Title : Gravity
Author : Melanie
Summary : No, I’m never going to give them a break. I enjoy playing with their emotions far too much. Hidden Truths Chapter 11. Sara/Catherine. Sara’s POV.
Disclaimer : I’m just borrowing. All characters and everything else CSI belongs to Zuiker, Bruckheimer, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis Productions. Please don’t sue. Or I’ll give you the finger and walk away smiling.
Rating : NC17.
Feedback : Goes here, please : Fivebyfive13@prodigy.net
Spoilers : Not really, but anything up through ‘Got Murder?’ is fair game at this point. And if finally just dawned on me why that episode was titled that… eww.
Author’s Note : Okay so we’re back to first person. You’ll see why. A special thanks to Shatterpath for her awesome beta. I bow down to your excellence J And thank you to everyone who keeps emailing and enjoying the stories. I really am nothing without you.
Music : Unwritten Law – Before I Go (acoustic version), The Juliana Theory – White Days, Rockwell Church – Isn’t She Everything.
Dedication : This one’s for gij for putting up with my moods and not running away screaming. Also for telling me that Sara is ‘aww ’ in this story and that Greg is ‘so Greg’. I hope the line is still firmly in place, for now anyway. All my love…

Lindsey likes the zoo.   More accurately, she likes the tigers because ‘they
have pretty fur’.   I like the zoo too, but for an entirely different reason.  
It’s the kind of place families go, where Mom and Dad take the kids for a nice
Saturday afternoon out.  I was part of a real family now, something I’d never
really had before.   It was a small piece of normality in my otherwise strangely
weird and sometimes overly harsh and demanding life.   Just spending time with
this little girl, I was beginning to see how Catherine stayed so grounded all of
the time.   When someone else depends on you so completely, like a child does,
there’s no other choice.  When you’re lucky, there’s no other choice.

When I first moved into Catherine’s house a few months ago, it was more than a
little unnerving.  For all the time we’d spent together, all the nights I’d
stayed there, you’d think this simple transition would go smoothly.   But it
wasn’t simple at all and we hit a few snags in the first few weeks.  By the
second Sunday we realized that if we didn’t get two papers, the world as we knew
it would have gone down in flames.  The look Catherine gave me that first week
when my pencil hit the crossword could have single handedly sped up global
warming by a few decades.   Adjusting my little quirks to her little quirks took
a little longer than I think either of us had anticipated.   But every night
when I curled up next to her, I knew it was worth it.

But I still continued to tread lightly around the lives Catherine and Lindsey
had already claimed for themselves.  They’d been in that space for so long, I
wasn’t sure exactly where I fit.  I’m still not sure.  To be honest, at first I
was a little scared that Lindsey would resist my moving in, confused at what it
meant, what part I would be playing in her life.   Sure she knows I love
Catherine, but that’s as far as her understanding goes.  She already has a
mother; Catherine seems to have been born for that sole purpose…to be Lindsey’s
Mom.   And as much of a delinquent fuck as Eddie was, he was still her father. 
And through the eyes of an eight year-old child, I’m sure he wasn’t quite the
bastard everyone else knew him to be.

This brings me back to the tigers and another reason why I think I like the zoo
as much as, or even more so than Lindsey.   The tiger cage is the last stop
before the exit and also where Catherine detours to get the ice cream.  (Seeing
her try to juggle three cones is priceless in its own way).   So for ten or
fifteen minutes every couple of weeks, I know exactly who I am.  Lindsey waits
for Catherine to leave, waits for her to turn around halfway there and wave at
us, and then tugs me down next to her and whispers close to my ear.   It’s
always a new secret, something she doesn’t want anyone to know, that she’s not
ready to tell Catherine yet.   One time it was that she was starting to think
that Eric Jeffries, a fifth grader who picked a dandelion for her at recess, was
cute.   Another time she said that on the way home from ‘visiting my daddy’,
Catherine cries sometimes.  That one caught me so off guard that later that
night Catherine and I had a long talk about it.  She tried to explain it to me,
but by the end of the night we both realized that she had no idea why it
happened…only that it did.

This week’s secret was that in a few years when she grows up, Lindsey’s going to
marry Justin Timberlake.   But only if he’s lucky, she said.   If he’s lucky,
indeed.  It always amazes me that this tiny ball of sticky hands and golden
sunshine can read and understand the staples of classic literature (last week we
were reading ‘The Plague’ at bedtime…Lindsey says Camus ‘writes pretty’…pretty
seems to be a theme, by the way) and in the next breath start gushing over boy
bands.  Such are the mysteries of women, even in miniature form.

Lindsey and I have formed this sort of odd bond.   We’re more like buddies than
anything else.   There are a lot of things I can never be for her, but she’ll
always need a friend.  Our relationship is as yet largely indefinable, but we’ve
got a lot of years ahead of us.   And I plan to be there every step of the way.

********************

I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in over six months, since the night my life
came so close to falling apart completely.   Sometimes I close my eyes and I can
still feel blood spatter across my face.  I can still see cold cement rooms
covered in red.  I can smell my own fear.  Sleeping for four hours and
functioning isn’t a problem for me, never has been.   But lately I’ll be up for
three days in a row.   I know Catherine knows, but she hasn’t said anything yet.
  I think she trusts me to open up when I’m ready…when I’ve pushed myself so far
I have no choice but to ask for help.   What she doesn’t know is that I’m past
that point now, but I’m so used to closing off that it’s hard for me to even
admit that I’m struggling.

She’s asleep next to me.   Sometimes Catherine’s so quiet when she sleeps that I
can barely resist the urge to check her pulse or shake her just to make sure
she’s still alive.  Instead I concentrate on the rising and falling of her
chest.  After a few hours of watching the steady rhythm, I can usually drift off
for a while.  Although she sleeps in so little clothing that most of the time I
just end up keeping both of us awake until the sun comes up. 

Catherine and I can sometimes be polar opposites.   I’m always cold.  My
wardrobe (still mostly in boxes on the floor of Catherine’s closet) consists of
a lot of long sleeved shirts, sweaters, things I can layer.   Most of the time
I’m lucky if I can get Catherine to put on a shirt before she leaves the house. 
It’d make going to work a whole lot more interesting, but there are some things
that I like being the sole proprietor of.  A topless Catherine is one of these
things.  

I feel the mattress shift beside me.   It’s still dark out.  Five something
blinks red at me over Catherine’s slumbering body. We just got home a couple
hours ago from a particularly nasty case involving a teenage girl aiming to
carry her own father’s child.   Catherine was slightly more rattled than I was
on this one, but an hour of quality time watching Lindsey from her bedroom
doorway made everything else fall away.  For both of us.

Catherine rolls into me, hair falling into her eyes and draws a hand up around
the back of my neck.   Her hand is warm against the coolness of my skin and I
can feel her eyes flutter open in the darkness before I can see them sparkling
back at me.  She takes a sleepy breath and drags her nails down to the hollow of
my throat before she speaks.   Somehow I already know what she’s going to say
and I’ve already got my diversion tactic in place.

“You’re not sleeping,” she says and it’s a statement, not a question.  Her voice
is partly sad, partly concerned, and threatens to break my heart.   Sometimes I
wish she didn’t know me so well.

I don’t want to talk about it so I kiss her instead.   It starts off slow and
gentle at first, but with Catherine it rarely stays that way for long.  There
something below the surface with her that it seems is always trying to claw
itself out.  It took me a while to get to it…for her to let it out when she’s
with me.   I welcomed it.  How could I not?  It was the same thing that had been
screaming from inside me to let it out.   There are times when I’m sure we’re
going to devour each other whole.   When I felt Catherine’s teeth piercing my
bottom lip hard enough to break the skin, I knew this was one of those times.  
She was still frustrated from the case earlier.   This was usually her choice of
release.   I think it’s the subtle element of pain that brings her back down.

She’s kissing me hard now, forcefully.   Her tongue feels more like a
steamroller in my mouth and I can tell she’s trying to gain control, the upper
hand.   I’m beginning to think she wasn’t sleeping after all.   I push back, my
hand on her hip, fingernails digging into the flesh around the thin string of
her bikinis.  I’m firm in my demand that this isn’t going to be game tonight.  
I make sure to return the kiss with as much fever, if not more, my teeth all but
closing on her tongue before I move my lips to her throat and feel her heavy
exhale close to my ear.

“I know what you’re doing,” she says so quietly it’s almost lost on me and my
eyes open for a moment, eyelashes brushing against warm skin as I ponder my next
move.

Catherine just about lit my insides on fire with that kiss of hers so much that
if she could see my eyes they’d be nearly black with desire.  I find that the
shirt she’s wearing is barely long enough to cover her stomach when I grab it by
the hem and pull it up as hard as I can.  My lips find their way to her ear, my
teeth grabbing the soft skin just below it and I bite down hard as my hand finds
her breast, fingers clawing roughly.  Her intake of breath is quick and sounds
somewhere between a hiss and a moan.   Her fist now has my shirt bunched up
tightly in it and I can tell that she’s struggling to hang on.

There’s a leg thrown over my hip and I can feel her heat pressed up against me,
all around me, somehow inside of me too.   I move my hand back down to her hip
and drag my nails over her thigh, leaving tiny red marks in their wake.  At the
same time my mouth falls to her nipple and I use just the right amount of teeth
and tongue that sends Catherine’s fingers into my hair and her back arching into
me so hard I feel like I’m about to swallow her whole.   If she’s feeling
anything close to the burning ache that’s flooded my entire body, her protesting
is over.

I slide my hand into the waistband of her underwear and over her ass making sure
I take the intruding garment with me on the way.  She pulls back and her knees
brush against the material of my pants as she shifts enough to kick the bikinis
into the bunch of covers at the foot of the bed.   I use one hand on her waist
and the other at her neck to pull her on top of me as I roll onto my back,
taking her shirt over her head on the way and tossing it aside.  Her eyes are
locked on mine as I let her hands drift up my torso, the motion pushing my shirt
up over my stomach a little.  I can feel how wet she is against my stomach and I
reach up to cup two firm breasts in my hands and see her eyes flutter shut, her
teeth caught on her bottom lip as her hands go further up my ribcage.   It’s
starting to get hard to breathe.

It’s all I can do to stop her, taking her hands and pulling forward until she
falls against me, her hair falling into my eyes as my mouth finds hers already
open and I start taking all that she’s offering and more.  Her hands hit the
pillow on either side of my head making firm imprints, my hand running down her
stomach until I start teasing her.  She kisses me harder, trying to make her
want and need known and I slide a finger inside of her slowly, drawing out the
motion to make her want it more.  Her hips are trying to rock harder against my
hand, but I steady her with my free hand and control their movement. 

She pulls back and I grace her with a small lopsided grin and add another
finger, loving the low growl that comes from the back of her throat as she
descends on my right earlobe and bites down as hard as she can without tearing
it off.  I speed up my motion between her legs to something more like a
relentless thrusting.  I know this is the way Catherine likes it…needs it
sometimes.  Hard, fast, raw, and driven. 

I know she’s close by the way her stomach muscles are flexing against my own and
how her breath is coming heavy and fast in my ear.   Lifting my face slightly, I
manage to drag my tongue along across her throat and taste the salty sheen of
sweat that’s covering us both now.   I begin to let her move against me for a
few seconds before I stop my hand cold and move it to the other side of her
waist.   She tenses for a moment, having been dangled over the edge only to be
pulled back.  I can feel her suck in a ragged breath as I smile against her skin
and use my hands to roll her onto her back again.

She stares at me intently, her hand covering mine as it rests on her hip and
reaches up to kiss me.   I let her lips get close and then pull back slightly. 
She knows what I want, but she’s reluctant to give it to me.   The look on her
face is somewhere between pleasure, pain, and complete exhaustion.  But the look
in her eyes is clearly that of love and need.  I have to know that she needs me.
I have to know that she loves me.  This is the dance we do, the push and pull
ending up somewhere in the middle.

I just look at her as I feel her hand close around mine and slide all the way
over my arm and shoulder.   Seconds later she’s got my hair in her fist.   She
pulls back hard, almost snarling, and this time I’m the one who moans when her
tongue starts at the hollow of my throat and trails upward.   She gives one last
tug that’s enough to start me squirming against her and then guides my lips back
down to hers.   Her hand stays there motionless for a few seconds before
trailing back down to where mine is and she strokes it gently before taking it
firmly in her own.

