The Longest Night .

By Alia

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made. No disrespect or infringement to copyright is intended.

Summary: Gil is feeling useless and needs to take back some control.

Warnings: Het/Pre slash. Kink, whips and things.

Author’s Notes: This ficlet is loosely based on how Grissom may have reacted after 

Nick is rescued at the end of ‘Grave Danger’ and a comment he made during ‘Lady Heather’s Box,’ it may also contains spoilers both episodes. I am not sure. I use Australian spelling and don’t have a beta reader this time around. All mistakes are my own but if you find any, you are more than welcome to point them out to me.

Rating: R for adult imagery.

Comments: Are welcome at


Despite my wish to do something, anything that might further the case, I know that for the time being at least, there’s no more I can do. The scene has been processed, the evidence sent back to the lab, Catharine and Warrick are at the hospital and Nick has been sedated, hopefully resting comfortably after his ordeal.

They won’t let me see him yet, maybe later, when the doctor’s have finished assessing his condition, but not now. The rational part of my brain understands this implicitly, Nick needed time to recover, to come to terms with being buried alive, to barely surviving.

Usually being level-headed isn’t a problem for me, now though with everything that has happen in the last twenty-four hours, coupled with all that Nick has come to mean to me I don’t know how much longer I can last. 

I feel myself start to shake, unsure if its elation or delayed shock. I want to close my eyes, block out the images of Nick struggling to stay alive, the fear and desperation that we had all watch slowly overwhelm him, all the time knowing that if we didn’t find him before his air ran out he would have suffocate.

It didn’t happen, I remind myself for the umpteenth time. Somehow, though I am sure how at this point, I needed to start focusing on the future and start putting the past behind us. Nick was in the hospital and with the right amount of time he will heal. We all would.

Tightening my grip on the steering wheel, I force myself to concentrate on the road ahead of me.

There is less traffic the further I drive. The occupants of the darkened houses I pass by, all apparently safe in their slumber. I envy them their ignorance and ability to sleep even though I know that none of us are truly safe; will never be safe while the Gordon’s of this world continue to take their revenge without thought to the damage they cause.

Thankfully the scenery starts to blur after a while into a familiar sameness only found in the suburbs and finally I start to slow down, searching along the tree lined street for a place to pull over and park.

The old brick manor, like all the other houses surrounding it, is dark when I arrive and for a while I just sit, drumming my fingers lightly on the steering wheel, watching and listening for sounds from within. There are none of course. Lady Heather’s employees haven’t arrived yet and the only real resident is no doubt resting after another busy night providing services to her many clients. For the most part my friendship Heather has remained a well guarded secret, not for the reason most might think, but because I respect her privacy as much as I know she respects mine.

With that thought in mind I remove my seat belt and get out of the Tahoe, locking it behind me as I move towards the entrance. The porch light comes on as I step forward, announcing my arrival even before I push the door bell.

It may be the last few days finally catching up with me, but it seems like a very long time after I note a sliver of light appear under the door before I hear the lock being turned and it is actually opened.

Having never been overly impressed by what the world deems beautiful, Heather is the exception to the rule.  Wearing no makeup whatsoever and with hair slightly tangled from sleep she is without doubt the most appealing woman I have ever known. The cotton night dress modestly covering her from neck to toe made all but transparent by the foyer light behind her. Soft breasts and alabaster skin tempting me in a way that has long given way to broad chests and firm buttocks.

I feel a pang of guilt and the sudden need to explain why I have woken her as we regard one another, her assessment of my appearance and obvious mood no doubt telling her at least most of what she needs to know. We are both aware that there is someone else, yet no questions are asked about my visit as she ushers me inside and then gestures towards the kitchen.

I accept the invitation in the spirit is given, nodding my appreciation as I move past her.  Tea and sympathy were not exactly what I had in mind, but as with all things in life there is a process, the distinctive sound of the front door closing behind me as I make my way through to the back of the house reminding me that I have taken the first step towards taking back control of my life.

Tea is prepared and served using what I know from my previous visits to Heather inner sanctum, is her best china. Conversation is kept purposely light while it is consumed -- the particular blend we are enjoying and the weather mostly and only becomes more serious as our ritual draws to its inevitable end.

“I saw the news,” she announces as the last of the tea is poured into my cup. “I assume that Mister Stokes is safe now?”

I give a slow nod. I am not surprised that Heather has heard the news reports about Nick. A kidnapped CSI is news after all, even here in Vegas.

