FINDING PEACE
By: The Madhatter
Chapter 2 (out of 6): Thirteen
Disclaimer: Same as it always is. I don't own 'em, never will. See the first chapter for all the necessary details.
A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! They are really appreciated! I have most of this fic written already, btw. But the bad news is I'm not gonna be here for the weekend. My cousin is graduating this weekend and I don't think I'll have access to the internet while I'm away. So, on with the fic.
A loud sigh escaped the lips of Catherine Willows as she whipped the covers off of her slim frame. Sleep was not coming onto her anytime soon in this state of frustration. She stood up, padding toward the kitchen in hopes of finding something that will get rid of the growing headache. Pulling open the refrigerator door open, she considered making her ever-famous screwdriver, but decided that would make the headache worse. So, she opted for her second favorite drink-coffee.
Dumping out the old sludge from the day before and washing out the dish, she made a new batch. The cold tile on the kitchen floor never hit her nervous system until now. Her toes were ice cold and screamed for warmth. The fact was, she didn't care much. All she could feel was the guilt, frustration and resentment at herself. Catherine hated herself more than ever.
She walked over to her comfortable couch and sat down, feet tucked under her legs to keep them warm. She tipped her head back, neck touching the back of the couch, and placed a hand over her eyes, as if to block out the horrible mental images. Flashes of the blown up lab appeared in her mind, no matter how hard she tried to block them out. The broken glass scattered everywhere, bags of evidence no longer usable, the scorch marks on the ground. everything flashed back to that horrible memory.
Thirteen cases. now going unsolved, the murderers walking free. Thirteen murderers set free because of a stupid mistake on her part. Thirteen families not receiving the closure they so desperately wanted and deserved. If she could, she would personally visit all the families and apologize to them on her part and break the news that the killer of their loved one may never be brought to justice-all thirteen. Perhaps, that was what she would do during the five days she had off.
Thirteen-the unlucky number. How ironic, considering she was in Las Vegas. The superstition of the number thirteen seemed to come true for Catherine Willows. That number will forever haunt her life.
Suddenly, the smell of the bitter coffee wafted through the room, alerting Catherine's senses. She stood up and walked over to the pot, relieved that this took her mind off the explosion, even for just a few precious moments. The hot liquid burned down her throat as she gulped it down, matching the bitterness in her heart. When she was through with the first cup, she quickly poured a second one, but didn't drink it as fast. Instead, she cradled it in her hands delicately, absorbing the warmth radiating from the cup. Somehow, coffee had a way of calming her down, calming down her mind and senses. She could finally relax, something she hadn't received in ages.
Catherine stretched out on her couch, set the mug of coffee down and closed her eyes. keeping them closed until a big bundle of energy came crashing down on her.
Her eyes snapped open in shock. "What the he-"
"Sorry, Mom," a sheepish voice said.
She looked at the bundle of blonde in front of her. Lindsey. "It's okay." Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she realized what time of day it was - morning. "What time is it, sweetheart?"
"Um. ten, I think. Why?"
She sighed and relaxed. "Good. We're going to go see Greg in the hospital today, okay? Then, we can go see that movie you wanted to - Lizzy McGuire, right?"
Lindsey bobbed her head up and down enthusiastically. "Yeah! I get to see Greg and a movie with Mommy!" she squealed, running down the hall to her room to change.
Hours later, the two blonde women, mother and daughter, walked through the door of Greg Sanders' room, effectively hiding the contraband underneath Catherine's jacket. They saw Greg's eyes bulge out of the half-lidded state at the sight of the two women.
"Tell me you have something edible!" Greg nearly screamed, not knowing whether to cry or laugh.
The older woman glanced down at the younger girl beside her, a grin growing on the lovely face. "Well."
"We kinda ran into trouble, Greg," Lindsey said, picking up where her mom left off. "You see, we went to the movies first, then Mom had to go grocery shopping."
"Did you get me a sandwich, at least?" He pleaded, nearly on the verge of ripping his sheets in half.
"I, uh, forgot, Greg. Sorry."
"What?" Greg finally exploded.
Lindsey laughed. "Calm down, Greg-o. Mom," she looked expectant at Catherine and held her hand out. Catherine, unable to keep the grin off her face, handed her daughter a paper bag. "Here you go, Greg," Lindsey said, presenting the bag to the man in the bed.
Greg, looking like a cross between a hungry wolf and an eager boy waiting to open his presents, tore open the bag. Taco Bell never smelled better. He inhaled deeply and sighed. "You guys rock." He nearly swallowed the first taco in one bite. "Thansh," he said through a mouth full of food. "Mmmm, thish ish sho good!"