“Sara, please,” she mumbles against my lips and guides my hand over her hip,
across her stomach, and finally to rest between her legs again.

“Please what?” my voice is almost demanding as I cup her in my hand and press
against her center, her fingernails digging into the back of my hand.

My head tilted back, her eyes are closed at first and there are tiny streams of
water creeping from the corners.   When her eyes slowly open, as I’m grinding
against her, they’re beginning to water around the edges but her gaze is held
firm and level.   We’re both beginning to wonder how long I’m going to continue
teasing her before I give in.  She’s frustrated and a little angry, maybe at me
and maybe at herself or maybe at the case she just can’t get out of her head.  I
know why she needs this so much at this moment.   It’s because when I’m inside
of her she can’t be anywhere else.   I hold her in this small time and space and
for a fraction of that time there’s nothing else but the two of us and the hard
truth of emotions that always leaves us full and drained in its wake.

As much as I want to hear her say it, I know that at the same time she needs to
believe that I already know…that words aren’t necessary.  I like to believe that
some parts of this relationship are firmly in my grasp, but in reality it’s
always been Catherine that holds the cards.   One look, a smile, the cocking of
her head to the side when I tell her an embarrassing story from when I was a
kid, is all it takes to bring my resolve shattering down around me.  I’d do
anything for her, to her, with her.   She knows she’s got me right where she
wants me…right where *I* want me.  I can’t deny her anything.   Not even now.

I crush my lips against hers and stop holding back, fingers sliding inside of
her roughly.  It seems it’s my need that’s driving us this time, my need to give
her pleasure, to make her happy.  It doesn’t take much longer, her hand gripping
my forearm tighter with every thrust, her hips rocking against me one final
time.  I bury my face in the side of her neck as she barely breathes my name,
nails scratching across my back so hard I find myself biting into the skin of
her shoulder to keep from screaming out in an even mixture of pleasure and pain.
  She convulses around my fingers, whole body shaking for the next few minutes. 


It seems like an eternity before I’m brushing the hair out of her face and
kissing her tenderly.  She smiles up at me brightly as the sun starts crashing
into the room around us.  It’s this kind of lovemaking, the kind that sends us
both away with scars, that reminds us that we’re still alive.  Reminds us that
we *are* still able to feel and love and everything else that makes us human.  
Tomorrow when I feel the aching across my back, when Catherine feels the pain in
her shoulder, we’ll both know that this moment that happened between us was
real. 

Without a word I fold Catherine in my arms, the place where she’s always
belonged, and let my eyes slide shut.   Her fingers gliding against the back of
my hand and up my arm and the soft murmur of ‘I love you’ are the last things I
remember before I fall asleep.

********************

“Hey Cath, what’s a ten letter word for ‘promptly obedient’ or ‘submissive’?” I
lean my head all the way back over the arm of the chair so that I’m looking at
her upside down as she’s in the kitchen, biggest grin I can remember in a long
time spreading across my face as she turns to look at me with that mock
Catherine glare that I’ve come to love so much.

“Smartass,” she says and goes back to drying the last plate and puts it back in
the cabinet.  I cooked.  She did the dishes.   We’re so perfectly domestic at
this point it’s beginning to scare me.

“I’m sorry, that’s only eight letters.   Would you care to try again?” I tease
and shift in the chair so that I prevent myself from passing out. 

I’m looking at her right side up now and she’s coming towards me in her subtle
predatory manner like I’m about to be punished…but in a good way.  When she hits
the kitchen doorway she opens her mouth to say something, probably smart and
most likely flirtatiously sexy, when out of nowhere a tiny voice steals her
thunder.

“Obsequious,” Lindsey spits out, looking up from her coloring book just long
enough to laugh at the Wild Thornberrys and then go back to the tree she was
drawing.

Catherine and I look at each other for a second, both smiling.  I’m tempted to
ask, but she laughs a little and shrugs her shoulders then stops next to me and
looks at Lindsey for a moment.  Catherine smiles widely and beams, proud to be
the mother of a smart, sassy, and genuinely adorable little girl.  In that
moment I think I love her more.

She runs a hand through my hair and then crouches down so that her chin rests on
the top of my head.   “Better write that down,” she says, reaching around me to
guide my hand and the pencil to the appropriate boxes.   The mere touch of her
skin on mine makes my legs stop rocking over the opposite arm of the chair and
go still.

“Are you sure she’s yours?” I tilt my head back so that she can see my smile and
I can see the laughter in her eyes.

“Sometimes I wonder,” she answers, moving her arms around me loosely and
shifting her head to my shoulder.

I turn to look at her and my face falls serious for a second.  “I don’t.”

I see the subtle change in her eyes that tells me I’ve said the right thing and
she peeks over my head to make sure Lindsey’s not paying attention before she
kisses me sweetly.   I wish it could stay like this forever, just the three of
us here together.  I’m about to tell her this when she says, “I know.  Me too.” 
And I wonder what I ever did in a previous life that was so great that I
deserved being with this woman and the little girl that I already think of as my
own.

With one last squeeze, she heads back to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee
and I turn back to my crossword.   She’s got her head stuck in the fridge
searching for the bag when I hear her voice again.

“You hid it again, didn’t you?” she asks, and I can tell by her tone that she’s
smiling.

“Actually, I think I left it in my bag,” I laugh an answer at her and then start
chewing on the pencil eraser for a second before I realize how nasty it tastes
and stop.  “And I only hid the coffee on you once,” I remind her as she passes
me on her way to the hall closet.

“Twice,” she corrects me.   “And the second time I had to go all the way back to
CSI to get it,” her voice trails off as she gets further away from me.

“Doesn’t count,” I call after her.

“Why’s that again?”

“Because the reward I gave you when you came home more than made up for it,” I
comment as she saunters back in front of me with the coffee grounds in one hand
and the other on her hip.  

“Did you hide the dry cleaning on me too?” she lifts one eyebrow in question.

“Uh huh,” I nod and barely resist the urge to kick myself in the face.  “You’ll
never guess where.”

“At the dry cleaners,” she answers immediately and can’t help but smile.

“You are such a smart woman.   I never would have thought you’d look there at
all,” I start to swing my legs around to stand, but Catherine grabs them and
moves them back.

“I’ll go,” she explains and checks her watch.   “They don’t close until eight. 
I’ve got another half hour.”

“No sweetie, I’ll go,” I protest and drop my paper onto the floor next to me. 
“I got sucked into the coffee aisle for so long that I just forgot.”

She reads the label on the bag and tosses it at me.   “Midnight Café is my
favorite,” she grins and grabs her jacket and keys from where they’re still
draped over the back of the couch.

“Catherine, let me go,” I offer one last time and stand next to her, making a
grab for the keys only to have them dangled out of my reach.

“Make the coffee,” she says and kisses me thoroughly.   “You’re better at it
than I am anyway.”   I hold onto her for a moment longer until I feel two beady
little eyes on us and then move away slightly.

“Mommy,” Lindsey’s sitting on the couch next to us, leaning over the back.

“What baby?” Catherine answers and smoothes her hair.

“Can I go with you?” A smaller version of Catherine’s mighty blue eyes ask.

“Not tonight,” Catherine shakes her head.   “You stay with Sara and I’ll bring
home some ice cream.”

“Mint chocolate chip?” Lindsey asks and bounces on her knees in anticipation.

“You got it, kiddo,” Catherine kisses the top of her head and touches my hand
before he heads for the door.   She stops with it half open and turns back to
where I’ve got Lindsey squirming under my version of the tickle monster.   She
smiles at us and I catch her eye and wink.

“That coffee better be steaming, ready, and waiting for me when I get back
here,” she warns and then mouths an ‘I love you’ before the door closes behind
her.

********************

It feels like an eternity before I hear a light rapping noise and I feel someone
tugging my left hand where it’s dangling off the side of the chair.  I manage to
peel the crossword off of my face where it’s been since I dozed off waiting for
Catherine to come home and open sleepy eyes to see Lindsey standing next to me. 
She’s looking at me expectantly and I have to narrow my eyes at her because I
have no idea what’s going on.   Then the doorbell rings and I’m even more
confused.

“Can I get it?” Lindsey smiles at me sweetly and then makes for the door. 

It’s a good thing I’ve got a couple of feet on her and legs longer than her
entire height because I grab her before she can pass me and anchor her over my
shoulder as I walk down the small flight of stairs to the front door.  Lindsey’s
laughing and shrieking a little as I hold on tightly to her legs so I don’t get
a stray foot in the face.  I’ve had enough head injuries in the last year.

“Forget your house key again?” I call at the door as I reach to open it. 

I catch sight of my watch as I’m turning the doorknob and notice it’s close to
nine thirty .  Catherine should have been home an hour ago.  I’m starting to
feel a little uneasy as I pull the door open.  When I see Grissom and Brass
standing there I feel my blood run cold and deposit Lindsey on the floor, a
protective hand covering her shoulder as Brass pulls the screen door open.  I
look at the two of them, my heart beating into my throat and Lindsey begins to
sway back and forth under my hand.  I see some sort of understanding wash over
Brass’ face, like he’s finally realizing why he’s here.  Yeah, Jim, she’s my
girlfriend.  Took you long enough.  What I see on Grissom’s face makes me feel
like I’m going to throw up.  It’s pain, but something more.  Sympathy.  And I’m
going to pass out.

“Hi, Mr. Grissom,” Lindsey says politely and smiles.   He smiles back and
touches her face.   Now I know something’s very, very wrong.   He’s touching her
in the sort of way where he’s trying to hang onto something.  And it’s so not
Grissom.

“Munchkin, why don’t you go pick out a book for tonight,” I tell Lindsey and
usher her back up the stairs.  

I wait until she’s gone before I turn back to two men whom I’ve grown to admire
and trust.  I want to hate them for what they’re about to tell me, but I can’t. 
They’re just doing their jobs.

“Where is she?” I can’t even recognize my own voice.

“Vegas Memorial,” Grissom answers and reaches out a hand.   “Sara…”

I put both hands up and keep trying to breathe.   It’s amazing how the moments
when your life will change forever become etched into your memory.  The first
time my father ever hit me hard enough to draw blood is among the first.   My
first kiss with Catherine in my apartment is one of the most recent.   I hoped
that whatever transpired in the next few minutes wouldn’t leave me feeling as
lost and alone as I did when I was that little girl.

“What happened?” I pull myself together enough to ask, wiping at the stinging in
my eyes as I try not to panic.

“Preliminary of the scene suggests a mugging,” Grissom explains.  “Nicky and
Warrick are there as we speak.  Whoever it was took her car so carjacking isn’t
out of the question either.”

“How bad?”

“Sara…”

“How fucking bad, Grissom?”

He sighs.  “A lot of head trauma.  At least two stab wounds that the paramedics
could see.  And probably some internal bleeding.”

“Is she going to make it?” I don’t try and stop the cracking of my voice as I
turn fearful eyes his way.   My world is slowly starting to unravel and I’ve
lost hold of the strings.

There’s a long pause.   Brass turns around and looks away, hands in his pockets.
  And I’ll be damned if I didn’t see his eyes watering before his back’s to me. 
Grissom just looks at me, his lips tight and thin, and adjusts his glasses.  
His eyes never leave mine as he says the words that will stayed burned into my
mind forever.

“They don’t know,” he shakes his head and forces my hand into his as I try not
to fall apart.  “It doesn’t look good.”

I’m barely able to hold back the choking sobs that are trying to beat their way
out of me and I grip Grissom’s hand tighter as I feel the tears starting to
come.  Shock isn’t the word for what I’m feeling right now.   Raw fucking terror
is more like it.   I can’t believe this is happening.   She was just here two
hours ago holding me.   I ball my free hand into a tight fist and take a deep
breath.   Lindsey’s presence at the top of the stairs snaps me back to the
moment and I pull away from Grissom and turn to the little girl at the top of
the stairs.  And I realize that I’m responsible for her now and I’ve never been
more scared in my life.

