She's a crime scene investigator, you know. She notices things -- she didn't get this job for her looks. And she's noticing things about Gil, now.

There was that one day they were in the lab, Gil was talking to Greg, Greg was talking to Sarah, Sarah said something -- and Catherine can't remember what it was she'd said, one case out of hundreds, many months ago -- but Sara said something important. Greg backed Sarah up, and she said there were possibilities there, glancing at Gil to see if he was agreeing too. Gil was staring at the rotting remains of some poor bastard or another.

As if he hadn't heard a thing.

There are some nights, some nights where they're working late as usual but decide to catch dinner at a local greasy spoon, and Gil has always been the quiet, introspective sort, so she never questioned it or got offended or did anything out of the ordinary when he didn't talk alot at the table -- but there are some nights, anyway, when they go to dinner. And they'd been doing it for what seems like a comfortable eternity, going to the same place, eating pretty much the same foods. Human beings thrive on pattern and order, Gil would say. Human beings like structure. They might spontaneously order the salad one night, but they'll go back to the hamburger medium-rare extra tomatoes American cheese hold the pickles the very next day.

But one particular night: waitress came by, Catherine placed the order she almost always places, and Gil? Gil was examining the menu. Not the way people do when they're contemplating jumping off that cliff into the exotic world of food that's eaten using actual utensils, not the way people examine menus even though they know they'll be ordering the same hamburger as yesterday. No, Gil was staring at it like he was waiting for something. Calculated; breathing overly regulated, eyes overly focused, hands overly still. It took a good long moment for Catherine to realize Gil couldn't understand a damn thing the waitress is saying. It's only through body language -- facial expression, body bent slightly at the waist, hand poised over her notepad -- that Gil knew to place his order. It hit Catherine like a siren going off at midnight.

So yeah, she notices, and she thinks. Every time another CSI says something, and Gil just thoughtfully stares off into space, every time he asks someone to repeat what they just said, she wonders how much of that is introspection and analysis, and how much of that is because he just can't hear. Well, it's his secret to keep, she figures, and she's his friend so she'll pretend she doesn't notice, but she wonders how long it'll be before his missteps reveal themselves to the others. He's already reinventing himself, she's sure, acclimating himself to what seems to be a slow loss. Structured, hiding it all the better.

She wonders how long before his structure of secrecy melts into chaos.