Glad to see that I still have some people with me, and I hope you'll enjoy the rest of the story. We have this chapter (Catherine), and then a Greg chapter, and that will bring us into part three of the story. For the record, there are going to be four parts, although the last one will be short, just a two-chapter epilogue where the last of the loose ends come together.
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Chapter Twenty-four: Sleep Off (CATHERINE)
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She was almost asleep when Nick called her that night, and if she hadn't been so glad to hear from him, she would've just cursed a blue streak in his ear and made him let her go back to sleep, she was so exhausted. But it was Nick, and she'd missed him so much in all the craziness, lately, so she rubbed her eyes, leaned her head against the wall, and let him talk.
"It's been a long day, Catherine," he said.
She laughed. "It's been a long week, Nicky. But I'm sorry you had to come back to all of this. No fun."
"No fun at all," Nick agreed. His sigh sounded worn. "And I probably just made things worse - - I got into a bad fight with Greg. Said something I didn't mean, and when I tried to take it back, he wouldn't listen. It wasn't really about him, even, it was just - - everything. For both of us, I guess. We both had to blow up somewhere and we ended up blaming each other. It was messy, though."
"You apologize?"
Nick's voice was a little ashamed. "Not so much before he left. I'll call him in the morning - - I swear, Cath, I'm so jetlagged and screwed-up right now that if I try to talk to him again, we'll just get in another fight. He's probably still pissed at me, and I'm mad at him, too. We'll both sleep it off."
"Hopefully." Catherine wished she could just turn her head downwards and sleep a lot of things off. Maybe pull a Rip Van Winkle and wake up when all of this was over, for better or worse, as long as she didn't have to suffer through it day by day, with all the doubts and fears and temper tantrums that were spreading through them like a bad case of summer flu.
When this was all over, she was going to make things better with Warrick over her slip of tongue at the crime scene, and she was going to apologize again to Greg for hitting him. She was going to - -
Going to fall asleep on the damn phone, was what she was going to do.
"I think it'll be better in the morning," Nick continued, sounding tiresomely optimistic. "Especially if we can find that evidence," he added, as if he'd suddenly remembered that there were bigger problems going on than just his spat with Greg. "What do you think happened to it?"
She closed her eyes and again her hand collided with Greg's cheek.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "I'm sick of making accusations. I'm just going to say that I don't know, and really, I'm almost done caring."
"Now, Catherine. . ."
"Nick," she said, "I'm really, really glad that you're home again, and I've missed you. But right now, I can barely keep my eyes open, let alone debate right and wrong with you over the phone. Just stick to that things-will-be-better-in-the-morning attitude, and let me get at least eight hours of quality time with this pillow and these sheets."
"Okay. Sure."
He sounded defeated all of a sudden, and Catherine wondered if she hadn't made a mistake by telling him off, even if she was tired.
"Listen, Nick, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just beat."
"I get it," Nick said, but he still sounded strained. "Hey, trust me, I'm done in, too. Being tired just makes everyone a little testy. Or a lot testy. Or whatever. Anyway, yeah, I should turn in for the night, too. Goodnight, Catherine."
She told him goodnight and clicked the phone off, holding it across her chest. She couldn't shake the feeling that she should've ended that differently, and thought about calling him back, but what would she say, anyway? Listen, Nick, I know I've already apologized once for snapping at you, but I should do it again, because our morale around here sucks to begin with and we've got friendships dropping like flies, and at the end of the day, tired or not, I'd still like to have yours? Did she really say that?
No. She was never so open. Life had taught her early on to show as few cards as possible, and only when it was to her advantage.
This whole situation was just messing with her, that was all. No wonder she was on edge. Everyone was dealing with their stress in different ways - - Grissom was drawing even more away from them than he'd been before, Warrick was trying to lead, Greg was formulating conspiracy theories, Nick was arguing with one of his best friends, Sara was finally getting Grissom where she wanted him, and Catherine was alienating people left and right.
Yeah, call Nick back, for starters, and tell him that, and then call Greg, and then call Warrick and Grissom and Sara and everyone else you've taken your anger out on recently. And then you can maybe start showing a few more cards and turning over a few new leaves. Maybe then Warrick would start to love you instead of just seeing you.
But she wasn't a kid anymore, wasn't even Sara's age, and change was difficult. Sometimes change was almost impossible. She'd spent the last few years making sure that if someone got hurt, it wasn't going to be her. She wasn't going to be a martyr for the cause. She fought back, she survived, she tore her way out tooth and nail, but she didn't really apologize more than once, no matter how much she meant it, and she definitely didn't change.
Not now, anyway.