Catherine looked rather disgusted, but understood the behavior. Anyone would die eating hospital food. She watched as Lindsey scolded Greg for eating too fast, much like often told Lindsey, and hand him a cup of soda. If Lindsey were older, it would look like she was his mother with the way she took care of him. The thought put a smile on Catherine's face.
"Mom, you were right."
"What about?"
"Getting Greg two meals. He's inhaling these tacos!"
She smiled. Greg and Lindsey could be so comical together at times. Even on the worst days, those two could find a way for her to smile or grin somewhat.
The door swung open again, this time revealing two men in their early thirties. One man was Caucasian, tall and bulky with muscle, with a slight Texan accent. The other man was an African-American, tall and lanky, with modest dreadlocks. Nick Stokes and Warrick Brown stepped into the tiny room.
All the people greeted each other in the room. "Hey, Greg," Warrick said, standing beside the injured man. "Just thought we'd stop to see how you were holding up before shift."
"Yeah, man," Nick added. "We miss you already, and shift hasn't even started yet! How's the back?"
"Hurting. Thanks, anyway, guys." Greg tried to give them a smile, but wincing in pain.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, just ate a bit too fast."
Warrick looked over at Catherine, catching her gaze. He motioned that they talk outside. Nick, getting the hint, took Lindsey by his side and started up a conversation between them and Greg.
"I heard what happened, Cath. I'm sorry," Warrick said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
She waved off the apology. "It's not your fault, I got what I deserved."
"No, I should've been there to take some of the blame. I was with you when you placed the unknown substance under the fume hood. I should've noticed."
"But you didn't. No one knew it was there, Warrick."
"Hodges did. That son of a -"
"Warrick! Whether Hodges put it in there or not, doesn't change a thing. I was the one that put it in there. I was the one responsible for checking before I did. I should've noticed. Now look at the consequences. I got what I deserved. I'm not complaining."
Warrick looked down at the ground. It was just as much his fault as it was Catherine's. He didn't know why she took the blame when he should have.
He looked up suddenly when he felt a hand on his arm. "I'm the older CSI, that's why I ended up with the blame," Catherine said softly. "Grissom ended up getting some of the heat, too. He's our supervisor, so he probably got burned worse than I did. Either way, I would've taken the blame myself. It wasn't yours or Grissom's fault. Don't worry about me, Warrick, or anything else that might concern me." She paused. "Do me a favor?"
"Name it."
"Just worry about yourself and the rest of the team, please. It's bad enough that this is going on my record. I don't need anymore pity or sympathy, for that matter."
"Okay. Just as long as you take care of yourself, too. I don't want to see you come back to work looking like a toothpick, got it?"
She smiled a bit. "I will. Like I said, don't worry about me. Never doubt, never look back, right?"
"Right."
Catherine hugged Warrick--one of the few people in her life that actually remained true in her difficult life--tightly. She knew he could trust her. Eventually, word would spread around that she was the one responsible for blowing up the lab, but that didn't matter. Warrick would be there for her; she could count on him.
When they parted, Warrick gave her a rare warm smile. "You feel better?"
"Yeah. Thanks a lot, Warrick. It means a lot, really." She glanced back into the room and saw the occupants laughing, probably at a joke Greg cracked. "Where's Sara and Grissom?"
"They had a rough case. I think they're still working on it."
"Ouch."
"You know, the lab's not the same without you. No sarcastic and witty remarks to make towards Grissom's puns. It's kinda. boring."
"Really?"
"Yeah. He's worried, too."
"Well. the lab was under his supervision, I can see why he's worried. His job is on the line. You know him, he's practically married to it."
Warrick chuckled. "You got that right. No, you know what I mean. You. He's worried about you. It's in his eyes. I think he misses you."
"The only thing Grissom misses is the precious evidence lost in the explosion," she said spat.
"You know that's not true, Cath. The man feels."
"Surprisingly." Before Warrick could make another sound, Catherine cut him off. "Look-I know what you're trying to do and I appreciate it, honestly. But you can't deny the fact that you miss the evidence more than your coworker, can you?"
He kept silent.
"See what I mean? It's because of me that thirteen people walk. That means thirteen cases go unsolved, thirteen families don't get the closure they deserve, thirteen crimes down the drain. Tell me that you miss me now."
"Cath. we all miss you. We don't hold you accountable for what happened-it was an accident. We-"
"Yeah, an accident that cost thirteen precious lives. We could've had those bastards behind bars and you know it--the whole team knows it."
"I was gonna say that yes, thirteen cases went unsolved, but without you, we wouldn't have even gotten as far as we are now. So what? We lost thirteen cases. We'll catch them again. They're bound to do something in the near future." He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Look, if you quit now, you quit on yourself and the team."
And then he walked back into the room, leaving Catherine to ponder what he just said.
