"I'm glad you decided to re-join the living," Catherine said with a smile as she gently ran her fingers along my cheek. He fingers then began to gently massage my scalp. God, my head felt like heaven despite the headache that was splitting though my skull.
"Catherine . . ."
"You don't have to talk," Catherine said. For the first time in my life, I did want to talk, but my body was betraying me.
"There are some things that you are going to have to learn. You've been out for 5 days. I took care of the Alavarez case. I know you were a rookie when all that went down. Frank's dead . . . it didn't pay for you to go down with him," Catherine whispered as she leaned in closely. Her breath was so warm against my skin.
My head was spinning. I didn't even know what Catherine could have done to make things better. I didn't know why she would have gone to the trouble.
"The gun . . . the gun was registered to Frank. The fingerprints were taken care of," Catherine whispered, "People know you are alive, but they have no idea where. This is going to be our secret."
Where the hell was I?
"We are in Reno. I had you airlifted out as soon as you were stable. I also might have told them your last name is Braun. It opens more than a few doors," Catherine whispered.
My God. I would have been speechless if I could have talked. I still couldn't imagine why she was doing this.
"Only I know. I'm working on a deal with the department of justice. Nobody else from the lab knows what's going on," Catherine whispered.
Why? I kept wondering why she would ever want to save someone like me. I was broken beyond repair.
"One more small lie, I told the staff that I was your wife," Catherine said. I must have smiled because she lightly smacked my arm.
"Catherine . . . why?"
"Call it kindred spirits," Catherine whispered as she gently kissed my cheek, "Without second, third, and fourth chances . . . I don't know where I would be."
"Thank you."
"Mike, are you okay?"
I must have grimaced. Croaking out 'thank you' burned like a fire ranging through my throat. Those last two words seemed to be too much for my badly injured body.
"Hurts," I croaked.
"I'll get your nurse," Catherine said as she pushed the call light, "What can I do?"
"Hold my hand again."
She smiled and grasped my hand. I tried to squeeze her hand, but I was too tired. I wanted peace and sleep. There would be time later to figure out what the hell Catherine had done and how she had managed to get it done. For the first time in my life, I looked forward to waking up.
Minutes after the nurse injected him with the dilaudid, he was asleep. There was a smile that gently played upon his lips. He looked peaceful. It was the first time I ever saw him look at peace.
I had to restrain myself from reaching out to touch his face and ran my finger though his hair. My fingers were entwined with his; he would occasionally squeeze my hand and I would gently squeeze it back. He looked so grateful for my presence. I was grateful that I could finally put some of my father's connections to a good, semi-lawful use.
Granted, Mike killed a man, but he was manipulated into it. Frank and Amy had done a number on him. Ecklie and Grissom might not agree with it, but to hell with them. They had asked me to get their asses out of binds more than once. Hell, Grissom came to me asking for help for Lady Heather and Sara . . . more than once. Ecklie . . . Ecklie had made some bad bets with even worse men. Who the hell would they be to judge me trying to help a man that killed out of shear, blind grief that was manufactured by a dirty cop and horrible man. Mike might have been the only innocent in that entire situation.
My phone vibrated against my thigh.
"Willows," I said in a hushed voice.
"How the hell did you make those fingerprints go away?" Grissom asked in a hushed voice.
"The same way I can make DUIs and attempted homicides go away," I whispered.
"Is Keppler doing well?" Grissom asked with a hushed sigh.
"Mike woke up today," I said with that same silly smile on my face.
"Are you sure this is the right thing to do, Catherine?"
"It is. He's a good man, Gil. He let a bad man talk him into making a mistake. He's spent his entire life trying to make that right," I replied.
"How do you know?"
"I read his file. It helped pass that first few days. His mistake isn't any worse than mine or yours," I replied.
"My mistakes don't include murder," Gil retorted in the same hushed tone.
"They do include letting an alcoholic process scenes and drive a fucking SUV down the strip. If she had killed someone, it would include murder, Gil."
