"Brass." Although Gil had phoned him, he was startled by his name. Why had he called Jim?

"Hey, it's me." He managed to stutter.

"Grissom? What's up?" Grissom could hear the rev of the car, speeding down the highway. Gil thought he could smell her scent over the phone. Gil paused. "Hello?"

"Oh sorry. I didn't hear what you said."

"I'm on my way to the airport."

"Yeah…" He had nothing to say. Absolutely nothing. He wanted to smack himself for calling, making himself look like a fool. Then he thought he could hear Catherine ask Jim who it was.

"It's Gil." Jim replied, before Gil could say anything and hang up. Gil didn't want to talk to Catherine over the phone.

"Hey, Jim. I just…Never mind. I'll talk to you later." Gil hung up before anything went further.

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Plato's Cave.

Gil thought he'd never compare himself to one of the prisoners sitting on that bench.

The prisoners on the bench in Plato's cave faced the wall their whole lives. Therefore, their sole reality consisted of themselves, the bench, and the shadows on the wall. Their heads were tied so that they could not turn to look at the others. They had to stay there, motionless, thoughtless.

Gil Grissom's shadow was Catherine Willows.

When she left, leaving him feeling void of emotion, void of purpose, he could no longer function.

He couldn't tell true from false; he couldn't tell real from fantastical.

He sent out the others on the cases, afraid that he may make a critical mistake processing the evidence if he was to go out in this state. His state of lacking everything was not lost on the team members, and they simply felt sorry for him. The team tried to keep it secret from Sara, but she wasn't stupid; she could see everything Grissom was going through, and she simply shrugged it off, hoping this would simply pass in time. She had blind faith in time and Gil.

------------------------

"Grissom?" Sara's voice echoed through out his room, throughout his eardrums, throughout the emptiness where his heart used to be. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm…I'm fine." He replied. He hadn't been off in his own world. He was still here, but Sara knew he didn't want to be here. She sat down in front of him. She would have gotten angry about this; she would have started to go off at him for treating her like a child, for acting as if she was blind to every single expression of grief that passed by his face, by his eyes. But she had no strength to argue, and the strange thing was she couldn't bring herself to scream at Gil. It looked like he was already suffering from something she could not understand. She pitied him.

"Let's head home, call it a night." She told him, fidgeting with her fingers. He looked at her and smiled weakly.

"Yeah, let's." He rose, and grabbed his jacket. Taking some files in his hand, he walked around the desk. Sara stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Gil…"

"Can we just leave it? Can we just…not talk about it?" He asked her, stopping her. He knew what she was going to ask him about, what the sad expression on her face was, and why she wasn't yelling at him. He wanted to be fine. He wanted to be normal, to be the way he was before everything happened, and to be able to gather up the courage to face it. His voice almost broke. "I…I'm trying." That was all he could say. Sara nodded and led the way out of the office slowly, waiting for him patiently when he couldn't bring himself to take his hand off his office doorknob.

She realized he was beyond caring when they walked out, hand in hand.

---------------------

Catherine didn't call that day. Neither did Gil.

The calls didn't occur the day after. Or the day after that. And the day after that.

A series of those led to a month.

Gil believed it was Catherine realizing that she could not call him up at ungodly hours, like she used to. He knew what she would be thinking, talking to him on the phone. The thought of him would probably forever be attached with the image of Sara sitting next to him.

Catherine believed Gil didn't call simply because he knew it wouldn't be the same. She didn't know how he did call her even before she knew about the relationship, but she decided not to ask questions. The thought of her would probably forever be attached with the image of Ian sitting next to her.

They were both attached to other people, and made it that much harder for them to be attached to each other, no matter how much they wanted to be.

Exactly two months from her departure, he was sitting on his porch, sipping ice tea when he heard the mailbox's clang. He stood up, and walked outside and looked. Advertisement, advertisement…letter. Addressed to him and Sara.

From Catherine Willows and Ian Gates.

Gil closed his eyes shut, letting his head fall backwards. He clenched his teeth, but took caution not to ruin the envelope. He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw started to hurt. The familiar pain in his chest registered again, and his right hand subconsciously went up to try to relieve some of what he was going through, but failed. He breathed deeply and headed inside, banging the door behind him. He walked over to his desk, pulled out the letter opener, which he hadn't used since he moved into the townhouse. He cut it carefully, as if he was working with evidence on a case. He pulled out the stiff card inside, and turned it over. He opened it, and saw little writing.

On the right, it read The Marriage of Catherine Willows and Ian Michael Gates. Marriage. Gil read the words over and over again, his hands trembling. On the left, it read "Dear Guest, we would like to invite you to this lovely wedding which will take place December 4th at the Rampart Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada."

Las Vegas? He couldn't understand why she was doing this to him. He wouldn't have dreamt of missing this…or perhaps he may have. He didn't know. He groaned, but stopped when he saw another piece of paper fall out of the envelope. He opened it and smiled. Familiar writing. Beautiful, graceful.

Gil,

Just know that I'm having it in Vegas so you won't give another excuse of work being in your way. But I'm also having it there because that's where my family is, and my friends. Ian really didn't mind. I'm sorry I haven't called. I know you are too.

Remember when you said you'd do anything and everything?

Well this is it, your last chance. You're walking with me.

I'll be there in two weeks, on November 30th. American Airlines, the usual time.

Love, Catherine.

He folded it up, and put it down gently on his desk. A part of him wanted to rip it apart, but the other part of him wanted to keep it, to cherish it forever. One part of him wanted to avoid it all together, the other part of him knew he had to be there for her.

He was going to have to walk her down the aisle. To send her off. To one Ian Gates.