By: The Madhatter
Chapter 2 (out of 6): Thirteen
Disclaimer: Same as it always is. I don't own 'em, never will. See the first chapter for all the necessary details.
A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! They are really appreciated! I have most of this fic written already, btw. But the bad news is I'm not gonna be here for the weekend. My cousin is graduating this weekend and I don't think I'll have access to the internet while I'm away. So, on with the fic.
A loud sigh escaped the lips of Catherine Willows as she whipped the covers off of her slim frame. Sleep was not coming onto her anytime soon in this state of frustration. She stood up, padding toward the kitchen in hopes of finding something that will get rid of the growing headache. Pulling open the refrigerator door open, she considered making her ever-famous screwdriver, but decided that would make the headache worse. So, she opted for her second favorite drink-coffee.
Dumping out the old sludge from the day before and washing out the dish, she made a new batch. The cold tile on the kitchen floor never hit her nervous system until now. Her toes were ice cold and screamed for warmth. The fact was, she didn't care much. All she could feel was the guilt, frustration and resentment at herself. Catherine hated herself more than ever.
She walked over to her comfortable couch and sat down, feet tucked under her legs to keep them warm. She tipped her head back, neck touching the back of the couch, and placed a hand over her eyes, as if to block out the horrible mental images. Flashes of the blown up lab appeared in her mind, no matter how hard she tried to block them out. The broken glass scattered everywhere, bags of evidence no longer usable, the scorch marks on the ground. everything flashed back to that horrible memory.
Thirteen cases. now going unsolved, the murderers walking free. Thirteen murderers set free because of a stupid mistake on her part. Thirteen families not receiving the closure they so desperately wanted and deserved. If she could, she would personally visit all the families and apologize to them on her part and break the news that the killer of their loved one may never be brought to justice-all thirteen. Perhaps, that was what she would do during the five days she had off.
Thirteen-the unlucky number. How ironic, considering she was in Las Vegas. The superstition of the number thirteen seemed to come true for Catherine Willows. That number will forever haunt her life.
Suddenly, the smell of the bitter coffee wafted through the room, alerting Catherine's senses. She stood up and walked over to the pot, relieved that this took her mind off the explosion, even for just a few precious moments. The hot liquid burned down her throat as she gulped it down, matching the bitterness in her heart. When she was through with the first cup, she quickly poured a second one, but didn't drink it as fast. Instead, she cradled it in her hands delicately, absorbing the warmth radiating from the cup. Somehow, coffee had a way of calming her down, calming down her mind and senses. She could finally relax, something she hadn't received in ages.
Catherine stretched out on her couch, set the mug of coffee down and closed her eyes. keeping them closed until a big bundle of energy came crashing down on her.
Her eyes snapped open in shock. "What the he-"
"Sorry, Mom," a sheepish voice said.
She looked at the bundle of blonde in front of her. Lindsey. "It's okay." Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she realized what time of day it was - morning. "What time is it, sweetheart?"
"Um. ten, I think. Why?"
She sighed and relaxed. "Good. We're going to go see Greg in the hospital today, okay? Then, we can go see that movie you wanted to - Lizzy McGuire, right?"
Lindsey bobbed her head up and down enthusiastically. "Yeah! I get to see Greg and a movie with Mommy!" she squealed, running down the hall to her room to change.
Hours later, the two blonde women, mother and daughter, walked through the door of Greg Sanders' room, effectively hiding the contraband underneath Catherine's jacket. They saw Greg's eyes bulge out of the half-lidded state at the sight of the two women.
"Tell me you have something edible!" Greg nearly screamed, not knowing whether to cry or laugh.
The older woman glanced down at the younger girl beside her, a grin growing on the lovely face. "Well."
"We kinda ran into trouble, Greg," Lindsey said, picking up where her mom left off. "You see, we went to the movies first, then Mom had to go grocery shopping."
"Did you get me a sandwich, at least?" He pleaded, nearly on the verge of ripping his sheets in half.
"I, uh, forgot, Greg. Sorry."
"What?" Greg finally exploded.
Lindsey laughed. "Calm down, Greg-o. Mom," she looked expectant at Catherine and held her hand out. Catherine, unable to keep the grin off her face, handed her daughter a paper bag. "Here you go, Greg," Lindsey said, presenting the bag to the man in the bed.
Greg, looking like a cross between a hungry wolf and an eager boy waiting to open his presents, tore open the bag. Taco Bell never smelled better. He inhaled deeply and sighed. "You guys rock." He nearly swallowed the first taco in one bite. "Thansh," he said through a mouth full of food. "Mmmm, thish ish sho good!"