"Jesus, Catherine. People are starting to wonder where you are. Nick . . . it's getting hard to lie to him every day about you needing personal time off. They aren't buying that you are at home trying to process what you saw happen to Keppler. They're smarter than that."
"As soon as Mike is well enough to be airlifted again . . . I'll be home then."
"What are you going to do? You can't bring him back to Vegas."
"I'm not bringing back Mike Keppler. I'm bringing back Matthew Braun . . . call it a second coming," I replied.
"Catherine . . . just be careful."
"I will. Gil, tell them that I miss them," I said softly.
"I will."
I hung up my phone. I was hoping that tomorrow Mike was well enough to start his life over as Matthew Braun.
"Wait . . . Catherine, explain this one more time," I said with complete disbelief.
"Your name is now Matthew James Braun. You are the son of Sam Braun . . . my father," Catherine replied calmly. She paused briefly to let me process exactly what she was saying.
"Matthew disappeared into the desert years ago. Matt got in with a bad crowd. Sam recovered his body years ago, but it was never reported to the police. You are coming back as Matt," I whispered.
"I thought you said you were working out a deal with the DOJ?"
"I am, but you need to lay low for awhile. Being Matt is going to buy you that time," Catherine replied.
"Let's not make any deals with the wrong people. I fucked up my life that way once. I'll be damned if I do it a second time," I said with a sigh. Catherine was a force to be reckoned with if there ever was one.
"Think of it as a second chance, Mike. This is your chance to live the life that you never believed you could have. No guilt, no regrets, no . . . whatever else it is you believe you've done wrong," Catherine said with a smile.
"Clean slate, huh?"
"It's in the past. When you are well enough, we'll go back to Trenton. It's time you started saying good-bye to Frank and Amy. You'll also be seeing a shrink. It's about damn time you start dealing with everything," Catherine replied with a smirk.
"So you plan to be along for this little adventure you've concocted?"
"Until you tell me to leave."
"If I could hug you . . ."
"I don't expect anything, Mike. I don't want anything in return. I do want to see Sam's money go to a good man. . . . a man that I know deserves the help," Catherine replied.
"Sam . . . he was a good man, wasn't he?"
"A rotten man, but he gave me a second chance. He gave my family a second chance. I know he loved me. He left everything to me . . . just as I was getting ready to file bankruptcy," Catherine said as he eyes glazed over, "He save my life. Saved my family."
"Now you are going to save me," I replied as I squeezed her hands.
"Something like that," Catherine replied.
"So are you going to be my private nurse?" I asked with a knowing smirk.
"Sponge baths aren't my thing," Catherine replied. I tried to act hurt, but that won me nothing more than a playful slap to the hand . . . the glorious hand that didn't feel pain when it was in Catherine's grasp.
"So how's this going to work with Lindsey?"
"She's away at school. Mom's in assisted living. It will be just us in the house."
"Are you going back to work?"
"You will be too. I'll bring home case files. There's a cold case room the size of your little cubicle here," Catherine replied, "You have a lot of questions."
"Never been one to like the unknown," I replied as I played with my IV tubing.
"It's time to let go, Mike. It's time for you to just be. Live in the moment," Catherine said with a wistful look on her face.
"Zen or some shit like that, right?"
"Non-believer."
She was right about that one. My system of faith hung by a thread if that. I hadn't been to a synagogue in years; I hadn't celebrated the high holidays since my mother died. My ex-wife was Catholic, so each year I put up a Christmas tree instead of a menorah. I gave up so much of my identity for 14 months of happiness. I'd be damned if I would ever do that again.
"When do I get this damn tube out of my nose?" I asked. I knew very well that it was a necessity. My abdominal wounds were still too fresh to risk any retching or vomiting.
"I thought you'd be more concerned about the one in your penis."
"Has anyone ever told you that you are a pain in the ass?"
"Sure, but the real question is have they lived to tell the tale."
At that moment, I knew Catherine might be a woman that I could fall in love with.