Turning my attention to my tea I swallow the last of it down and attempt to return my cup on its patterned saucer. In spite of my wish to remain calm, my hand trembles slightly as the two items make contact. The small sound they make seems usually loud in the quiet room and I feel myself grow restless again, awkward though I am not entirely sure why.

Looking up again, Heather offers me the tiniest of smiles, a mix of genuine relief and concern showing on her lovely face as she reaches out briefly to touch my arm resting on the table between us. “I am pleased to hear it,” she says. “But your presence here now suggests something else is wrong. Can you tell me about it?”

My first instinct is to shake my head, deny my flaws and insecurities, but I know better than to try and hide anything from her, and very slowly over the next half hour or so I unburden my soul. Explain in terms that only she can understand how I felt watching Nick suffer, how I still feel about not being able to get to him sooner, or to keep any of them from harm.

As with my previous visits here Heather listens to me without interruption, only offering a possible solution to my current problem, when asked. Her terms are simple and I am grateful for her foresight and willingness to relinquish one side of our friendship for another, even if it is only for a few hours.


While it will never be common knowledge I have been a guest in Lady Heather’s bedroom on a number of occasions. The décor is by comparison, simple to the rest of the house. Sparsely, yet elegantly furnished, a large iron bed draped in white linen takes pride of place in the middle of the room, with a dresser and a similarly adorned arm chair filling the rest of the space. There are no photographs or trinkets, nothing to suggest that the woman who sleeps here possesses the power to quite literally still men’s hearts or to silence their darkest fears.

There is something different about my being here this time though. A sign perhaps that our relationship has come full circle and the need for pretence is no longer necessary, I am not sure, but it is of little consequence I decide as Heather appears at the door, a small cat-of-nine-tails in her right hand and a riding crop in her left. The appearance of both items is a stark reminder of just why I am here now, but I make my choice without reservation, nodding towards the cat and its long plaited tails, a tool that I know is capable of causing untold damage in the wrong hands and inflicting a great deal of satisfaction in the right.

The need for prompting is long gone and I begin to remove my clothing as she enters and approaches me, my shirt, slacks and underwear dropped haphazardly at my feet as she watches, carefully scrutinizing every movement and my breathing. I feel exposed and as with always, completely out of my depth, but I do not let the feelings stop me from lowing my eyes once I am finished with my shoes and socks or knelling before her when she motions me to do so.

For untold moments I sink happily into the sound of Heather’s voice assuring me of my safely and her gentle hands caressing my head and shoulders, coaxing me to relax and accept. My acceptance of what will happen here tonight has already been given but I offer a nod of acquiescence just the same, letting her know I am ready. She moves out of view then, coming around behind me and giving herself room to work.

It is only seconds afterwards that I hear the familiar sound of the cat unfurling and each tail crack in unison as they are aimed at their target. I close my eyes, fighting the urge to tense up and forcing myself to simply welcome the release. I am the one in control here, I remind myself. I am the only one, if I should to do so, who can end my torment.

The first blow, when it comes is shocking though. My over taxed body protests the abuse immediately and I scream aloud, sobbing through various degrees of self recrimination as the rest fall without reprieve.  My voice is horse and I am barely able to keep my position by the time it all comes to an end. Somewhere in the back of my mind I register the cat being discarded and the sounds of Heather moving around to stand in front of me again.

Looking up at her I am filled with an overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude.

“You did very well,” she tells me as she then lifts the sheer fabric of her night dress with one hand and carefully guides my head forward with the other. It would be better if I could hold my place but I am shaking so much that I need her to help steady me as I borrow between her legs, using my tongue to spread her lips and to penetrate her as deeply as I can. She moans as my ministrations grow in their intensity and I shift my attention to her clit, using my fingers to fill her as I lick and nibble at her swollen flesh in all the ways that I know will give her the most pleasure until she cries out her release and slides to floor with me. 

My skin prickles uncomfortably and groin aches as Heather recovers from her climax and then takes my own need in hand. It is over quickly for me, but I have no complaints, or regrets. My mind is blessedly silent as we share a slow kiss and what few thoughts I have of the last twenty-four hours are quickly categorised into order of priority. Priority number one was telling Nick that I was in love with him and I planned to do just that, just as soon as I was able to talk to him in private. 

It is Heather that pulls back first and for a moment or two I wonder if it is she that has regrets, or if she realises that this will be that last time I will come to her. She says nothing of the kind of course and is her charming and understanding self for the remainder of the night.

The sun is rising as I walk back to the car. There is a message from Brass and couple from Catherine. I delete them all unread and drive to the hospital.

The End.

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