“Sara, where’s Mommy?” she asks and I put on a smile and motion for her to come
down to me, meeting her halfway and pull her into my arms.  I try not to hold
her too tightly because I don’t want her to know anything’s wrong.

“Mommy saw Mr. Grissom while she was out,” I lie and move us towards the closet
grabbing both our jackets and the small bag with all of my work stuff.  “She
told him to come get me because she wants to see me.”

“How come she didn’t come by herself?” Lindsey asks and I curse her for being
such an intelligent and inquisitive kid.

“She’s just a little busy, sweetheart,” I drop her down near the door and get
her into her jacket before taking her hand and leading her outside.  “Mr. Brass
is going to take you to see Uncle Greg,” I look up at Brass and he nods and
takes Lindsey’s hand.

“I like Uncle Greg,” Lindsey smiles back at me and we all walk towards the cars,
both of my hands on Lindsey’s shoulders.   “He’s funny,” she comments as I lift
her into the passenger seat of Brass’ Crown Victoria and buckle her in.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I promise and kiss her cheek.  I touch Brass’
arm in thanks and he nods at me in understanding.

“Sara, when you see Mommy tell her I love her,” Lindsey smiles at me again and I
have to turn away before I completely break down right there in front of her.

I watch as the taillights fade away down the street before turning to Grissom.

“How could this happen?” I ask, only half expecting an answer.  He doesn’t say
anything because he knows he doesn’t have any answers.   At least not yet.  He
waits until I’m in the Tahoe before he gets in himself and pulls away.  

I’m just watching headlights and streetlights whiz past us as I stare out the
window and nothing’s really registering.   My head’s such a mess that I can’t
pick one thought from the next.   But there’s one thing I know for certain, that
I’ll remember forever.   This is the longest ride of my life.

********************

I hate the way that hospitals smell.   So fucking sterile like the walls must be
lined with alcohol swabs or something.  I hate hospitals in general.  With them
comes the feeling of doom and despair with a healthy serving of death thrown in
there too.   We’d already flashed our badges twice since we got here.  
Apparently hospital security doesn’t like people coming in with guns unless
they’ve got the proper documentation.   Grissom’s steps are as quick as mine, a
little less urgent.   We haven’t spoken since we got in the car.

“So how come you came in with Catherine?” I ask as we make our way out of the
elevator and into the ICU.

“Hm?” has asks in his normal curt, barely readable expression Grissom way.

I shrug.  “Just thought maybe you’d have wanted to be at the scene.   Send one
of the boys with her.”

He doesn’t answer.  And it’s now that I realize how stupid I’ve been in the last
twenty minutes.   There are only two reasons Grissom would abandon that scene.  
The first is that he thought he’d being following Catherine through the ER and
all the way to the morgue before the night was through.   The other makes me
want to put my fist through the x-ray box we just passed three steps ago.  I
manage to swallow the bile climbing up my throat enough to ask my next question
and wait until I’ve found a bathroom or small shrub to unload my dinner on.

“Did he…uh…was she…?”   I roll the word around on my tongue and have to swallow
it because there’s no way my brain is capable of spitting it out right now.   My
hands are starting to feel numb.

“Rape kit’s back at the lab,” Grissom finally answers and reaches an arm to my
shoulders briefly before pulling it away when I jam my hands in my pockets and
turn away, hanging my head to the side.   “I put a rush on it.”  Obviously.

We stop a few feet away from the nurses’ station and I rub my eyes with my thumb
and forefinger trying to push certain images from my mind.  I’m tired and
anxious and beyond scared to have to deal with this right now.   And I wonder
what silly games Greg’s playing with Lindsey right now.   Did she brush her
teeth?  Is she sleeping on the couch in Grissom’s office?   And I know it’s
exactly what Catherine would want me to be worrying about.  But it’s not.   I’m
worried that she won’t make it and that I’m not strong enough to be Lindsey’s
Mom.

“I’m going to check in with the guys, talk to the officers at the scene a little
more.  They’re down in the cafeteria,” he says and I force myself to pick my
head up.   “Can I get you anything?  Coffee?”

“Uh, no,” I shake my head and manage a small smile.   “I’ll see you in a bit,” I
turn around and head over to the nurses station with one hand massaging the back
of my neck.

There’s a woman in scrubs that looks more like a receptionist than anything
else.  It’s almost eleven o’clock.  Visiting hours are over and this is going to
be a bitch.   I doubt flashing my CSI badge will hold any leverage at this
point.   Nurse Scrubs looks up from where she’s on the phone as my fingers grip
the counter loosely.  She puts on her fake smile and shakes her dark bangs out
of her eyes.

“Can I help you?” she offers and I can tell she doesn’t mean it.

“Catherine Willows,” I state simply and wait for a room number and most likely a
protest…some sort of after hours speech.   I’m not disappointed.
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“Are you family?”

“Yes,” I nod without even having to think about the question.

“Sister?” she asks.

“No.”

“If not sister then…?”

“Think really fucking hard,” I answer her and grit my teeth.  It feels good to
be pissed off and taking it out on someone else right now.

“I’m sorry, visiting hours are over.   Miss Willows is in Intensive Care and
needs to rest,” she says with a sugary sweet smile and she must be loving every
second of shoving this in my face.  “If you’re not immediate family…”

“She *is* immediate family, you bitch,” I hear and turn to see Catherine’s very
angry ‘real’ sister stepping up next to me.   “Now you better let both of us in
there to see my sister before I jump this counter and shove that phone so far up
your ass you’ll be shitting speed dial for weeks,” her voice is low and
threatening and it’s reflected in the steely gaze of her eyes.  She leans into
me for a second and then turns back to Nurse Scrubs.   “Thank you,” she adds,
making sure her point has gotten across.

Thirty seconds and a few key clicks later, we’re on our way to room 342.  Stacey
walks ahead of me a few steps and I stop to look at her, seeing every ounce of
what made me fall in love with Catherine standing in the hallway a couple feet
away from me.  She looks tired and worried, but I’m barely able to see the faint
traces of tears on her cheeks.  Strong, brave, determined.   I’d know these two
were related even if I didn’t know it was a fact.

She turns back and for a split second she lets me know that she’s scared.  It’s
a quick flash in her eyes and then it’s gone.  I take long, fast steps to catch
up to her and we walk in silence down the stark white hallway.  About halfway to
Catherine’s room, Stacey takes my hand in hers and it startles me for a second
before I can relax.  She just needs reassurance, comfort.  Or maybe I look like
I do.

I want to stop once we reach the door, but Stacey in true Catherine fashion,
goes right through the door and tugs me in behind her.  She grips my hand
tighter for a second before letting go and stepping over to Catherine’s bedside.
  I’m stuck right where I’m standing and I’m starting to suffocate.   I try to
keep breathing in rhythm with the beeping of the heart monitor, but it’s proving
to be harder than I ever thought it could be.

Catherine’s face is a map of bruises, cuts, and puffy abrasions.  Her left eye
is swollen shut; her lips dry and cracking are now hanging onto the breathing
tube for dear life.  There’s a gauze bandage peeking out from the top of her
gown and hugging the side of her throat.   He tried to slit her throat.  Grissom
didn’t tell me that.  The investigator in me starts asking why he would stop
once he started.   What spooked him?

I move slowly.  It’s as fast as I can go with the lump in my throat and the air
closing in around me.  Catherine looks so small lying there motionless with
machines breathing for her and making sure she doesn’t just suddenly die.  The
reality of the situation comes slamming into me like an avalanche and I’m not
quite ready for the magnitude of its impact.  I want to touch her, but I think
if I do she’d just break.   What am I going to tell Lindsey?

I’d almost forgotten Stacey was in the room with me until she starts talking.

“Is she in a coma?” she asks but doesn’t turn around.

“Yeah,” I manage to say, my voice raspy and hollow as I walk up close behind her
and look down on the other half of myself who is now fighting for her life.  I’m
helpless.   I can’t do anything to save her.

“And she was stabbed?” Stacey’s voice cracks and her intake of breath is sudden
and sharp.

“Yeah,” I move forward and put a hand on her shoulder from behind, trying to
comfort her and anchor myself to this place at the same time.

“Raped?” she asks so quietly I can barely hear her and I see her fists clenching
at her sides.  My silence is almost her answer, but I find my voice in time to
save her from unnecessary rage and panic…although I don’t do much to save myself
from it.

“They don’t know,” I answer and before I can even register movement, Stacey’s
turned around and burying herself in my arms, her face pressed into my chest as
she sobs.

I hold onto her as tightly as I can, arms over her shoulders and this is when I
notice she’s shorter than Catherine.   And I realize that for a long time that’s
all I’ve been doing, comparing everything else in my life to Catherine.  The
woman who walked past me yesterday on the way to work, her eyes weren’t quite as
blue.  The girl at Starbucks that made my coffee last week, her smile not as
bright.   When Greg hugged me a while ago, his touch not nearly as electrifying.
  From the minute our lips touched, Catherine had replaced work as my reason. 
My reason for what?   Living.  If she’s gone, how am I supposed to do anything
without her?

I hold back my own tears because I have to be strong for Stacey, for Lindsey,
for myself.  I stare at Catherine over Stacey’s head and silently promise that
whoever this bastard was, he’s dead now.  He’ll regret every second that he put
his hands on her.


I leave Stacey sitting next to Catherine’s bedside and she assures me that
she’ll pick up Lindsey in an hour and grab some stuff so she can stay at the
house with us.  Grissom’s waiting for me in the hallway and I take the coffee
he’s offering even though I’m not sure I want it.  It tastes like shit and I
toss it in the trash can and start chewing on my Nicorette as we stand there
just looking at each other.    He knows what I’m going to say and I can already
tell he doesn’t like it.

“Take me to the crime scene.”

“You know that’s not a good idea,” he shakes his head.

“Don’t you fucking tell me what’s a good idea right now,” I shout back at him,
my anger wild and misdirected.   “She’s dying in there,” I throw my arm out to
point in the direction of Catherine’s room.  “Have you seen her?  I’m surprised
she even made it back here, for fuck’s sake and you don’t think it’s a good
idea.   Well fuck you.  I live with that woman.  I know everything about her. 
I’m the one who’ll know if anything’s missing or suspicious at that crime scene.
  I have to see it, Grissom.  I have to know.”

“You have to know what?” he counters and he’s getting just as angry as I am. 
Maybe this little jarring tryst is just what we need to both feel a little
better.

“I have to know how she felt,” I say somewhat quieter.   “Was she scared?  Did
she know what was going to happen?  What was the last thing she thought about
before she hit the ground?   I have to know what it was like for her so that I
can find this bastard and make him pay.”

“You’re not working this case,” he warns me.

“The fuck I’m not,” I defy him and start walking past him.  He grabs my arm.

“Your head’s not straight right now, Sara,” he says and his eyes are apologetic.
“I know you want this guy, but you’re too close to this case.”

“Grissom, please,” I’m starting to lose it, my eyes watering around the edges. 
“Take me to that crime scene.”

He softens a bit, understands why I need this.   “One step in the wrong
direction and I’m pulling you from this.   Do you understand me?  One step,” he
says and waits for me to nod before we head out of the building.

********************

“Catherine wouldn’t have panicked,” Grissom says as he keeps his eyes on the
road and drives towards the drycleaners.

“Hm?” I turn to him, away from the window I’ve been staring out since we left
the parking lot.

“We both know her, Sara,” he says, eyes straight ahead.   “Whatever happened
there, she kept control of herself.”

“How do you know this?”

“We got blood and skin from under her fingernails,” he explains.  “She fought
back, took part of him away with her.”

“That’s Catherine,” I say quietly, nodding, and turn my attention back to the
window.  We’re almost there, he’s slowing down.  And I have to wonder what other
parts of him she took away with her.

The scene is quiet by now.   There are a couple of cruisers, a few uniformeds
standing around talking and holding down the scene until we finish.   There’s
yellow tape up across the alley where I usually park my car when I come down
here.  It’s where Catherine parks too.  I guess tonight she should have parked
on the street.

It takes me all of two seconds after I’m out of the Tahoe to see the pint of ice
cream melting in a heap on the ground and the blood smeared against the brick
walls and concrete to run to the other side of the car and throw up dinner,
lunch, and the three beers I had last night.   Grissom waits quietly near the
yellow tape while I grab my kit out of the truck and wipe at my mouth as I
approach him.   Two of the cops are still staring at me as I pass under the tape
and slowly take in the scene.

