Summary: A continuation, of sorts, of the hospital scene between Catherine and Greg at the end of 'Play with Fire'.
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own them. If I did, Greg would spend less time in the lab and more in my bed with a substantially smaller amount of clothing involved. They belong to Jerry Bruckheimer and all those other insanely cool people. The quotes in the beginning belong to the writer of 'Play with Fire', whose name I sadly cannot recall.
Author's Note: It didn't take me long to realize that I wanted to write Cath's point of view on this as well. If you're not into the whole Catherine/Greg thing, this probably isn't for you since it's a little more "shippy" than the Greg piece.
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Catherine always felt that hospital rooms added years to your looks. It didn't matter how youthful a person was, a hospital room always made them look older and more sallow somehow. She stood in the hallway, unsure of whether to enter or not. Her mind willed her to do so, but her legs were bolted to the spot. He looked so pale and fragile, and it was all because of her.
Just a few days ago, he was as obnoxious and vivacious as ever. He had bounced around the room waving the lab results in the air like a little kid on a sugar high, all the while balancing that ridiculous "swami" turban on top of his spiky-haired head. Now he was trapped in a dungeon of blue tinted light, looking like a little boy tucked in for the night. He seemed so small all of a sudden, and Catherine wondered if he had always been like that.
Maybe it's just the light. Maybe it's the guilt that makes him different tonight.
He was the same old Greg. Her laughing, joking, friendly neighborhood lab technician, but it wasn't the same. He didn't belong in this place, but he was here anyway. And it was her fault.
Finally, she got up the nerve to go into the room, but not to wake him. Instead, she paced back and forth at the foot of his bed, her eyes washing over him with every passing. He didn't even stir, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if he was still alive at all. The light fell just right and she could see his chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm, no thanks to her. She was the reason why his chest could have stopped rising and falling in a constant cycle of breathing in and out. She was the reason why he could have died.
No use feeling sorry for yourself, Willows. They know that it was all your fault, and no one else feels sorry for you either.
She bit her lip so hard that she was sure it would draw blood, but no coppery taste filled her mouth.
Maybe I have no blood left in me. Maybe that's what happens to people who almost kill their friends.
But she couldn't be sure that they were even friends at all. Did it matter? She knew that he cared about her, and she felt something for him, but could she go so far as to call it friendship? Friendship implied contact outside of the work environment, but that wasn't the case with them. Maybe friendship was the wrong word for it.
Catherine stopped pacing and stood by the window, looking at him occasionally but really just focusing on a distant point on the Vegas skyline, wishing she was anywhere else but here.
It's your own fault. Now you have to deal with the consequences of your negligence.
She heard a groan and turned, seeing that his eyes were finally open. She wondered if maybe the pacing had woke him, but it didn't really matter anyway. He was awake and it would all be off her chest soon.
And maybe, she wouldn't have to worry about whether it was friendship or not because it's easy to say you aren't friends with someone who hates you.
Maybe he'll make it easy for me to walk away.
"What time is it?" Such a simple question, but the look in his eyes told her that it was something else entirely. And she realized that he knew why she was here, but couldn't guess at the depth of his knowledge. Then again, not many could when it came to Greg. Even she knew this, and they weren't even friends, right?
"Late." An answer just as simple as the question, but it seemed to carry more meaning for him. She would give him this, though she wasn't sure what fantasy played inside his head right then.
"How long have you been here?" His voice was so child-like and innocent. She wanted to hold him, but couldn't figure out a reason behind such madness. He wasn't her child, and deep inside she realized that she was grateful for the fact, but wasn't sure why.
"A while." She looked at him for a moment. There was no more putting it off. "I got a little time on my hands."
He seemed to nod, though it was hard to tell with his face pressed into the pillow like that. He was hiding his most visible wound from her, and for that she was grateful. This way, it almost seemed as if she was talking to the normal Greg. The one who bounced around labs and wore stupid hats while hitting on her and Sara all at once. "You found out what happened in the lab, didn't you?"
She didn't need a mirror to know that her eyes flickered with something, though she wasn't quite sure what.
Compassion? Pity? Understanding? Lust?
She drove the last thought from her head as quickly as it had entered, but the fact that it was there at all frightened her. It looked like she might lose that control she so careful guarded with anyone else. But she wasn't ready for that, and this was far too important for her to skimp on the details. He deserved to know the truth, and he was clouding her thoughts right now with his mere presence.
It's not supposed to be like this. You're too young. Still a child.
But deep inside, she knew he wasn't.
"Yeah." Finally, her legs found the strength to move and she grabbed a chair before they failed on her again. Pulling it close, she sat and took his hands. "Yeah, and, umm... I wanted you to hear it from me."They sat there in silence for what could have been hours. The air-conditioning provided a sense of false comfort for her, but she was unable to hold in the sigh that escaped from her lips and ruined the illusion of peace. She wanted to slap him for looking so trusting, but that was uncalled for and would only make the situation worse.
May as well just get it over with.
"It was late, or early, depending on how you look at it. Warrick and I were bringing a solution we had collected from a garage murder scene to the evidence room, but it was between shifts. The day crew hadn't gotten there yet, so I had to put it under the fume hood."
She paused to look at him and noticed that his eyes no longer opened and shut tiredly, but stayed wide with rapt attention. And suddenly the tale didn't seem to matter as much as just looking into those chocolate pools and drowning in them. Catherine shook her head. She couldn't think of things like that at a time like this. Those thoughts were for private times when she was alone in bed and wishing that someone would be there to hold her again.
