Chapter Fifteen
II
Alive.
It was all Warrick could feel for a while, everything else seemingly so distant. Prodded and hugged and bandaged, he'd watched himself be at the centre of attention, heard himself call and reassure everyone who had been worried that he was fine, he was found and all would be well.
Only when Brass had driven both Catherine and himself to her house and he'd been greeted by Lindsey's bright eyes, had he felt his mind and body meet again and all the relief and exhaustion and joy had flooded into him.
Catherine was home. The lie he'd told had become a truth.
Lindsey looked at her mother for a moment, then fell into Catherine's arms and even Brass smiled, a smile taking years and pains off his face. Warrick just watched, letting the sight of mother and daughter be the strength that kept him standing.
Life. Still life.
"You want a ride?" Nick asked, but Warrick shook his head, feeling Catherine's eyes on him.
"No, I'm gonna... I'll head home later."
Nick said nothing, but Warrick could feel the question in his friend's mind anyway. Perhaps one day he would answer it, but not today. Not when he didn't know the answer yet.
Finally, Catherine broke the embrace and holding Lindsey's hand, she turned to Brass and Nick.
"Thanks, you guys. We'll manage from here."
"Are you sure about this?" Nick asked. "We could have you put up somewhere for the night."
"The paramedics checked us out, Nick. We're fine," Catherine replied, living him a light pat on the shoulder. "Bumps and scrapes are not deadly. We can manage on our own."
"I'd still feel better if..."
"Nick, you're not my mummy. Nor Warrick's."
"Thank God. Nick breastfeeding the two of you is not an image I need," Brass said seriously, but with a smile in his eyes. "Come on, Nicky boy; let's leave the survivors to sort themselves out. I'll have a few officers keep an eye on the house, just in case. Yours too, Warrick. Get some rest, the both of you."
"Take care," Nick said softly and gave Catherine a quick hug. "Don't you scare us like that again."
"I won't."
Nick straightened up, giving them both a smile. Warrick met his glance for a moment, saying with a look all the things that would sound trite with words, getting a knowing nod in return.
And then the door was closed and it was just him and Catherine and Lindsey. Lindsey, who was looking at him with eyes so much like her mother.
"Thank you," she said seriously and extended her hand. He took it, feeling how light it was in his hand. Not a child and not an adult either and he remembered with a painful breath what he had been like himself, trapped between the two.
"Come Lindsey, let's get you to bed, you've had a longer day than me," Catherine said softly, looking down at her daughter with so much love Warrick had to look away. "Warrick, you wanna..."
"I'll be in the living room," he said and she nodded. He stood for a moment watching them go and hearing their soft voices talking. A family. Catherine and Lindsey and perhaps even him, still standing by the entrance. Perhaps.
The couch was soft and he allowed himself to lean back and close his eyes. He hurt, he was tired and there was so much in his mind to sort through, but he felt bereft of strength to think properly and instead it all seemed to tumble about. He'd been knocked out, bruised, tied-up, freed and walked across Nevada desert under the burning, unforgiving sun. And he'd slept with Catherine. Something he'd desired for a long time, yes, but he hadn't wanted it to be rushed and over before it began. But a few days ago he hadn't realised he could've lost her before they'd started anything.
He let the thought go, heavy as it was in his mind and his mind tired of carrying so much. He was alive. Catherine was alive. Everything else was baggage.
Soft hands on his shoulder startled him and he realised he'd drifted off. Catherine was looking down at him with a slight smile.
"Sorry."
"Don't be," she said, her hand lingering on his shoulder. "Lindsey likes you. You kept your word to her. Eddie broke too many."
There was a slight pain in her voice, masked by her smile.
"I should…" he trailed off, vaguely making a gesture towards the door.
"No," she said softly. "You hit the shower; I'll make us something to eat."
He looked after her as she walked off, wondering if she asked him to stay for her or for him and if it really mattered either way.
The bathroom felt distinctly female and he felt almost like an intruder there, undressing quickly and turning on the shower, smelling dust and heat and sweat on himself. It had been a very long day.