“Her car would be over here,” I motion to the side of the alley opposite the
blood stains.

“Which would explain why the blood stops suddenly right about there,” he points
to where a void starts and doesn’t stop.   “Means wherever her car is there’s
more blood on the door.”

“And if there was a…” I pause and search for the right word, “struggle,” I
settle for.  “If there was a struggle in the car or against it there’s probably
more transfer evidence also.  Any hits on the license plate yet?”

Grissom shakes his head.   “Brass hasn’t called yet.”

“They find a stack of dry cleaning?” I ask and he shakes his head.  “Do we know
if she even made it there?”

“Nicky found the receipt and pickup stub over here at number four,” Grissom
answers and moves down a few steps to the yellow evidence marker that’s sitting
on the ground near a spatter of blood drops.   And I’m already starting to feel
overwhelmed by my guilt.   It should have been me.

“So she goes to the convenience store and gets the ice cream,” I try to set up
the scene.  “Then she picks up the dry cleaning and heads back over here.   It’s
already in the car when he grabs her…”

“What about the ice cream?   Why isn’t it in the car too?” Grissom interjects
and I can’t help but smile.

“Catherine carries a spoon in the car,” I say with a smirk.  “She always eats it
on the way home.  She would have carried it to the front seat with her.”

He smirks at me and the air’s lighter for about five milliseconds before I feel
a heavy weight bearing down on my chest.   And I wonder if she’ll ever eat ice
cream again.

“He grabs her most likely from behind because there’s no way he’d get a handle
on her otherwise.   She’s too resourceful.  They’re struggling because we know
Catherine isn’t going down easy.   He’s got to have her mouth covered to keep
her from screaming.   It’s dark over here, but it’s not pitch black,” I continue
and glance up at the faint streetlight.  “He’s hitting her, stabbing her.  Let’s
assume if he’s behind her that she maybe kicks off the car to send him back into
the wall.  That’s when his knife slips on her throat but doesn’t cut all the
way…because he’s stunned,” I say and step over the pool of blood to the wall
directly opposite of where the back door to Catherine’s Jetta would be.

Grissom’s watching me closely like a teacher watching his student struggling to
make sense of an equation with no answer.   I’ve got my gloves on and I’m aiming
my small flashlight at the scuffed brick when a little below my eye level I see
a small piece of ragged fabric hanging off a jutting piece of cement.   Grissom
steps up next to me as I bag and seal it.

“How are you so sure of all of this?” he asks and he’s not as skeptical as he is
surprised.

“I pay attention,” I answer and take another look around.   “Even when she’s not
looking, I am.   I know her,” I shrug and look at all the blood on the ground.  
I still can’t believe this is happening.

I shift my hand and the light flashes towards the ground near where the wall and
the ground connect.   In the tiny crack, a flash of light hits me back square in
the eyes and I crouch down for a closer look.  As soon as I see it, I feel like
I’m going to pass out.   Instead I opt for running behind the dumpster and
throwing up again.   Grissom waits, keeps his distance, knows I have to do this
on my own.  I slowly walk back to where I was and use my pen to pull the gold
chain out of the small crack.   The star shaped pendant swings into my hand and
it feels like lead, as heavy as my heart is right now.  Lindsey’s birthstone.  I
gave this to Catherine for our six month anniversary over a bottle of dark
merlot, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight.  Suddenly I feel her all around
me again and it’s so suffocating that I don’t want to remember.  But I do.   I
want to scream and cry and punch the wall until my knuckles bleed.   I want to
know why.

“You have the evidence log?” is what I ask Grissom and he looks in his folder
before handing it over to me.

“Well he’s definitely not a professional,” I comment when I read that he left
the knife behind.   An eight inch hunting knife that looks as deadly as it’s
proven to be.  I scan the rest of the list for things that I know are missing. 
Whoever our guy is, he’s got them now along with her car.   But all the evidence
in the world isn’t going to matter when I get my hands on him.  Because I’m his
judge and jury and I’ve already decided his sentence.

“Who called it in?”

“Guy that owns the drycleaners across the street,” Grissom answers.  “Catherine
left her credit card on the counter and he was going to give it back to her.  
We assume that’s what made him drop the knife and take off.   Says he saw a tall
white male with facial hair and that’s about it.”

“How’d they find her?” I can already picture her lying on the ground and it’s
enough to make me hide my eyes from him.

“On her side, unconscious.”

I nod.  I want to get out of her and fast.  If I had just picked up the damn dry
cleaning when I was supposed to.

“Cell phone’s missing.   Along with her watch, wallet, and a thin copper wedding
band,” I tell him as I cross back under the tape and I can feel his eyes on me. 
“No,” I shake my head, “her grandmother’s,” I answer his silent question and
can’t help but ask one of my own.  

“You think he had time to rape her?” I ask as he pulls into traffic.  I want him
to lie to me, but I know he won’t.

“Let’s just wait for the tests to come back,” he says and it’s like a dagger to
my heart.

********************

The second I step into the lab I can hear the shouting.   Grissom’s already gone
to his office and I take off in the direction of the commotion.  I have to wade
through the crowd that’s beginning to form in order to get to the door of the
DNA lab.  I can see Warrick’s back through the glass and the animated way that’s
he talking, his voice escalating.

“No, it’s not fucking good enough,” he says and I push through the door enough
to see he’s got his finger in Greg’s face.   “I said to put a fucking rush on
the samples, Greg.   That was two hours ago.  Now stop everything else you’re
fucking doing until you put those papers in my hand.  You got it?” he hisses
close to Greg’s face and I can see how scared they both are.

“I said you got it?” Warrick shouts and grabs Greg by the collar of his lab coat
and shakes him.

“Hey, that’s enough,” I cut in between them and push Warrick forcefully towards
the door. 

His eyes burn into mine and he sets his jaw before busting through the door and
through the crowd roughly.   I hear the slamming of his fist on the glass and it
sends all the glass from here down the hallway shaking against the steel frame. 
I turn back to make sure Greg’s okay and he nods at me before I take off into
the hallway.  Warrick’s waiting for me, leaning up against the wall and staring
at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he says and meets my eyes.

“I don’t think I’m the one you should be apologizing to,” I answer as I walk up
next to him.

“I know,” he shakes his head.   “I just…I can’t believe,” he stops trying and
just looks at me.   “It’s Catherine, you know.  You never think any of this can
touch us.”

“I know,” I nod and lean next to him.

“How is she?”

“I don’t know.  Not good.”

“How are you?” he touches my face and forces me to look at him.

“Fine,” I lie and move past him towards the break room.  

He follows and gently claps a hand to my shoulder.   I flinch for a second when
his hand connects and I reflexively roll my shoulders as he stops and looks at
me strangely.   I smile faintly and slide the leather off looking over my
shoulder, but I can’t see anything.  He turns me around and lifts the hair off
of my neck.

“You’re bleeding,” he sounds confused, but I’m not.   My early morning
activities are coming back to haunt me.

“I’ll be right back,” I tug my jacket off all the way and I can make out at
least two or three thin red lines bleeding through the white of my shirt.

I’m not quite sure what he thinks, but before I can walk away he grabs the
collar of my shirt and pulls it back enough to peer down my back.  I pull away
and turn around.  He’s almost smiling and I can tell he’s amused.  At least he’s
not screaming at Greg.  He looks at me knowingly for a second before he shakes
his head and continues walking.

“I’ll have your coffee waiting when you get back up here,” he calls over his
shoulder as I disappear down the stairs to the locker room.

I’m unbuttoning my shirt before I even reach the door and I drop my jacket over
one of the benches before I can take my shirt off all the way.  The scratches
are stinging and I’m reluctant to do anything to stop it because I like the way
it feels.   It’s settling, somehow grounding.   But what hurts more than
anything else is having to remember something I’m not ready for yet.  This
morning.   I sit down and try to shake it off, but it comes flooding back to me
full force and it’s all I can do to keep my feet on the ground.   I can feel her
wrapped around me, my hands dancing all over her skin.  I push it out of my mind
before it can drive me crazy and walk over to the sinks.

I splash cold water on my face a few times and push my hair back.  Then I grab a
stiff brown paper towel and wet it before I use it to clean up the remnants of
my last intimate moments with Catherine.  It’s almost soaked with blood when it
hits the trash can and when I turn back to grab another one I catch my
reflection in the mirror.  

I look like shit, pale as a ghost.   My hands are starting to shake and my eyes
are hollow.   The gunshot scar on my chest is poking out from underneath my
tanktop and my eyes are drawn to it as my fingers reach up to trace the outline.
  I was never afraid of dying even when Bryan Jones had his gun leveled in my
face.  I was scared that I’d miss out on all the things I hadn’t done yet, but I
wasn’t afraid of death.   The prospect of Catherine dying, of our last kiss
being the last one we’ll ever share scares me more than my own death ever will. 
Because after all we’ve been through and where we’ve ended up, I don’t know how
I’m supposed to live without her here.

I have to push that thought out of my head before it kills me where I stand.  I
toss my shirt into the trash and then pull it out again.   For some reason I
want to keep it, if nothing else than to remind me of the scars that will
someday fade.  There aren’t any clothes in my locker so I hang up my dirty shirt
and grab a bandaid big enough to cover my shoulder.   Once it’s on I go to
Catherine’s locker and stand in front of it with my hand on the lock.  I take a
deep breath with my forehead pressed against the cold green metal and then turn
the combination until the lock clicks open.

There are a couple of pictures of Lindsey on the door and a postcard from when
Stacey went to Canada last year.  All these little staples of Catherine’s life
staring back at me remind me that she’s not here.   I grab her perfume that she
only wears when she punches out because she doesn’t want to dull her senses in
the field, and inhale slowly.   I stop myself before I come completely undone
and grab the black shirt that Catherine keeps as her backup.  I tug it over my
head and it’s a little tight.   It also smells like her skin and I slam the door
and grab my jacket.   I’m out of that room before the walls can close in on me,
before I allow anymore thoughts of Catherine leaving me lost and alone.

********************

I’m sitting in one of the trace labs with Catherine’s clothes laid out on the
table in front of me.   What’s left of them anyway.  I’ve combed them for
fibers.  Used the spectroscope to check for fluids lost on the naked eye.   I’ve
even dusted the tiny buttons for prints.   For all of my efforts, I have nothing
to show.   Her clothes are clean which is ironic considering what a fucking mess
they are.  There’s a big almost black blood stain on her jeans right near the
left knee area and I’m left to try and picture in my mind exactly how it got
there.   Then I think that if she was awake she could tell me herself.   I’m
hollow when I allow myself to weigh the chance that I might never hear her voice
again.

I trace my fingers over the slits in the soft fabric of her shirt.  My fingers
are delicate, barely touching, and the nausea that penetrates my head and
stomach is making this all the more real.  It’s the blood on the collar that
hits me the hardest because I know how close I was to losing her already.  The
shirt’s a soft blue, the color of her eyes and I’m convinced that’s the reason
she bought it in the first place.  It saddens me that she’ll never be able to
wear it again and I wonder if I got her a new one what her reaction would be. 
Knowing Catherine she’d smile and thank me for the gesture and then hide it in
the bottom of the closet so she’ll never have to look at it again.

Results on the knife confirm that it was the weapon used in the attack.  Fibers
from her shirt match fibers on the handle and blade.   The only blood on it was
Catherine’s and it was such a mess that if there were any usable prints on it
they’d be far too contaminated now for a match.  I haven’t actually seen it yet.
I’m trying to keep myself as far away from the physical evidence as possible
since it’s getting harder for me to keep from breaking down.  This is the first
part of the case I’ve actually gone over myself.   And I know it’s only going to
get harder from here.

The zipper on her jeans is broken.   This is the only sign that robbery wasn’t
his only motive.   But it’s enough to send me into a fist clenching spiral of
rage.   It’s hard enough for me to work a rape case when I’ve never met the
victim in my life and still keep my emotions in check.   When it’s someone you
know…someone you love…it’s impossible.   Because there are some things that I’ll
never be able to make right again no matter how hard I try.  This is one of
them.

