Note: Just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone who commented on my first fic last week! Your encouragement means a lot :) This episode touched me a lot (I can't handle character deaths very well, evidently), and I absolutely loved the Steve/Cath scenes, so I had to continue it a little. Hope it's alright!
As Catherine stepped out of the numbingly cold shower the pain returned, a physical dull ache deep in her chest. It was all she could do to wrap a towel around herself before allowing her body to collapse onto the bed, fresh tears making a heated path down her face. It was all way more than she could handle - it was one thing losing a friend, she had faced an unfortunate fair share of loss in the navy, but losing someone who had once meant so much to her, who had shared painful experiences on tours, who had literally saved her life in Kabul, and who had given her the security of a job outside of the Navy, was something else. Something else because she was the only one there who could have done something more to save him. Maybe if she had run a few red lights. Maybe if she hadn't stopped to check John Cutler's pulse before dragging Billy into the van, they could have gotten to the hospital in time. Maybe if she had somehow been more careful and avoided getting stupidly shot in the arm a few seconds before none of this would have happened at all. Maybe they'd be with him in the hospital right now, instead of having returned from his funeral. The sight of Tom Harrington's pain-stricken, age-lined face as the casket flag was placed in his lap at his only son's funeral suddenly flashed in Catherine's mind, and she barely kept herself from crying out loud, chest heaving.
She didn't realize how long she had been lying on the bed until Steve appeared at the doorway, worried about how long her "shower" was seemingly taking. The sight of her lying on the bed in only a bath towel, shivering from both the cold and her tears, made his heart sink. He was next to the bed in a second, covering her with the quilt before hurrying to get her a set of fresh clothes, unable to bear the sight of her apparently broken, when she was always so strong and held-together, something many people admired her for. He caught sight of the black dress she had worn earlier lying discarded on the bathroom floor - jarring because she always insisted on keeping things tidy and clean.
Returning with her clothes, he sat on the edge of the bed and pushed her hair, now damp with tears, out of her face. "Hey, come on Cath, sit up," he said softly, coaxing her out of her crying-induced reverie. She only glanced at him, now embarrassed at how much of a mess she had become. "It's okay," Steve murmured, as he placed a hand on her bare back, encouraging her to sit up against the pillows, the warmth of his hand against her chilled skin giving her a small, temporary source of comfort. He saw the downward gaze of her reddened eyes and understood how the tormenting mix of shame and guilt must be causing her a violent inner conflict, and decided that no more words had to be said about Billy, for now at least.
He placed her clothes on her lap and, standing up, he said, "You should put on your clothes, Cath, you're shivering. I'm going to get you a glass of water, okay?" He planted a soft kiss on her head and left the room, not wanting to leave her alone but at the same time feeling that, helpless though she might seem, she wouldn't want him to take so much pity on her to help her put her clothes on.
When he returned with the water, however, she had removed her towel but had apparently only managed to put her underwear on before sitting on the edge of the bed and staring blankly into space. The extent to which Catherine was affected by this scared Steve - he had never seen her like this before, and he did not know what to do or what he even could do to help her. He slowly walked over towards her and placed the glass of water on the bedside table, before turning around to look into her eyes. She slowly met his gaze and suddenly seemed to snap out of her trance, as if she had only become aware at that moment of the fact that she was sitting on the bed partially dressed with the rest of her clothes clenched in her fists. She made a small utterance of confusion and stood up quickly, bending over again just as fast to put on the pair of pajama shorts that Steve had brought her. Her sudden change of movement and speed unnerved Steve, and he gently pushed her back onto the bed again. "Whoa, Cath, slow down," he told her. He quietly pulled her t-shirt out of her tightly clenched right fist and sat back down on the bed behind her to lower it over her head. Lifting her sleeve, he removed the plastic that he had wrapped around her dressing earlier, checking that it had remained dry after her shower. She made no move to stop him or to insist that she do it herself, and he was glad. He softly ran his hands down her back to rub some warmth into her body, and she slowly curved her spine to sink into his palms. She usually melted under his soft, teasing touches at other times but today, the gentleness and warmth of his tender touch seemed to return her some of the strength that she had lost and so badly needed. "You okay?" Steve asked her quietly. "Mm," she nodded with a small sigh.
He reached over across her shoulder to get the glass of water and handed it to her, pushing her hair out of her face from behind. He wanted so badly to tell her that everything was okay, that everything was going to be fine, but he couldn't, because he knew that it was not. He knew that even though he himself was still reeling from the knowledge that his friend was never coming back, a feeling of loss amplified by the guilt about the small shreds of doubt that had formed in his mind over the past few days seeing the long hours that Billy and Catherine spent together at work, the guilt that Catherine was facing was of a scale incomparable to his. He was no stranger to survivor's guilt, and he wished it upon no one, least of all Cath. Stroking her hair gently, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him, wanting to make her feel safe, to make her feel okay again.
Fresh tears seeped out of Catherine's eyes as she saw how much Steve was worried about her, and she gave him a tentative smile, leaning back against his chest and looking up at him. "Thank you," she said quietly. He returned her small smile with a large one, relieved to see her eyes regaining some spark. "It'll be okay, Catherine. Maybe not today, but it will. We'll be fine," he told her, needing to give her assurance, to see her smile again. And she did, settling down for good against his chest, drawing the quilt back up over their legs.
"I know."