She found him on the roof of Desert Palms, sitting back against some vent, taking in the glitter of the strip and the abyss of the desert and the mountains in the distance. She sat down beside him, not bothering to spare him a word, or a glance for that matter. They never needed that. She didn't have to explain herself to him, and he never had to tell her exactly what was wrong. They were past all that, the verbal communication thing. At the end of the day, he was the only one who knew her secrets, knew her fears, her flaws.

And loved her anyway.

They sat together for a few moments before he touched his hand to her knee, in acknowledgement of her support. She wrapped her fingers around his, taking his hand. She didn't bother to catch his gaze, either, holding his hand firmly in her lap, covering his five fingers with her ten.

"When I was running, I used to take the night bets, so that in between calls, or on slow nights, I could sit on the roof of whatever casino I was closest to, and watch the city." Warrick leaned back, against the support of the vent, and attempted a smile as she pressed a kiss to his shoulder, leaning against him comfortably.

"He's going to be alright." She had hoped to sound reassuring, but she knew he didn't buy it. He never did. He dropped a kiss to her hair, and cast his gaze over the eastern sparkle of the city, over her head.

"We can't get our hopes up." Warrick's cell phone rang, and he dug it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen before stowing it away again. Catherine frowned as he pulled away from her only just, leaning forward, his arms on his knees, rubbing over his face with his hands. Warrick visibly relaxed as she ran a hand along his back soothingly.

"You some help with that load?" She smiled smugly, and he let out a short laugh, remembering when he had made an identical offer.

"She's not exactly waiting up for me."

"You're not exactly answering your phone." Catherine turned back to the skyline, pulling her hand away from his frame. He was married. She had to remember that. Not that she could ever forget. The death of her fantasy, on some level, had hurt more than Eddie's passing, and she was still struggling to come to terms with that.

He had been by her side when she had needed him, and now, she wasn't going to let the ring on his finger get in her way of carrying whatever share of the weight he would let her. She wasn't leaving him. She would never leave him.

"She doesn't understand." Warrick stood up, and walked the few feet to the edge of the roof, shifting his weight to one foot, and turned, leaning on the railing, facing her. He was worried, and heartbroken, and he didn't even try to conceal it from her, like he did from everyone else. She supposed that was how it worked in Vegas, hide your weaknesses from everyone, make them think you're hardy, durable, tough.

But both of them had been in the city too long to fool each other.

She knew about being married in Vegas, and she supposed he was learning fast. It was hard, harder here perhaps than anywhere else. There's a constant distraction in Las Vegas; maybe it was the glittering lights and the C major chords spilling out of the casinos, or the thick cigar smoke billowing out of the seedy strip clubs, leaching the stench of stale brandy and cheap beer out into the night. Monogamy wasn't really the go word in this city, when lechery came disguised in a dozen forms, all of them with bright neon lights. Of course Tina didn't understand. Loving Warrick was complicated, even when he let himself be loved.

She would know all about that. She'd been loving him for years.

"You can't hide up here forever." She shivered, and pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear, and let her eyes wander over his lanky form slowly, throwing him a tiny smirk, the best she could muster with Brass downstairs in a coma. He gave her a halfhearted smile, nodding in agreement before glancing off in a westerly direction, watching the fountain in the distance dance brightly against the black night.

"I'm not hiding if I've been found."

She arched an eyebrow in his general direction, before rising to her feet and closing the distance between them. She pulled him into a hug, and he let her, relaxing into her arms, resting his chin on the top of her head, as she laid her cheek against his chest, listening to the soothing rhythm of his heart. She felt him let out a breath, and wrap his arms around her tighter, taking the gentle comfort she offered.

"Let's go get a cup of coffee. It's going to be a long night." Her words were muffled against his chest, and he loosened his grip on her, let her pull away on her own accord. That was loving Catherine; holding her close and giving her the space with which to walk on her own. And all he ever wanted to do was walk beside her. He nodded, and followed her to the door a few yards away, descending into the stairwell after her silently.

Maybe he should let himself be found more often.

……

A/N: Trying my hand at Warrick and Catherine… I just love them together. They're a different brand of love than any other ship I've written. Greg and Sara come out naturally to me, they make sense, they fit together easily. Warrick and Catherine are stubborn and rough around the edges, more challenging to write, I think. I think they need each other, though, and on some level, no one else understands either of them better than the other. Let me know what you thought, this one's a new one for me. Dunno, rambling.