Greg’s been standing in the doorway for five minutes now.  I can sense he’s been
shifting his weight from foot to foot and I’m sure he’s waiting to see if I’m
going to lose it or not.  I also know he’s not sure what he’s going to say yet
and he’s trying desperately to think of something to make me smile.  This is
what Greg does and I love him for it.  But today it’s not going to work.  Not
while I’ve got Catherine’s shredded clothes on the table in front of me and her
blood on my hands.

“This was her favorite shirt,” I say quietly as I slip my finger into the slash
mark and run my tongue over my teeth as hard as I can.  Greg’s stopped shifting.

I can’t take it anymore.   I’ve been holding it all in and it’s boiling over
now.   I push off the table with both hands until I’m standing straight and
close my eyes, taking a deep breath.  I know I’ve turned too quickly when I see
Greg flinch out of the corner of my eye.  I’ve got the back of the chair in my
hands and throw it as hard as I can towards the glass walls on the other side of
the table.  I’m expecting a crash when all it does is bounce off and hit the
floor sideways.   Damn shatter proof glass.  Just the action is making feel a
little better when the terror hits me again and I slump to the floor, dragging
Catherine’s shirt with me on the way.

Greg’s arms go around me tightly and I don’t care that I’m crying so hard that
I’m shaking, the tears flooding from my eyes like a storm.  I’ve got my face
pressed into his chest so hard I can barely breathe and I feel him kiss the top
of my head, press his cheek against the same spot.   I’m ruining his shirt and I
know he doesn’t care.   I also know when this is all over I’m getting him a new
one and a twelve pack of Guinness.

“It’s my fault,” I mumble into his shirt, dropping Catherine’s and grabbing onto
the lapels of his lab coat loosely.

He pulls back and takes my face into his hands, wiping my cheeks with his
thumbs.  His eyes are wet too as they search mine.  “What are you talking
about?”

“I was supposed to pick up the dry cleaning,” I say quietly and avert my eyes,
his hands moving to brush the hair out of my face.   “It should have been me,
Greg.  Not her.  I forgot and now she might die because of my mistake.  How am I
supposed to get up in the morning without her there?”

“Don’t you dare do this to yourself,” he says and his anger almost floors me. 
I’ve never heard him like this before.  “This is *not* your fault.  Nobody could
have seen this coming.”

I know what he’s saying is true, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

“You wanna put the blame somewhere?”   He looks directly into my eyes and I can
tell he’s as rattled as everyone else around here.  “Put it on the guy who left
his DNA all over that crime scene.   You self destructing is not going to help
her, Sar.   She’s going to pull through this and she needs you to be strong for
her.”

“How do you know she’s going to make it, Greg?” I ask incredulously.  “You
didn’t see her…”

He shakes his head and takes my face in his hands again.   “I have to believe
it.  And so do you.”

“Why?”

“Because you have a little girl to take care of now.”

That’s all it takes.  He wipes at my tears again and I’m starting to get my
breathing under control.  I know it’ll never come close to making it up to
Catherine, but taking care of Lindsey for her is one of the only things I can
offer.  There’s just one thing I can’t seem to get out of my head.

“What if she was…?”  I let it dangle in the air around us and I see Greg swallow
hard.

“She wasn’t,” Nick peeks his head into the room and I wonder how long he’s been
there.  He’s holding a small stack of papers in his hand.   “Rape kit came back
negative.”  Thank God for small favors.

Nick’s face is somber, his eyes tired and dark.   Seems nobody really knows what
to say to me because we’re left just staring at each other.  I prefer the
silence to the questions and even more to the false promises and hopes that they
dare not lay on me.  Because it’s not going to be okay and we all know it.

“Hey,” I say to him because it’s all I’ve got right now.

“Hey,” he answers and sends me love with his eyes.   I nod a little to let him
know it’s been received.   He looks from Greg to me and our fairly intimate
situation and starts backing away.  “I’m gonna call Brass and see if they’ve got
anything on the car yet.”  

He pauses and then steps back in a little looking at Greg.  “Sorry about Warrick
earlier, man.  He’s having a rough time.”

“It’s cool,” Greg waves him off.   “He already laid two tickets on me for the
Cotto/Bazan fight this weekend.”

“You’re kidding,” Nick scoffs.

“You busy on Friday?” Greg’s hopeful and it’s so cute that I almost forget about
the chair I just threw.

“I am now,” Nick answers and disappears down the hallway out of sight.

“Shut up,” Greg says when he turns back to me before I can say anything.

I lean back against the wall and he leans next to me.   He takes my hand and
pulls it into his lap and we’re silent for a long time.

“How was Lindsey?” I ask.

“Fine,” he nods.  “We played dress-up and then she passed out on the couch in
the break room until Catherine’s fine ass sister came to get her.”

I have to laugh.  Greg boggles the mind sometimes.  Really.

“You think you can hook me up?” he asks seriously.

“No,” I shake my head.   “You can’t handle her.”

“I got you to smile,” he reminds me.   “Laugh even.  I have skills, baby.  You
know it.”

“Promise me something?” I’m serious now and he takes the hint, smile fading.

“Anything.”

“You get a match on DNA, prints, anything we find, get me an address and give me
a couple hours before you tell anyone,” I say and he’s trying to be cool about
it but his eyes give him away.   He knows what I’m planning and he doesn’t want
to be a part of it.

“Sara…”

“Greg, please,” I squeeze his hand.   “What would you do?”

He shakes his head for a second and I know exactly what he’s thinking.  We both
know he’s imagining me in that hospital bed and his answer is obvious in the way
his eyes are watering.

“Okay,” he nods and puts an arm over my shoulders to pull me closer.  We don’t
meet each other’s eyes.

********************

I’ve never really known how to act around kids.   I’ve always been awkward
around them.   To be honest, they make me a little nervous.   Even my brother’s
kids sometimes make me a little uneasy.   I think it’s because I’m intimidated
by their curiosity and fearlessness.   And you never know what they’re going to
do or say.   I don’t like things that are unpredictable.   Mostly because I
can’t control them and we all know how that makes me feel.

I certainly never imagined having kids myself.   I can’t see myself as a mother
in any form.   Definitely not the kind of mother Catherine is.   It fits her
with ease, like a second skin.   She knows how to kiss away cuts and bruises.  
To quiet panicked eyes and soothe scraped knees.   These things are lost on me. 
Maybe because I never had them when I was a child.   I can barely take care of
myself let alone an eight year-old that’s going to be depending on me to take
her nightmares away.   I’ve still got trouble dealing with my own.

I’m still learning.  Catherine’s a great teacher, but Lindsey’s even better.  
Whether or not I’m ready for this doesn’t matter because it’s what I have to do.
I’ve been standing in front of the door for a half hour.  I’m sure she’s
asleep, but what if she’s not?   What am I going to say to her that I can’t say
to myself?   She’ll know I’m lying.  She always does.  And I don’t want to
disappoint her.  Or Catherine.

Stacey’s sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of scotch and two glasses. 
It’s just this side of four in the morning and she looks up at me when I walk
into the room.  Her eyes are hopeful that I might have some information, but
when I avert my eyes to a scuff mark on the floor she pours herself another
drink.   And fills up the empty glass for me.

“I was wondering when you were going to come in,” she says as I take the glass
and sit down across from her.   Can’t get anything past these women.

“Sorry,” I take a long drink and shut my eyes as it burns my throat.

“For what?” her voice is light, the bottle almost half empty.

“Everything,” I finish my drink and roll the glass from one hand to the other. 
“What did you tell her?”

“That Mommy had an accident and she’ll be gone for a few days,” Stacey answers
and I pour her another drink, reach across the table and take her hand.  “She
knew I was lying, of course,” she laughs a little before starting to cry again.

“Of course,” I nod and she holds my hand a little tighter.

“I finally got her down about an hour ago.   She wanted to wait up and make sure
you were okay,” she says and I feel my breath coming quicker.  “She wants to go
see Catherine.”

“She can’t,” I shake my head.

“I know.”

“It won’t do her any good to see her Mother like that.”

“I know,” she says and pauses for a second.   “I almost called my Mother.”

“Yeah?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I got all the way to the fourth number before I realized I was kidding
myself and hung up,” she pauses again.   Her voice is small like Catherine’s
when she’s scared.   “Do you think she’s going to make it?”

“They’re doing all they can for her,” I say.

“Do you think she’s going to make it?” she tries again.

“She’s strong.”

“Do you think she’s going to make it?” Catherine’s eyes are staring at me from
Stacey’s face and I can barely manage to say anything at all because I can’t lie
to her.

“Yes.”  And I have to believe it because I need Stacey to believe it and I need
Lindsey to believe it.  *I* need to believe it because if I don’t then I’m not
going to make it through the next five seconds.  “She has to,” my voice is
barely audible.

It’s so quiet while we’re sitting at the table staring at our glasses that
Lindsey’s screaming makes us both jump.   I’m out of my seat faster than I’ve
ever moved in my life before, Stacey a breath behind me.  I flip the light on in
Lindsey’s room and the way she’s sitting up with her rabbit clutched to her
chest rocking back and forth breaks my heart.   Her face is flushed, cheeks wet,
and she holds her arms out to me as I cross the room to her bed.

I want to cry but I can’t because I know this little girl needs me to be someone
she can hang onto and I need to be brave for her.  Her little fingers are
crumpling my shirt, she’s holding on so tightly.  I smooth her hair, rub her
back to try and calm her down but nothing seems to be working.

“I want my Mommy,” she keeps saying over and over again and I want to tell her
it’s going to be okay but I don’t want to lie to her yet.

“I know, sweetie.  I know,” I say gently and rock her in my arms.   “Me too.”

I catch sight of Stacey over Lindsey’s head and she got her hand over her mouth,
tears streaming down her face.   I give her a pained look because I don’t feel
like I can do anything to help anyone and she leaves the room.  I hear her slide
down the wall to the floor right outside the door, sobbing.   This is where I’ll
find her in the morning.

I cradle Lindsey in my arms and shift so that I’m sitting with my back against
the tiny headboard.  My feet are almost dangling off the end of the bed as she
settles in against my chest.  She cries for a few more minutes while stroke her
hair, then her eyelids droop shut and she sticks her thumb in her mouth.  I know
she only does that when she’s scared and I hate myself for not being able to
take her fear away.  She looks so much like Catherine…hair, eyes, nose, the
silent way she sleeps.   It occurs to me that I’m hanging onto her as much as
she’s hanging onto me.  I kiss her forehead and grab Mr. Bunny and fold him in
her arms.  I know she’ll be happy he’s there when she wakes up.  

Only when her breathing is steady do I close my eyes.   I don’t sleep.  But I
close my eyes and try to forget.  At least for a few hours.

********************

Three days later, we’ve got nothing new.   Catherine’s condition hasn’t changed.
  Stacey’s still staying in the guest room.   Lindsey’s back at school and we’re
back to Poe for bedtime reading (I think his darkness is comforting to her right
now).  And I’ve spent the last thirty-two hours at work sitting on my hands with
Nick and Warrick trying to see who can drink the most coffee without having to
pee.  I won.

It’s barely five o’clock in the morning and I’m rummaging through cabinets
trying to make Lindsey’s lunch for tomorrow.  So far she’s getting a candy bar,
a cherry Capri Sun, and pretzels.   She doesn’t like chips and we’re out of them
anyway.   And I’m giving her candy to overcompensate for anything else I’m doing
wrong.  I’m exhausted, more emotionally drained than anything else and I can’t
for the life of me understand how Catherine remembers to do all of this every
day and still have time to keep herself from going insane.  I’m reaching for the
peanut butter when I realize that Lindsey hates jelly.   And we have no fluff. 
Then my eyes hit on the coffee pot that’s been sitting there full since the
night I made it while Catherine went out. 

Lindsey needs fluff.

This is the only thought running through my head as I grab the coffee make by
its side and whip it off the counter, watching as it hits the floor in slow
motion and shatters everywhere.   I stare at it and then turn around to grip the
countertop with all the force I can muster.  I think I’m trying to rip it from
the wall when I hear bare feet on the linoleum.   I run a hand over my face as I
turn to look at Stacey, very alert in her slumber.

