself yet another helping of daggers from his friend.

Incited by the audacity of his comment, Catherine dared movement, and inched closer to him, watching as the self-assurance slipped from his face as the centimetres that had separated them disappeared. She smiled ­ but only to herself - when fear replaced the confidence and he pointed out that pushing him from a tree, with intent to cause harm, would be a crime.

Nearer and nearer she came until she was as close as she could get; her thigh pressed up against his. Well, he thought that was as close as she could get, but then, with skill she clearly retained from her dancing years, she swung her left leg over to the other side of the branch on which they sat, narrowly missing his head with her foot. Now straddling the branch, she slid even closer, then leaned in and whispered in his ear: "Well, recently, I've been known to root through nests, or cut off branches… But back in Montana, when I was in a tree with a boy, he was most definitely not watching bugs."

Grissom raised an eyebrow at the wink that accompanied her words, and a mischievous smile spread across her lips before she surreptitiously moistened them, and leaned even closer. She stopped, her lips millimetres from his, when he asked her, with a smile, if what she was suggesting was not a little clichéd. Her eyes flitted to his and she giggled. "Gil and Catherine sitting in a tree…" Then she tilted her head slightly to continue the rhyme.