Shaking her head, she moved on. "I followed protocol completely. All the unbooked evidence has to go under the fume hood. It's standard procedure." She felt distanced, like, in her mind, she was watching the explosion from somewhere, though she hadn't witnessed it in the first place. It wasn't hard to reconstruct it all. She had done it once before anyway. This was just a rerun.
"I was so concerned with getting home to Lindsey that I couldn't wait for the new shift to start. I wanted to be there to make pancakes for her before school. It's kind of a tradition with us now. Then, when I came back for the new shift, the evidence was the last thing on my mind. Lindsey had had a rough day at school, and I was still worried about her. I should have remembered to get the evidence out. It's part of my job to be thorough, and I failed. I failed everyone."
And even as she said it, she knew that it was no excuse. Other people had children, but they were still reliable.
If everyone acted like me, there wouldn't be a nation left. The world would end if people acted as irresponsibly as I did all because of their children. At least one part is true; I did fail everyone. Especially you.
He didn't seem to feel the same way about her excuse because soon he was reassuring her that it wasn't really her fault, and for the second time that night, all she wanted to do was slap him until he saw the truth. Until he realized that it really was her fault and that she was sorry, and that she needed this to feel right again.
"You shouldn't be punished for being a good mother. I'd be a little more concerned if you didn't care about Lindsey at all, and it was just some guy that made you forget the stuff in the lab." He paused, "Then, I think I would be a little offended."
And it wasn't even that she was being a good mother, though she liked to think of herself as one sometimes. It was really just because... and had he said that he would be offended? She didn't know why the thought excited her so much, but it was there and he wanted her, and she knew it without a doubt. She could take him, and he would give her his blessing the entire time.
She pulled her hand back quickly, as if the mere touch of his skin burned her. And in her mind, it did.
This can't happen. We can't do this.
And there was only two ways that this could go, but she couldn't tell him that she knew what he wanted and was ready for the same thing. That she would ravish him right there in that spot because it was what they both wanted but couldn't say. But she couldn't do it because then the truth would come to light and he would know how she really felt. And Catherine, who was usually so sure of everything, didn't know if she could leave his arms after, and it scared her.
We can't do this.
If she couldn't have him, then she would push him away. It was how it had to be, though every moment she sat there, another piece of her heart broke away and turned to dust. It was better to treat him like a little boy. If she saw a child instead of the man that he really was, it would be easier to resist the thoughts that drove her next to the brink of insanity, but never let her fall. "Why aren't you mad at me?"
When he told her again that it wasn't her fault, she couldn't help but pace once more. He was making it so difficult for her to hold on to what she knew was right, instead of giving in to what she knew they really wanted. It wasn't even his comment about it happening to anyone that upset her. It was the thoughts that were taking over her brain in rapid succession.
They were lying in bed; his skin slick with sweat as he hovered above her with that silly grin on his face. He was standing behind her in the lab with his hands on her hips as she looked at a DNA analysis report on the computer screen. He was bringing her breakfast in bed on their day off, having already sent Lindsey off to school.
She felt like screaming, but held back. But not much. "You should hate me for this, you know? You should at least be mad that I put you in the hospital because of my irresponsibility. You should be pissed that my sentence was too lenient. You should tell me not to bother coming back when my leave is done." She continued pacing erratically, and Greg sighed. "You could have died, and you aren't even mad at me."
He tried to comfort her, but the images were back.
And besides, shouldn't it be the other way around?
She stopped pacing and sat back down, but she didn't take his hands again. She needed to get the thoughts out of her head, and touching him wasn't going to help the matter in the slightest.
"I'm glad you came, Cath." And she smiled, despite herself, at the innocence in his voice. He was still a child. He didn't deserve the heartbreak that would come along with her like an unwanted relative who never went away.
Still, she wanted to kiss him. Maybe she would one day, but all she could do now was shrug and take his hands once more.
I may as well give him that.
She squeezed his hands tighter, but realized what she was doing and stopped. He was gazing at her now with glazed eyes, and she wondered what thoughts were running through his mind now. He looked like he might smile, and she was glad that she could still make him do that despite what she had done.
As he held onto her fingertips, she realized that this wasn't quite friendship, but something else entirely. She wanted him and would always want him, and lust crowded a heart until friendship was strangled out. Maybe it could find it's way back, but she hoped that it didn't because the notion that he might only be her friend somehow seemed worse than the thought of him being dead.
He yawned, and the idea of being away from him killed her, but she knew that it wasn't fair to either of them if she stayed. "I should go. You need your sleep."
Excuses, excuses.
"Stay with me?" His eyes were so open and earnest, and there was nothing she could do to fight the look that lay in them. She knew what thoughts were running through his head now, and she hated to admit that hers were just the same. And she wanted to take him, but didn't know how and whether he would truly accept her with open arms or whether a bitterness would always lie in wait behind those twinkling eyes.
That moment, and that thought, passed, and she was brushing back his hair and tucking him in like a mother, while in her head she was on him and he was in her and the world wasn't quite as cold as it had been before.
Maybe he'll make it easy for me to walk away.
But all she could do was put her hand back over his and think that maybe, one day, it would all be a little bit easier.
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And I don't understand
By the touch of your hand
I would be the one to fall
-Sarah McLachlan - 'Sweet Surrender'-
Ending Note: I may write something else involving the occurrences of this piece, but I'm not sure yet. Don't quote me on it. If it happens though, it'll be from Cath's point of view.