Catherine set the phone back in the cradle and lay very still in the dark, trying to get back to sleep, but it wasn't working.
Oh great, she thought, on top of everything, I'm going to get insomnia now, too?
Her eyes felt like they were covered in sand, and every single one of her bones ached. She could lie there in the silence and count all of them, from the phalanges to the cranium, and describe exactly how the joints were stiff and the muscles around them were sore. She counted sheep leaping in a pattern over her mirror, but nothing changed. Exhausted or not, the sleepiness she needed wouldn't come back to her. Nick's phone call had made her restless.
She went into the kitchen and fixed a peanut butter sandwich and ate it standing up, leaning against the kitchen table, wondering why people always reverted to childish comforts when they were tired. But it always seemed to work, because by the last bite, the drowsiness was settling over her again like a blanket, thick and obscuring.
She delayed the feeling by heading into Lindsey's room before she collapsed. Her daughter was curled up in a tight ball under the covers. Catherine figured that she was probably the one to blame for that, because Eddie had always slept splayed out over the covers, his limbs getting everywhere and tangling with her arms. Catherine had always wanted to keep herself warm, wrapping her arms around her chest like she was hugging herself, and tucking her chin down, and her legs up.
Lindsey's hair was pale under the nightlight. It was getting white-blonde instead of gold as she got older, and Catherine ran her fingers through it now, tracing the long, individual strands up to her daughter's scalp. Sleeping still, Lindsey murmured something, and kicked out a little.
"Easy, sweetheart," Catherine said soothingly, and kissed Lindsey's cheek before she retreated to the doorway again.
And a very touching scene, she was sure. It might even have been more touching if she hadn't been kissing Lindsey to make up for the fact that she'd barely been home all week, and more touching still if the night visit in itself wasn't just a way to verify that she could still love someone without hurting them. She could hold up Lindsey as prove that she could love unselfishly, that she could love without bruises and accusations and hurt.
Doesn't that just make this selfish, too?
"I'm too tired for this," she whispered into the still of her daughter's room, and she went back to her own (alone), pulled the covers up under her chin, thrashed around until she could find a comfortable position, and fell asleep almost immediately.
The dreams were uneasy, and she was almost grateful when Lindsey woke her up a few hours later by crawling in beside her. Catherine wrapped her arm around her daughter almost unconsciously.
"Bad dreams?"
"Yeah." Lindsey snuggled against her, and Catherine felt princess-pink pajamas shift against her silk pajama bottoms. "Can I sleep in here tonight, Mommy? Please?"
"Sure, baby."
Awakening a little more, she blinked until she could see, and fluffed at the spare pillow until Lindsey smiled at her and curled in a little more. Lindsey used to sleep between her and Eddie, making a temporary piece when things were bad, and she always tried to distribute the affection equally, putting her head against Eddie's chest and throwing her legs up over her mother's. Catherine noticed the way Lindsey tossed one hand behind her back, as if to reassure an Eddie who was no longer there that she still loved him, too.
Catherine didn't want to cry, not now, and not for Eddie. If she cried for Eddie now, it would just be an excuse, because it wasn't really Eddie she'd be crying for, just like Nick and Greg weren't really mad at each other but just ticked off about the whole situation in general.
She stroked Lindsey's hair instead.
"You remember what you dreamed?"
Catherine never remembered her own dreams, as if the first light against her eyes penetrated her all the way in and killed any lingering night phantoms with swift, painless ease.
"Yeah," Lindsey said softly, against Catherine's shoulder, "they were all dead."
Catherine couldn't breathe. She turned so quickly that she felt Lindsey move against her, pulling back, and Catherine said urgently, "What, honey? What did you say?" She could hear the raw fear in her own voice, and she hated it.
Lindsey looked scared. "I said it was about dad. Mommy, don't get angry."
She collapsed down against the sheets, her tense muscles relaxing all at once, and she buried her face in the pillow and breathed deep, tasting cotton on her lips, wondering if she were going to cry after all, this time in relief more than anything else. But her eyes stayed dry, and she pulled back, and hugged Lindsey to her, again stroking her daughter's hair.
"No, sweetie, I'm not angry. I just - - I thought that you said something else, that's all. Don't be scared, okay? I'm sorry. Mommy's had a long day."
And a long week, and a long year, she thought, soothing Lindsey into sleep. She lay on the sheets with her eyes open for a long time after that, wondering exactly how much of this she could possibly manage to sleep off in one night. She felt like she could stay under for eons and still come up feeling unclean.
They were all dead, she thought, and shivered.
She reached for the phone again, but didn't call, just held the phone in one hand like a talisman, curled her other arm around her daughter, and eventually slept again.