“We don’t have any fluff,” I say and my voice cracks as the tears start. 
“Catherine does the shopping,” I explain like I’m sure that says it all as I
turn away again and bite my bottom lip to try and stop it from quivering.

I feel her hands on my shoulders and her forehead pressing into the place right
between my shoulder blades for a second before I hear the clinking of glass on
glass.  It’s a small gesture of comfort that I know means she’s trying to convey
that she understands and just maybe that I really am family to her too.   I take
another minute to steady myself as she cleans up the mess I’ve managed to make
and I’m thankful that I didn’t wake Lindsey up.   And I wonder if it’s always
going to be this hard.

Ten minutes later, Stacey and I are sitting on the counter with our legs
dangling against the cabinets eating ice cream.   Her idea.  She makes me
promise to change my clothes today since I’ve been wearing these for almost
three days and I’m getting ripe.  She’s going to do the laundry while I sleep. 
Right.   While I sleep.  I can’t bring myself to even go into the bedroom. 
That’s why I’m still wearing these clothes.   She knows this and she’s forcing
me to deal with it.   If I wasn’t so in love with Catherine, I’d be tempted to
ask Stacey to marry me.

“I’ll pick up a new coffee maker after I drop Lindsey off at school,” she says
as she finishes off the last spoonful of mocha chip and scrapes the pint one
last time to make sure she hasn’t missed anything.

I think I might ask her anyway.

My cell phone rings from my jacket where it’s hanging off the back of one of the
kitchen chairs.   I grab the empty pint from Stacey, smile at her, and hand her
mine as I go for the phone before my voice mail picks up.

“Sidle,” I flip the phone up to my ear after tucking my hair out of the way.  I
listen to Warrick’s voice for a second before I answer.   “I’ll be there in
fifteen minutes.”

I shut the phone off, clip it back to my waist and grab my jacket.  “They found
her car,” I turn to Stacey, who stops the spoon halfway to her mouth and drops
it back into the container. 

I guess the laundry’s just going to have to wait.

********************

I promised myself that today I wouldn’t cry or throw up.  I’m standing here
looking at Catherine’s car and every second it’s getting harder for me to keep
that promise.   I force my jaw closed again as Warrick side steps me to take
pictures of the exterior.  I tell him not to forget to snap the size six
Catherine shoe dent on the rear passenger side door, right where I told Grissom
it’d be.  The entire right side of the car is fucking covered in blood spatter. 
I’m sorry correction, except for the one big part where it’s *smeared*.  

“You wanna tell me how the fuck he drove this car around for three days and
nobody stopped and said ‘hey that guy’s got fucking blood all over his car’?  I
mean really, Jim, you fucking tell me how your guys let this slip past them,”
I’m in Brass’ face by this point and I’m not really angry at him, but this
characteristic display of wanton angst is what’s keeping me from depositing half
a pint of cookie dough ice cream all over the scene.

This is the first time I’ve lost it in front of everyone and now they’re all
staring at me.  Nick stopped opening the door to look at me across the roof of
the car.   The camera’s hanging by Warrick’s side.   It’s a good thing Grissom’s
not here or he’d be looking at me like…well, like Grissom.  Brass is standing
still in front of me and I want him to get angry back at me so we can do some
loud verbal sparring.  Anything to keep me away from that car.  But he’s not
angry.  In fact, his eyes are regretful and sympathetic.

“I’m sorry,” he says and I hear the door opening again, the camera snapping more
pictures. 

I look around.  We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere in the desert.   There’s
a road, but it’s a small stretch of interstate that barely anybody drives
anymore.  There’s nothing but sand and tumbleweeds and air.  And somehow there’s
not enough oxygen here to make me feel like I’m not going to pass out.  Nick’s
halfway into the car when I stop him.

“I want this,” I step around to him and he backs off immediately, holding the
door open for me.  

Warrick’s swabbing the blood on the outside for procedural purposes.  We all
know it’s hers.

The inside of the car is a mess.   I was expecting it to be wiped down
completely, every trace of our mystery man’s existence swept away with bleach or
alcohol.  The pungent odor of blood is the first thing that I notice.   This car
must have been baking in the Las Vegas sun for a while.  I slide into the
driver’s seat and I can barely reach the pedals.   Whoever he is, he’s tall. 
And scared.  Dropping the knife was our first clue to that.  The second is how
he’s left the car crawling with evidence.

There’s a good amount of blood on the steering wheel and a perfect goddamn
fingerprint stuck right in the middle of it.   I’m grinning like a kid in a
candy store and it feels so good I can’t even explain it.  I feel like I haven’t
taken a breath in four days.  I know the rest of the car still needs to be
analyzed but I really don’t care anymore.  Because if this print’s in the
system, I’m going to be knocking on his door before the day’s through.

“Nicky,” I wave him over and show him what I found.   His boyish grin is
stunning and perfectly gleaming in the sunlight.   He notices my hands are
shaking and places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“I’ll get it,” he offers and helps me back out of the car.

While he works, I crouch down near the inner part of the door and hanging
loosely from the inside handle is about an inch long piece of the same blue
fabric we found in the alley.   I bag it.  Now we’ve got enough to tie the same
person to the alley and the car.   Corroborating evidence, there’s nothing quite
like it.

Nick holds up a perfect print transfer in front of my face when he crawls out of
the car.  We’re all four standing around grinning like idiots.   Brass takes a
few steps away and tilts his head back into the sun.   The dry cleaning’s still
in the back seat all covered up with plastic.   And I’m reminded of why we’re
here in the first place.   I can’t help but feel responsible for this.   It’s
something I’ll never really forgive myself for.

Something on the floor of the back seat near the passenger side door catches my
eye.  It looks like a black stocking cap and it’s definitely not Catherine’s.  
I cross to the other side of the car and wretch the door open.   It groans like
it’s been treated badly in the past couple of days and it’s sore.  I pick up the
cap and turn it inside out, tweezers in hand.  I’m not disappointed when I find
a handful of brown hairs and bag them along with the cap.  I’m about to close
the door when I see Catherine’s wallet on the floor where the cap used to be.  
It’s empty of money of course, but everything else is intact.   The possibility
of more prints just skyrocketed.

Nicky tosses me the print transfer and I take it and the wallet I’ve just bagged
in Brass’ direction.   We leave Nick and Warrick to finish up while Brass kicks
in the siren and drives us back to CSI at Mach speed.

********************

My legs are shaking.  I can’t sit still.  I dropped the prints off at the lab an
hour ago.  Then I came directly here and made sure to glare at Nurse Scrubs for
a couple of minutes before I headed to Catherine’s room.   There are flowers
everywhere.  Roses from Warrick.  Daisies from Greg.   Sunflowers from me.  Nick
sent over the newest issue of Car and Driver magazine.   There’s an article on
street racing, he said.   Lindsey drew a picture of us at the zoo that I hung
near the window so it’s the first thing Catherine sees when she wakes up.  
Grissom sent one of those hangy spider plants.   Go figure.

Catherine’s condition is stabilized.   They’re moving her out of ICU tomorrow
morning.   The machine’s not breathing for her anymore, but she’s still not
awake.  Her face looks a little better, but those aren’t the wounds I’m worried
about.   I’m daring enough to take her hand this time and I’m surprised at how
warm it is.  The doctor said not to get my hopes up.  They’re still not sure
she’s going to pull through yet.  The fact that she’s not awake yet is
‘disturbing’.   I can’t believe how much I need her.

All that stuff they say about how unconscious people can hear you is bullshit. 
You could talk for five days straight and they’d still just be laying there
exactly the same way they were when you started.  But I don’t care.  I haven’t
shut my mouth since I got here.  I already told her Lindsey loves her and needs
her Mommy home and that we’ve got prints from the guy who’s about to get the
ever loving shit beat out of him.  I’m crying silent tears now wanting her to
open her eyes and say something smart and Catherine like.   Maybe the talking
isn’t for them.   Maybe it’s for us to say all the things we need to say and
believe that if they don’t make it at least they’ll know everything we’ve been
trying to hide.

“Fuck, Catherine,” I whisper and suddenly I’m angry that she’s not trying harder
to get better.   I want her to squeeze my hand, tell me to fuck off.   Ask me
why I didn’t pick up the dry cleaning when I was supposed to.  But she doesn’t
and it makes me even angrier.

“You can’t do this to me,” I say a little louder, tears dropping onto the bed
sheet and her hand where it lays motionless on top of my own.  “Lindsey needs
you.   *I* need you,” I’m crying so hard I can barely breathe and the pain in my
chest is like nothing I’ve ever felt before.   “I can’t do this without you.”

There are hands on my shoulders and I expect it to be Greg or Nick.  But it’s
not.   It’s Grissom.  I drop my face into my hands and cry openly.  He stands at
my back comforting me but not getting too close.   I feel like his hands are the
only thing holding me together.   When I finally look up and turn to him I can
see he’s crying too.   I wish Catherine was awake so she could see this because
I know she’s never going to believe me when I tell her.


Two hours later, Grissom’s gone and I’ve managed to fall asleep in the most
uncomfortable position in my life.   My cell phone’s ringing but I can’t move my
arm enough to get to it.  I tell it to hold on while the blood flows back into
my appendages and I sit up straight.

“Yeah?” I bark into the phone sleepily. It’s the call I’ve been waiting all my
life for.

“I’ve got an address,” Greg says quietly and I can tell by his tone he’s
uncomfortable and having an internal battle with himself.   “I got two prints
from the blood and the wallet and they’re both a one hundred percent match to
the same guy.”

“What’s his name?”  I can feel the venom on my tongue.

“Anthony Coupland, thirty-four years old.   In this system for two stints
upstate.   One for armed robbery.  The other for sexual assault,” he reads to
me. “He’s a low life, Sara.   He’s not worth it.”

“Address?” I ignore him.

He pauses.  For a long time.

“Address, Greg,” I say and I can feel my gun almost burning a hole in my side.

He gives it to me reluctantly and I thank him and almost hang up.

“Wait,” he says quickly.   “You know how you said that if Catherine doesn’t make
it you don’t know how you’re supposed to get up in the morning?”

I nod to myself and close my eyes.   He knows I’m doing this and I know what
he’s going to say next.

“Just be careful,” I can barely hear him because he’s crying and then the line’s
dead.

I kiss Catherine on the forehead and tell her I love her.  It’s not nearly
enough, but it’ll have to do for now.  I’m about to pay Anthony Coupland a visit
and one of us isn’t going to live long enough to see tomorrow.

********************

I screech to a stop in front of Coupland’s apartment building and dump doesn’t
even come close to describing this place.   It’s worse than the projects here.  
There’s a drunk guy passed out in the doorway.   I don’t even pause as I exit
the car and head into the building, up two flights of stairs and straight to
apartment thirty-six.   My rage is driving me.  I’m rolling the revenge around
on my tongue and I need to do this before it turns bitter.

“Anthony Coupland?” I yell to the closed door.   I hear shuffling.

“Yeah, who’s asking?” is my reply.

I pull my gun and hold it in both of my hands as I lean back and kick right next
to the doorknob as hard as I can.   The door slams open right into his face and
I hear him moan and hit the floor.  I throw my shoulder against the door to
force it all the way open and there’s a scruffy looking man with shabby brown
hair and a full beard trying to scurry back into the apartment using one hand. 
The other is covering the blood on his face where I’ve just broken his nose.  

“Who are you?  What do you want?” he asks as he keeps moving backwards.  

I’ve got my gun pointed at his head and I’m following him into the apartment
slowly.  The door’s still open, but I don’t care because this isn’t going to
take long.   He’s wearing one of those blue gas station attendant jackets with
his name embroidered on the chest.  There’s a huge chunk of it missing near his
left wrist.   As we pass the kitchen-slash-living room I see Catherine’s cell
phone sitting on the counter in plain sight.   I can’t even believe how much I’m
going to kill this guy.

“You fucked with the wrong woman, asshole,” I hiss at him and his eyes go wide. 
Yeah, you stupid fuck.  That’s why I’m here.

“Where’s the watch?” I ask and come to just about stand over him.  He’s backed
up into a wall and he’s got nowhere to go.  He’s trapped.

“I pawned it,” he says and I think he’s going to cry.  