The water was scalding, burning away the last lingering smell of the desert. He leaned his head against the shower wall, just letting the water cascade over his body and tired muscles, not really thinking or feeling.
He heard the door open and close and the turn of a key. He could hear her breathe and move and he could feel her undress even with his back turned. Moments later, he felt her hands on his back, warmer than even the hot water.
"Hey," she whispered. He turned, watching her in the fog of heat. He had felt her body under his touch, but it had been rushed and fast and dark. He hadn't seen her as now, baring herself before him, exposed under his gaze. Her body bore the marks of age, but she was all the more beautiful for it and he drank in the sight of her, head to toe. Her hair was darkening under the water, clinging to her face and shoulders.
"Hey," he whispered back, tucking her hair behind her ear, cupping her head in his hands.
"We made it," she breathed, never taking her eyes off his face.
"We did," he agreed. Her skin was slick with water and he traced the lines of her jawbone, careful where the skin was bruised. Just seeing the dark blue hue of violence done made his head pound and he forced back the anger. Time for that later. She was alive, she was there. Carefully, he leaned down and pressed a kiss against it. She let out a long breath as he continued his trail of kisses over her cheek, her eyelids, her forehead, her nose, her lips.
Her lips curved in a smile against his and she slid her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him. He explored the taste of her; coffee, water, heat, and just her, only her. Suddenly, it didn't seem to matter that he was tired, that his muscles ached. And when her hand dipped down, it was almost death in its pleasure.
"Hello there," she teased, breath hot against his ear, her skin burning against his. Too close and not close enough and impatience rose with desire in his blood as he looked at her, the temptress in a shawl of mist.
He lifted her up, letting her straddle him as he pinned her against the wall. He kept his eyes on her face as he touched her, her cheeks aflame. And when her body welcomed him, her sigh was like absolution and he was lost.
It was some time later, hot water gone and mist evaporated, that she insisted on dressing him in one of her silk robes, despite all his protests. He eventually gave up in face of her kisses and instead followed her to the kitchen, grabbing some cold food and taking it with to settle on the living room couch. His skin felt warm still as he ate, feeling her eyes on him.
"It does show off your lovely legs," she commented suddenly, tilting her head as she regarded him.
He chuckled. "Yours are better."
"Matter of opinion."
"Uh uh." He bit into a piece of salami, feeling warm and comfortable and wonderfully tired. "Long day."
"Mmm. Long day. And Nick got to be the hero at the end of it," she remarked lightly, stretching out a leg and placing it in his lap. He let a finger trace her toes and she sighed, sounding tired and content and comfortable, a mirror of his feelings, a mirror of him.
"So shouldn't he be here instead?" The question was half-tease, half-serious. It was a simpler way of asking the real question that burned on his tongue.
'Why me?' he thought and watched her face. 'Why am I here, of all the men you might've had?'
"We're all heroes, every day," she replied softly, leaning forward. "You, me, Nick, Grissom, Sara, Greg, Brass... We fall down. We get up. We survive. We move on. We live."
He nodded and caressed her knee, watching her eyes on his face, feeling a strange sense of homecoming.
"And you…" she went on, edging ever closer, "you're here because I wanted you to stay and you did."
"That can't be all," he said quietly.
"It's the simple answer."
"You once told me complicated was the whole point."
She smiled, brushing a finger across his cheek. "Yes. But there's always time for the complications tomorrow."
"Does that mean you want me to stay the night?"
"Yeah," she replied seriously, "that means I want you to spend the night very much, Warrick Brown. Will you?"
"Won't Lindsey mind?"
"Lindsey will understand. She likes you."
"I like her," he said and brushed the hair out of Catherine's face, feeling the water still clinging to it. "I like her mother, too. Yeah, I'll stay."
"Will you sing me a lullaby?" she whispered and he smiled against her lips.
"Maybe."
He kissed her softly and she leaned against him, warm and near and safe. Complications and troubles and pains would come, but she was right. That was tomorrow. Time to rest now.
And the night hummed on, singing its own lullaby to a neversleeping Earth.
