The Path of Thorns

By: Allison

Disclaimer: Not my players, just my playground.

Archive: The Graveyard

Rated: PG-13

A/N: This came to me a few nights ago during a bout of insomnia.

Summary: He never thought he'd find what he was running from...

Chapter 4: Reflection, Or Lack Thereof

The last place that Mary wanted to go, after she'd sped out of the St. Francis hospital parking lot, was back to the apartment she shared with Donovan. The night continued on, however, and streaks of daylight were painting themselves across the Delaware sky. Knowing that Donovan himself would most likely not be there—Mary decided it was best if she at least made a brief visit—if only for a change of clothes. She'd grab enough clothes to last her a few days, and just sleep in her office for the night. Arrangements for a motel, or other suitable place to stay could be made later. When her mind had stopped reeling from the events of the last twelve hours.

"God, why does that man have to be so stubborn!?" Mary's face became hot with angry tears. Nothing that night had gone as she had planned. Gil Grissom, the man she'd thought would sky rocket her career—had stonewalled her. Donovan, well, she'd made sure that he was out of the picture—at least for now. Not that she had wanted things to end up this way between them, but she couldn't fix them now.

"Good grief, Kincaid, you're really on the ball tonight," she muttered to herself, jamming the key to the apartment into its metal tomb. The door creaked as it opened—and then banged forcefully against the wall as she entered.

"Guess Don'll have to invest in some good plaster," she mused, surveying the damage. The dark apartment showed no signs of life, and Mary moved quickly through it, eager to get with what she had come for and leave.

Gil Grissom, on the other hand, was in no rush at all. Everything that he wanted was right in front of him. Catherine was sleeping peacefully, the doctors having prescribed her a heavy sedative to reduce the pain. Her strawberry blonde hair splayed out from all direction atop the pillow that her head rested on. He missed its softness on his fingers, it felt like silk when he touched it—rich, exotic, and arousing.

Gil was shaken from his reverie by the slight vibration coming from his pocket. Taking out the cell phone, he flipped it open, the deep baritone voice of Warrick once again echoing from the other end.

"Grissom."

"Hey Boss, it's me. We're in the air and on our way. Brass wants to know what's going on. Hell, everyone does."

"I'll tell you everything when you get here, trust me. Just sit tight," Grissom glanced down at the woman next to him, now slowly rousing from sleep. "Once you land come straight to St. Francis Hospital, and tell the nurse you're looking for me. I'll make sure she knows to keep an eye out for you."

"Sure thing, Gris."

Just as quickly as the call had started, it was over, and Grissom was able to focus his attention back to Catherine. He'd missed so much these past month. He wasn't going to miss anymore.

Donovan fiddled with the simple gold ring that was in the palm of his hand as he walked along the streets of Wilmington. He'd been roaming around for hours, not paying attention to where he was headed, not sure where the next street would take him. Not that he cared particularly. He just walked and stared at the shiny gold band in front of him—it was easier than standing and staring at the spot where Mary had left him earlier. He knew; it had taken him fifteen minutes before he'd even realized what had happened.

He could, perhaps find a bar, some dive downtown and drink his sorrow away, but what was the point? He'd wake up feeling the same way he did now, just with a hangover tacked on for the fun of it. No, no, he was best clear headed. He needed to find a taxi, a bus, something that would get him home so he could sit down and think properly.

He just hoped that when he went to do that, that Mary wasn't there. That was the last thing that he needed right now.

Hailing a cab, he got in and made the short trip to the apartment he and Mary shared.

Opening the door, he breathed a long sigh of relief. The apartment was dark, open windows casting eerie shadows upon the floor, but no sign of Mary anywhere. It was quiet, almost too quiet as Donovan stepped into the apartment. Bits of plaster adorned the navy blue carpet, the hole in the wall a clear sign of what had occurred there earlier that night. 'She always did have a temper, didn't she?' he thought to himself light cascading over the room as he flicked the light switch. He'd clean it up later.

He been clenching the ring in his fist since he'd gotten into the cab, and it left a deep red circle on his palm as he released from its tomb. He didn't want to look at it anymore. Didn't want to be reminded about the events of the past few hours. Of the past year. Of Mary. Anger boiled in his veins, and it took all his will not to hurl the small object through the open door and out into the street. Instead, he kicked the front door shut and tossed the ring into the nearby side table drawer. There were so many memories wrapped up in such a small object. Donovan wasn't sure whether he wanted to wallow in them, or eradicate them.

Maybe a beer wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe things would seem simpler then.

Grabbing a six-pack of Miller Lite out of the fridge, he headed to the bedroom, stripping off his shirt in the process. Daylight was breaking over Wilmington.

Donovan didn't care.

It was going to be a long day.

TBC.