Catherine looked rather disgusted, but understood the behavior. Anyone would die eating hospital food. She watched as Lindsey scolded Greg for eating too fast, much like often told Lindsey, and hand him a cup of soda. If Lindsey were older, it would look like she was his mother with the way she took care of him. The thought put a smile on Catherine's face.
"Mom, you were right."
"What about?"
"Getting Greg two meals. He's inhaling these tacos!"
She smiled. Greg and Lindsey could be so comical together at times. Even on the worst days, those two could find a way for her to smile or grin somewhat.
The door swung open again, this time revealing two men in their early thirties. One man was Caucasian, tall and bulky with muscle, with a slight Texan accent. The other man was an African-American, tall and lanky, with modest dreadlocks. Nick Stokes and Warrick Brown stepped into the tiny room.
All the people greeted each other in the room. "Hey, Greg," Warrick said, standing beside the injured man. "Just thought we'd stop to see how you were holding up before shift."
"Yeah, man," Nick added. "We miss you already, and shift hasn't even started yet! How's the back?"
"Hurting. Thanks, anyway, guys." Greg tried to give them a smile, but wincing in pain.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, just ate a bit too fast."
Warrick looked over at Catherine, catching her gaze. He motioned that they talk outside. Nick, getting the hint, took Lindsey by his side and started up a conversation between them and Greg.
"I heard what happened, Cath. I'm sorry," Warrick said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
She waved off the apology. "It's not your fault, I got what I deserved."
"No, I should've been there to take some of the blame. I was with you when you placed the unknown substance under the fume hood. I should've noticed."
"But you didn't. No one knew it was there, Warrick."
"Hodges did. That son of a -"
"Warrick! Whether Hodges put it in there or not, doesn't change a thing. I was the one that put it in there. I was the one responsible for checking before I did. I should've noticed. Now look at the consequences. I got what I deserved. I'm not complaining."
Warrick looked down at the ground. It was just as much his fault as it was Catherine's. He didn't know why she took the blame when he should have.
He looked up suddenly when he felt a hand on his arm. "I'm the older CSI, that's why I ended up with the blame," Catherine said softly. "Grissom ended up getting some of the heat, too. He's our supervisor, so he probably got burned worse than I did. Either way, I would've taken the blame myself. It wasn't yours or Grissom's fault. Don't worry about me, Warrick, or anything else that might concern me." She paused. "Do me a favor?"
"Name it."
"Just worry about yourself and the rest of the team, please. It's bad enough that this is going on my record. I don't need anymore pity or sympathy, for that matter."
"Okay. Just as long as you take care of yourself, too. I don't want to see you come back to work looking like a toothpick, got it?"
She smiled a bit. "I will. Like I said, don't worry about me. Never doubt, never look back, right?"
"Right."
Catherine hugged Warrick--one of the few people in her life that actually remained true in her difficult life--tightly. She knew he could trust her. Eventually, word would spread around that she was the one responsible for blowing up the lab, but that didn't matter. Warrick would be there for her; she could count on him.
When they parted, Warrick gave her a rare warm smile. "You feel better?"
"Yeah. Thanks a lot, Warrick. It means a lot, really." She glanced back into the room and saw the occupants laughing, probably at a joke Greg cracked. "Where's Sara and Grissom?"
"They had a rough case. I think they're still working on it."
"Ouch."
"You know, the lab's not the same without you. No sarcastic and witty remarks to make towards Grissom's puns. It's kinda. boring."
"Really?"
"Yeah. He's worried, too."
"Well. the lab was under his supervision, I can see why he's worried. His job is on the line. You know him, he's practically married to it."
Warrick chuckled. "You got that right. No, you know what I mean. You. He's worried about you. It's in his eyes. I think he misses you."
"The only thing Grissom misses is the precious evidence lost in the explosion," she said spat.
"You know that's not true, Cath. The man feels."
"Surprisingly." Before Warrick could make another sound, Catherine cut him off. "Look-I know what you're trying to do and I appreciate it, honestly. But you can't deny the fact that you miss the evidence more than your coworker, can you?"
He kept silent.
"See what I mean? It's because of me that thirteen people walk. That means thirteen cases go unsolved, thirteen families don't get the closure they deserve, thirteen crimes down the drain. Tell me that you miss me now."
"Cath. we all miss you. We don't hold you accountable for what happened-it was an accident. We-"
"Yeah, an accident that cost thirteen precious lives. We could've had those bastards behind bars and you know it--the whole team knows it."
"I was gonna say that yes, thirteen cases went unsolved, but without you, we wouldn't have even gotten as far as we are now. So what? We lost thirteen cases. We'll catch them again. They're bound to do something in the near future." He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Look, if you quit now, you quit on yourself and the team."
And then he walked back into the room, leaving Catherine to ponder what he just said.