His eyes are glassy and it smells like something’s burning.   When he wipes the
blood off of his face I can see three perfectly shaped scratch marks down the
left side of his face.   Any doubts I had that this was our guy are gone.   I’ve
got the exact same marks on my shoulder.

I click off the safety on my gun and now he *is* crying.   I have to stop for a
second because I’m wondering where the hardened criminal is that attacked my
girlfriend in an alleyway and tried to rape her, but had to settle for robbing
her and stealing her car instead.   This guy’s a bottom feeding druggie who’s
high as a kite and looks about ready to wet his pants.  I wish he’d have been an
arrogant mouthy fuck because it’d make this easier.   Not much, but a little.

The sweat’s running into my eyes now and it’s getting harder to see.  As soon as
I pull this trigger, my life is over.  And I don’t even care.

“Oh God, please,” he cries.   “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to hurt that lady,”
he pleads.

“Shut the fuck up,” I demand and stick the gun further into his face.

“What do you want from me?” I can see the fear in his eyes and I like it.

“Get on your knees.”

“Oh God, please,” he says again and I want to tell him that God can’t hear him
right now because he can’t hear me either.

“Get on your fucking knees,” I scream at him and this time he listens.  “Turn
around.”

He does it slowly all the time sobbing, his body shaking.   There’s a tiny part
of his collar missing near the middle of his neck.  He puts his hands on his
head when I tell him to and I have to wipe at my eyes because they’re burning
now. 

“You’re a cop.  You can’t kill me,” he says and I want to laugh.   I answer him
by pressing my gun to the back of his head.

“Was the fifty bucks you got pawning her watch worth dying for, Tony?” I ask and
press the gun harder for emphasis.

He’s mumbling something and it takes me a minute to realize that he’s praying. 
Nothing ever surprises me anymore, not in this profession.   Keep praying,
fucker.  You’re about to have a face to face meeting with your maker.  

My finger’s resting gently on the trigger and I’ve told my brain to pull it half
a dozen times now, but for some reason my hand’s not listening.  He deserves
this.   I try to picture Catherine lying on that hospital bed in my mind, but
instead I hear her voice telling me not to do this.   To take him in and let the
system we’ve sworn to serve under give him justice.  He’s still praying and I
find myself shaking my head and breathing heavily.

I close my eyes and remember that last morning Catherine and I were together. 
There are so many things I wish I’d paid more attention to.   So many times I
wish I had listened more closely to everything she said.  It’s funny how the
last time you’re with someone you never know it’s the last time.   It’s just one
more time until next time.   You never know that next time is never going to
come.   I can feel her skin on mine, her breath on my neck, her hair sliding
through my fingertips.  Goddamn this bastard for taking that from me.

My eyes shoot open and all I see is red.   My whole body is on fire and I can
barely keep from screaming I want this so badly.

My cell phone rings and he turns his head.   I almost pull the trigger on
reflex, but instead I pistol whip the side of his face so hard blood goes flying
against the wall and his head snaps forward.  I keep the gun on the back of his
head and press it against the skin of his neck this time while I grab my phone.

“Yeah,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Sara, it’s Stacey.”  I take a breath and then start to panic.  

“Is it Catherine?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” she laughs a little.   “Hang on a sec.”  I hear a
shuffling, the muffling of the receiver then light breathing.

“Sara, it’s bedtime,” I have to close my eyes at Lindsey’s voice.  I grip the
handle of my gun tighter and move my finger away from the trigger.   “You said
you were coming home,” she reminds me and my lip is trembling so badly that I
don’t know if I’m going to be able to answer her.

“I know, sweetie,” I say through the lump in my throat.   “I’ll be there soon.”

Her voice is quiet and I can tell she’s walking.   “Hurry up.  Auntie Stacey
doesn’t read right and her hands aren’t as soft as yours,” she whispers.

Tears are stinging my eyes.   “I’ll be home soon, sweetie.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.  Now give the phone back to Auntie Stacey and brush your teeth,” I
say and fight to stop crying.

“Kay.  I love you, Sara,” she says and then she’s gone.

“Sorry about that,” Stacey’s back on the line.   “She was upset that no one was
around to tuck you in,” she says lightly and I wonder what the fuck I’m doing
here.

“I’ll be home soon,” I say and hit the off button, my watery eyes focused on the
back of Anthony Coupland’s head.  

If I do this I’m never going to see that little girl again.  I’m never going to
read her a bedtime story, hear about her first kiss, see her graduate from High
School.   I’m not going to be there when Catherine wakes up, when mother and
daughter have their sweet reunion.  Greg’s voice echoes in my head.  And he’s
right.  Anthony Coupland isn’t worth losing all that for.  I dial my phone
without even looking at it.

“Captain Jim Brass, please,” I say and then it’s just a matter of waiting.

Twenty minutes later I’m still in the same position with my gun to the back of
Coupland’s head because I’m not quite ready to walk away from this yet.  I heard
the sirens two minutes ago and now the footsteps are clomping on the stairs like
cattle.

“Police, drop the weapon,” comes the voice from behind me and I don’t recognize
it.  I don’t move.  “I said drop the weapon.”   I hear the cocking of a gun a
few feet behind me.   My brain is telling me to drop my gun and put my hands up,
but I can’t do it.

“Stand down!”  That’s Brass and his voice is coming closer.  

Footsteps beat closer to me until I feel a presence at my side. Grissom reaches
out tentatively and closes his hand around the barrel of my gun slowly.  I drop
my arms as he pulls the gun from hands.  He grabs my jacket to pull me into him
as cops swarm around Coupland and drag him away still crying.  Grissom’s looking
at me half like he wants to strangle and fire me and half like he wants to hug
me. I’d rather he didn’t do either.  

The only thing I know right now is that I’m so tired I don’t know how I’m going
to make it back down two flights of stairs.

“Please don’t fire Greg,” is what I say and Grissom eyes me sternly for a second
before giving me a half smirk and leading me out of the building.

********************

“Sara, I just bought a strip club,” Lindsey shouts and giggles at the same time.


I shake my head and pour three glasses of orange juice.   I only left them alone
for two minutes.   Stacey’s at the hospital.  And Greg brought over his
Playstation to teach Lindsey how to play the new Grand Theft Auto game. 
Catherine’s going to kill me.

“Okay that’s enough,” I hand Greg his OJ and turn the TV off right before
Lindsey can cut up some fat guy with a chainsaw.  

They both moan at me in protest and then Greg nudges Lindsey and starts booing. 
Of course, she copies him a second later and I feel like I’m the only adult left
on the planet.

I hand Lindsey her orange juice and glare at Greg until he stops.  “Drink this
and *then* brush your teeth,” I tell Lindsey and she nods at me with a grin.  
“And pick out your clothes too.  I’ll be there in a sec to brush your hair,” I
call after her.

Greg’s looking at me with amusement in his eyes and a huge toothy grin on his
face.  He’s already dribbled his juice on the shirt I gave him to make up for
the one that I covered in my tears.  It’s got a big smiley face on it and
underneath in tiny letters it says ‘smile I just slept with your daughter’.  It
screamed his name at me when I saw it the other day at the mall when I took
Lindsey to get her ears pierced.  Catherine’s going to kill me again.

“You’re like Supermom or something,” Greg says and I tousle the perfectly spiked
mess on the top of his head before I sit down next to him.  “She really loves
you.”

“Who would have ever thought I could handle this, huh?” I take a drink of my
juice.

“Not me,” Greg shakes his head and I realize he’s being serious.

“Thanks, loser,” I push his shoulder and he leans back against the cushions.

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s alright.  She’s been through a lot in the last year, but she seems to be
handling it pretty well,” I answer and listen as the faucet in the bathroom
turns on.   “She’s got Catherine’s strength.”

“And her lip too,” Greg comments.   “When I told her I stayed in last night to
watch wrestling she shook her head and told me I needed to get a life.”

“She’s right, you know,” I say and we share a laugh.

“I’m sorry, was that you sitting next to me with the popcorn and beer
practically drooling on yourself or was it some sort of Jedi mind trick?” he
scoffs.

“Hey, I like two chicks pulling hair and slamming each other into big arena
mats,” I answer.  “What can I say?”

We laugh again and I hear Lindsey cross to her bedroom.   I touch Greg’s hand.

“About what you said the other night, on the phone,” I say and he looks away
nervously.

“You don’t have to…” his hand tenses, but I hold it tighter.

“It made a difference, Greg,” I say softly.   “Everything you say makes a
difference.   I could say I love you a million times and it still wouldn’t be
enough to express what I feel in my heart for you.”

“Now you’re going to make me cry,” he pulls me into a tight hug and I kiss his
cheek before he pulls away again.

“I better go check on Lindsey,” I smile and walk around the couch.

“You mean little Catherine?” he smiles back at me and I’m overwhelmed with love
for this guy who’s stolen a tiny part of my heart.   “Hey Sara?”

I stop and turn around.   “Yeah?”

“If you and Catherine hadn’t…you know.   You think…?” he motions between me and
himself and I know he’s been dying to ask me this question for almost a year.

“You know I can’t answer that, Greg,” is what I say, but in the back of my head
I know that the answer is ‘yes’.   Telling him that won’t do any good.   It’ll
only break his heart even more.   “Because Catherine and I *did*…you know.”

“I know,” he nods and he’s still smiling as I walk away.

Lindsey’s finishing putting her socks on when I get to her room.  They’re two
different colors and I know she did it on purpose.  I pretend not to notice as I
grab her sneakers and kneel down in front of her.  I’m waiting for her to tell
me she knows how to tie her own shoes, but she doesn’t and let’s me do it for
her.

“Uncle Greg’s in love with you,” she says matter-of-factly, swinging her feet so
it’s harder for me to tie a bow.   I grab her foot and stop it from moving.

“How do you know that?” I finish the first foot and move on to the next.

“Cuz he looks at you the same way Mommy does,” she answers and I fumble a few
times before she reaches down and ties the bow herself.   Smartass.

She looks at me with eyes full of innocence and curiosity and I notice that her
hair’s already brushed and neatly swept into a ponytail.   No matter what
happens in her life I know Lindsey’s going to be fine.  Because Catherine’s
taught her well.

“Sara, are you going to be my Mommy now?” she asks and stands so that we’re
almost eye to eye.  She does that.  Looks right in your eyes when she talks to
you.  I think it’s about honesty.  She’s like a walking lie detector test. 
“Because you already kinda are and you’re getting pretty good at it.”

I don’t quite know what to say so I tease her instead.   “*Getting* good at it?”

“Hey Rome wasn’t built in a day, you know,” she giggles and I sweep her into my
arms and stand up.  “So are you?” she asks again and I’m saved when Greg appears
in the doorway with the phone in his hand.  I hadn’t even heard it ring.

“You’re gonna want to take this,” he says and I deposit Lindsey into his arms as
I grab the cordless.  

I can barely hear what Stacey’s saying on the other end because Greg’s making
airplane noises as he ‘flies’ Lindsey back into the living room.  I go into the
bathroom and shut the door and her words hit me like stun gun.

“She’s awake.”

Greg and Lindsey are blowing stuff up again when I get back into the living room
with my jacket and keys in hand.

“Got it covered,” he says without me having to ask.  

I kiss Lindsey on the head and do the same to Greg.   “Don’t let her use the
rocket launcher,” I instruct him and then I’m out the door.

********************

A few feet away from the door to Catherine’s room I can hear the rising volume
of laughter.  Catherine’s laughter.  She’s been stabbed, beaten, and in a coma
for over a week and she’s laughing.   It’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard in
my life.   I decide I want to be more like Catherine and my first step in that
direction is to go right into the room without hesitating.   If I can do this,
the hardest part just might be over.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” I say nervously as I look from Stacey to Catherine
and twist my fingers in front of me.

Catherine’s sitting up, smiling, her hair pulled back and out of her way. 
Stacey’s hand is on Catherine’s blanket covered knee and she’s almost doubled
over she’s laughing so hard.  Catherine looks at me with her head tilted
slightly to the side, lips curving up at the edges, and it’s like there’s no one
else in the world right now but the two of us.   I’m a second away from crying
because so many emotions are running through my body when she starts talking and
it occurs to me just how much I’ve missed hearing her voice.

