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Trey Cahill is an instrument of chaos. You learn that within five minutes of meeting him in the CSI parking garage. He's charming, roguish and has a smile that's racked up more notches on his bedpost than cases you've closed.
"He has never met trouble he hasn't loved to get into." Josh tells you distractedly as he drops the screwdriver into an evidence bag.
That includes you.
It starts when he comes to your rescue during one of the most turbulent thunderstorms Las Vegas has seen in years. Your car breaks down and you ended up stranded by the side of the road when his tow truck pulls up alongside of you.
"It must be fate." He smiles as the two of you sit in the cab of his truck, completely soaked to the bone. He turns up the heating, tilting the vents towards you so you get the lion's share of the hot air.
It's that simple act of kindness that leads to him spending the night at your place. He ends up tangled in your bedsheets, fucking you to the sound of the rain pattering on the windows.
"Let's do this again sometime." He murmurs against your lips as he lingers on the doorstep. "Maybe tonight after I drop off your car."
He pops by frequently after that, to change your oil, check your tire pressure, tune up your engine. It always ends the same way, his hands running through your hair as he fucks you so hard you see stars.
You don't realise how serious it's become, not until he ends up in jail. When they release him back into the wild you're waiting for him on the steps of the precinct.
"Folsom told you what happened?" He asks as you hand him the strawberry slushie you'd bought from the kiosk down the block. He presses it to the bruising that's blossoming across his cheek bone.
"I don't need you to play the white knight." You tell him, prodding at the ice with your straw.
"Noone talks about my girl that way." He says fiercely. "I don't give a fuck who it is."
What happened was this...
Trey had dropped by the Crime Lab, hoping to grab lunch when he'd overheard a defence lawyer call you a sanctimonious cunt. The two of them had ended up scuffling on the floor of the reception area. You'd been in interrogation at the time, interviewing another suspect with no knowledge of the chaos that was unfolding around you.
"Your girl?" You question and he gives you that look.
"Yea." He says, his eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he sips through his straw. "I'm not seeing other people."
"I thought you had a woman for every day the week, that I was just your Tuesday girl." You say and he pauses beside you.
"Monday all the way through to Sunday more like." He retorts before pulling something out of his back pocket. "I keep a picture of us in my wallet, the one from the photobooth in the bowling alley."
He hands you the photo strip and you find yourself smiling as you study the images. Your faces pressed together beaming, your lips brushing over his grizzled cheek, the two of you kissing, your teeth grazing his lower lip.
"I'm not seeing anybody else either." You tell him as you return the photo strip. He tucks it back into his wallet before returning it to his back pocket.
"I'm sorry if I caused trouble for you today." He murmurs, his forehead coming to rest against yours. "I just couldn't stand to hear him call you that, not when I know how hard you work."
"I must be doing something right." You say softly, your palms coming to rest upon his firm chest. "Especially if he was cussing me out that badly."
"Oh he said terrible things." Trey teases before he cradles your face between his hands. "I meant what I said baby, you really are the only girl for me."