“Just picturing Greg playing dress-up with my overbearing eight year-old,” she
smirks and sits up a little straighter.   I want to pour over her and tell her
to lie down.   I want to mother her.  I wonder when I started to change.

“Are you kidding?” I say and step a little closer, somehow not being able to be
close enough to Catherine quick enough.   “They’re his outfits.”

She laughs a little and there’s an easiness between us that it seems nothing can
break.  Ever since Brass and Grissom showed up on our doorstep I’ve been
spiraling through space, grabbing onto things as I pass them but not able to
hold on.   It’s Catherine’s gravity that keeps me steady, draws me to her like
open wound to healer.  There’s nothing better than feeling like you belong
somewhere, that someone needs you as much as you need them.  Everything up until
now doesn’t matter anymore.  These moments with Catherine are what I’ve been
searching for my whole life.

Stacey notices us staring at each other and moves away from the bed.  “I’m going
to get something to drink.  Cath, get you anything?”

“Bourbon, neat,” she smiles in response.   “Actually, make it a double.  And a
kiss from my daughter would be great,” she adds and her eyes are bloodshot but
sparkling nonetheless.

Stacey laughs at her and touches my arm as she passes.   “Sara?  Coffee?”

I shake my head.  “I’ve got everything I need right here,” I can’t help but
smile as I hear the door close behind me.

For a few endless moments Catherine and I just look at each other, like we’re
both trying to burn this image to memory.   I know that I am.  That I’ll do this
a thousand times in the next few weeks just so I don’t miss anything.   Then she
reaches out her hand to me and I cross to the far side of the bed, perching on
the edge and closing her hand between both of mine.   I want someone to pinch
me.  But this is better than any dream I could ever have.

“You scared me,” I say the first honest thing that pops into my head.

“You scared my sister,” she answers with a smile.   “I’ve had that coffee maker
since before Lindsey was born.”

I’m suddenly embarrassed by my display and I almost wish I had a sister so that
I’d know what complete disclosure is like.   They have no secrets.  Must be a
nice feeling.

I don’t know what to say so I laugh instead and rub her hand between mine
because I like the way the smoothness of her skin feels gliding against my own. 
This is another thing I’ve missed.

“If you don’t kiss me soon, I might never breathe again,” she says when I don’t
say anything at all.

This is the first serious thing she’s said so far and it’s the only thing I’ve
wanted to do since I walked through that door.   She tugs me forward with her
hand, her grip strong and sure.   It’s such a contrast to the fear and
anxiousness in my heart.   I scoot forward because I don’t want to make her move
and hurt herself.   I stare into her eyes until they flutter shut and her lips
are just as soft as I remember them.  I’m nervous, my lips barely brushing hers
because I feel like this is the first time all over again.  And in some ways it
is.   Our relationship is something else, permanent.   We both know it now if we
didn’t before.

Her teeth grab my bottom lip as I pull away and I smile against her lips.  This
is the same Catherine.  Fierce, deliberate, and sure.  I guess there’s nothing
that can take that from her and again I’m in awe of her strength.

“Next time I forget the dry cleaning, make me go get it,” I say once I’ve backed
away enough to look in her eyes without making them out of focus.

“Sara…” She’s got that Catherine look on her face like she can’t believe I’m
still punishing myself for this and she shakes her head a little in disbelief. 
I know she wants to say so many things about how it isn’t my fault and that she
doesn’t blame me, but she knows I know she’s going to say them so she doesn’t.  
She stares at me intently, like she’s looking right through me.   When I look
away she grabs the sleeve of my jacket and pulls until I turn my eyes on hers
again.  She shakes her head one last time and I start crying.

“Does my face look as bad as it feels?” she asks.

“No,” I answer immediately, sniffling.

“You’re a horrible liar,” her comments are light and sarcastic because if they
aren’t she’s going to have to talk about what happened and she doesn’t want to.

“You’re beautiful,” I say because it’s true.   It’s who she is, how she makes me
feel.   Nothing could make me think otherwise.

This makes her lower her eyes, hang her head a little.   She’s trying to blink
back tears.   I can tell because her eyelashes are wet.   She pulls her hands
back into her lap and keeps staring at them.   I sit still and wait.

“I thought I was going to die,” she says quietly, picking at the bed sheet.  I
reach out to trace the outline of the bandage on her throat without knowing I’m
even doing it.   “But I wasn’t scared,” she frowns a little, bites her lip.  
“Because I knew that Lindsey would be okay,” her eyes finally meet mine and
they’re the color of Hawaiian oceans at dawn and the tears are crashing like
waves.  “I knew that no matter what happened, you and Lindsey would have each
other and you’d make it.   You’d keep her safe.  And that was enough for me.”

She reaches up to touch my face and I cover her hand immediately, holding it in
place.  “You’ve left me with nothing to worry about,” she says and shrugs before
pulling me to her.

Her hand curls around the back of my neck and I give into the desperation of her
kiss.  I give her the lead, let her guide me through this moment silently.  
She’s forceful, commanding, emphasizing our connection that has only gotten
stronger through circumstance.   When she pulls away, she guides my head to her
shoulder and I feel her fingers slide up my neck and into my hair.   I’m afraid
if I hold her too tightly she’ll break, but also know that’s not possible.  If
everything else falls away, Catherine will always remain standing.   It’s who
she is.

“Was I…?” she asks quietly and I realize she doesn’t want to look at me when
she’s asking this question because depending on what I tell her she doesn’t want
me to see her reaction.

“No,” I shake my head and I know it doesn’t make what happened to her any
easier, but at the same time it does.

“But you got him, right?” her question is demanding, in need of reassurance that
she’s at least a little safe.

“Yeah, we got him,” I nod into her shoulder.   You have no idea how much we have
him.

“Who was he?” she pulls back, but makes sure we’re still touching.

“Career junkie looking for his next fix,” I answer and I know what she’s
thinking because I’ve already been through his file so many times I’ve got it
memorized.  “Wrong place, wrong time, Catherine,” I shake my head at her silent
question.   “It wasn’t personal.”

I’ve repeated this to myself so many times in the last seventy-two hours that
I’ve pretty much got the speech down.   I still don’t want to believe it myself.
  That a random act by a random person almost ripped my world in half.   But
I’ve seen this man.  I’ve seen his home, his life.  And I came so close to
letting him take mine from me.   Nothing could ever forgive what he’s done, make
me understand it.   But in his eyes Catherine could have been anyone.   She
wasn’t anything more than a ten dollar bag of heroin.

“I almost killed him,” I admit before I know I’m even speaking and her eyes are
only a little surprised.   “I was right there, my finger on the trigger.   No
one else anywhere in sight,” I close my eyes, shake my head a little.

“What stopped you?” her voice is gentle.

“Lindsey called,” I open my eyes and she slides the lapel of my jacket between
her fingers, her hand close to my heart.   “I knew that if I did it, I’d never
read her to sleep again.   I wouldn’t be here right now with you.   And there’s
nothing worth losing that for.   There’s nothing worth losing *you* for.”

She brushes the hair out of my eyes, uses her thumbs to wipe my cheeks.  “Thank
you.”

“For what?” I shrug.  “You’re my family, Catherine.  You and Lindsey.  There was
never any other decision to make,” I take both of her hands in mine, kiss her
knuckles.   When you’re lucky, there’s no other choice.

“Uhem,” Nick’s subtle cough from behind us sends us both wiping at our faces
with anything we can get our hands on.

He smiles widely as he crosses the room and kisses her cheek then touches her
hand briefly before moving to lean against the air conditioner.  Warrick follows
suit and Catherine closes her eyes in his embrace.   He holds her for a long
moment before brushing his fingers down her face and cupping her chin lightly. 
I’m starting to think he’s becoming her Greg.   He’s so good looking I’m almost
jealous.   Almost.

Warrick pulls up a piece of air conditioner near Nick and reveals Grissom
standing to the left of the door.   He’s affected, we can all see it.   But
there’s no way he’s going to admit it while he’s still breathing.

“Catherine,” he nods.

“Gil,” she answers and her grin is mischievous as she holds out her hand to him,
makes him move to touch her.

He’s a little uncomfortable and it’s making all of us smile a little wider. 
Especially when Catherine won’t let his hand go until he smirks his Grissom
smirk that is an admission that she’s won this battle.  He eyes all of us as he
steps away to hover by himself near the back of the room.

I’m marveling at the bizarre yet unmistakable family unit we’ve become in the
last three years and realize that we’re missing an integral part.  The awkward,
strange little brother none of us ever knew we ever wanted.   Stacey steps back
into the room, grinning at all of us scattered about and I see Greg’s head poke
through the door, Lindsey’s right next to it.  They’re laughing, of course.  
Because when you’re with Greg, how can you not?  

Our eyes lock, he gently lowers Lindsey to the floor and she takes off like a
rocket right into Catherine’s arms.   Greg looks around the room, smiles, and
moves close enough to Stacey to make her feel uncomfortable.  We’re all thinking
the same thing, that we’re crazy and unconventional but a team no matter what. 
And that we can do anything together.  Catherine reaches around Lindsey and
grabs me by my jacket, pulling me into the hug with them.   It’s enough to make
me puke, it’s so cute…and right.   And if Greg says ‘awww’ one more time I’m
going to fucking shoot him myself.

********************

The tigers are sleeping.   Lindsey says they look ‘peaceful’ and ‘cute’.  
‘Cute’ has now replaced ‘pretty’ as her new favorite word.   It’s taken almost a
month for Catherine’s bruises to fade, her wounds to close and start healing. 
We’re still working on the pain inside.  I tell her I love her a lot more often
now and we’re in counseling.   I don’t like her leaving the house without me.  
And now neither of us is sleeping.

I’m also seeing a chiropractor.   That week on Catherine’s couch was about as
comfortable as sleeping on a slab of rock in Antarctica.   We’re taking Lindsey
to Disney Land next month.   I promised her I’d wear the mouse ears.   I also
promised this to Catherine who in turn promised to bring her handcuffs. 

(Although she still hasn’t forgiven me for her having to explain to Grissom why
the bite mark on her shoulder didn’t need to be molded for analysis.  Apparently
his head nearly exploded.  Poor Grissom.)

Speaking of Catherine, she’s in the bathroom cleaning up the three scoops of ice
cream she just managed to drop down the front of her clean white shirt.  I
offered to lick it off for her, but the swarming plague of children in the area
caused her to pass.  Lindsey’s stopped swinging our joined hands back and forth.
Now she’s tugging me down to her.  I always try and guess what the secret’s
going to be, but I’m never right.

“Mommy bought a pretty ring yesterday,” she whispers in my ear and I think I’ve
stopped breathing.   “It looks just like the one you have in your pocket, only
different,” she adds a giggle and now I’m panicking.  I think I’d strangle her
if she wasn’t so adorable.

She tucks my hair behind my ear with awkward little fingers and then starts
talking again.  “Eric Jeffries kissed me under the stairs,” she says and beams
proudly.

I can’t help but laugh, mostly because I’m still wondering how Lindsey knows
I’ve been carrying this ring around with me for three weeks.   She’s going to be
an international spy when she grows up.   This I know.  And I’m going to have a
little talk with Eric Jeffries come Monday.   I’m trying to determine how much
trouble I’d get in for putting the fear of God into a ten year-old when I feel
Catherine’s hand on the small of my back.

“How are my two favorite girls?” she says with a smile and I instinctively take
off my sweater and hand it to her.

Lindsey’s giggling as Catherine tugs the sweater over her head and proceeds to
run the little girl’s silky blonde hair through her fingers.  My palms are
sweaty, but I’m smiling widely in spite of my nervousness.

“Okay, what’d I miss?” Catherine finally says and it only makes Lindsey giggle
more.

“Nothing,” I answer and slide my arms around Catherine’s waist, pulling her
against me tightly.

She laughs a little when my lips brush her temple and she nuzzles the side of my
neck.  I can feel her smiling, arms tightening around my shoulders.   I feel
Lindsey’s arm wrapping around my waist as she breaks into our moment.  I don’t
care who’s watching or where we are because once you’re part of a family nothing
can touch you.   The world seems somehow insignificant…and full of
possibilities.

The tigers sure are pretty.

END.
2/02/03

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