Chapter Twenty-Three

II

The darkness became greyness, a shrill sound intruding and tearing away. Groggily, her mind rose from the depths of a dreamless sleep and she fumbled for the ringing phone, feeling Warrick's body shift next to her.

"Yes?" she asked, trying to keep her tone from being murderous.

"Catherine."

"Grissom. Didn't we already establish that there's a time difference between Las Vegas and Norway?" she muttered, popping herself up on her elbows and staring into the darkness, attempting to make out the time. Way too late or way too early either way.

"I thought maybe you'd be at work still. I'm sorry. This can't wait," Grissom said and she sighed. It never could.

"What is it?"

"You were looking into the Keyes family?"

"Yeah…"

"I just learned Alan Keyes is Anna Jensen's father."

"What!"

She found the light switch on her bedside lamp and blinked against the onslaught as the light bulb flickered on. Warrick turned over, mouthing 'what' at her.

"Alan Keyes is Anna's father," she echoed, mostly for Warrick's benefit, and his eyes widened. "He killed again yesterday. I was gonna call you. Jocelyn Creer, same M. O as the others. He's escalating, Grissom."

"I know," Grissom's voice said, sounding slightly tense. "We've found Anna's killer and she has confessed. It should be wrapped up soon enough. I have the entomology seminar to hold for my Norwegian colleagues, then I'm coming back. We'll solve this one."

"Yeah," she replied vaguely, wondering why Grissom's word felt like a comfort and a promise too. "I'll see you then."

She hung up, staring at the phone for a moment longer, feeling the world shift around her. A father. She had been right.

"Alan Keyes," Warrick muttered, popping himself up too, looking more awake than she felt. "Anna's father. That explains a great deal."

"If it is him." She held up a hand as he glanced at her. "I know. I think it's him too. But we have to be sure. I'll call Brass, see if there's anything we can dig up on Alan that we didn't already find when looking for his brother."

"Cool. Want me to make some coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate?" he offered, putting a warm hand on her back.

"Tea is good," she replied and smiled slightly. "Thanks, Warrick."

She took a moment to admire him getting out of bed, before shifting her attention to the phone again. Brass sounded as displeased at being woken as she must have been, but quickly lost most of the grunt in his voice as she relayed her conversation with Grissom. After a few exclamations, more at the situation than her, Brass promised to keep her updated.

As she hung up, she took a moment to rest her head against the pillow, trying to collect her thoughts. Alan Keyes. Her prey, in a way. As she had been his, as Warrick had been. But they had lived. Georgina, Rita and Jocelyn had not.

Perhaps they finally could make sure there weren't any more victims.

Still, she couldn't help the feeling that there was something she was missing. A missing piece that would complete the puzzle and reveal what she was looking at.

But humans often kept the pieces to themselves and their actions only told half the story. The how and the when. Not the why. Only the killers could tell the real why and they rarely did.

Perhaps they sometimes didn't even know themselves.

There was a soft light in the kitchen as she padded in, regarding Warrick in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, making his way around her kitchen like he belonged, finding mugs and tea bags in the right places.

"Hey," she said and he glanced up without stopping what he was doing.

"I could've taken this to you in bed," he said, looking at her with eyes almost blue in the twilight-feel of her kitchen. Almost like the dawning sky.

"I don't think I could sleep right away anyway," she replied, accepting the mug he held out. "Thanks. Anna's father… I knew those crime scenes felt familiar. They reminded me of Grissom's case. Sleeping beauty, sleeping death. His victims looked almost sleeping. He was recreating her death, in a sense."

Warrick nodded. "Does explain why he took us. Probably though we were the CSIs working Anna's case, or at least had insight into it."

"Yes." She felt cold for a moment and hurriedly took a sip of tea. "Grissom's solved his murder, apparently. He's coming back."

"Good," Warrick replied, leaning slightly against the counter and looking almost wishful.

"You miss working with Grissom," she said as evenly as she managed, but even she could hear a slight edge to her tone.

He glanced at her, his gaze seeming to see right through her, as it often did. "You heard what I said to Nick."

"Part of it. Are you unhappy working for me?"

"No!" he protested, looking almost hurt at her almost accusation. "I had my conflicts with Grissom as supervisor too, but… We were stronger together as a full team. And you've made some bad choices, Cath."

"Like bedding a co-worker?" she asked coolly, feeling his word hammer at her.

"We were two doing that," he said calmly. "What we have has nothing to do with how I feel about you as a boss."

She crossed her arms. "Grissom's a better supervisor than me?"

"Grissom doesn't try, he just loves his work and that love is…" He smiled briefly, mostly to himself. "That love is catching. You love your work, but after Ecklie promoted you…You try too hard and I sometimes feel… That you're unhappy where you are."

"And if I am?"

"I don't want you to be."

"My life is not yours to fix."

He stared at her, setting his own mug down on the counter before edging closer. "Your life is mine to care about. Happy, unhappy or otherwise."

"Why, because I invited you into my bed?" she asked, wincing at her own tone.

"No. Because I love you!" he shouted back angrily, and the words slammed into her, leaving her breathless and unguarded.

"Warrick..." she started, feeling her heart beat so loudly in her ears it seemed to drown out even her words. "I..."

His lips cut the rest of her speech short, his kiss angry and burning and demanding. His hand was smooth against her neck as he pulled her even closer and she found herself arching against him, against his body, his touch, his kiss.

She could end the kiss now, demand he get out, demand he change shifts. His words had hurt, perhaps more so for the truth a part of her had felt in them. She had made bad choices. She didn't feel she was living up to Grissom's example. She did at times feel unhappy with her job. She could punish everyone else for that. She could push Warrick out.

And if she did and he left her life, he would take a piece of her with him and she would carry another scar. And…

'I think I may love you too,' she thought and felt his kiss soften and his touch become gentle, almost reverently caressing her skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, brushing his lips across her cheek and cupping her head in his hands.

"No. No sorry. If this is going to work we have to be honest here, between just us," she said softly. "I don't want to be your boss here."

"I'll let you command me now and then," he teased, then looked seriously at her. "I really want this to work. If I have to change shifts, I'm open to that."

For a moment, she felt a flash of jealousy at the thought of losing Warrick back to Grissom's shift. Nick and Warrick did feel like her team, even if they had all once been Grissom's team.

"We'll see," she said quietly and closed her eyes as he kissed her forehead. "I want this to work too."

He was smiling as she pulled away, the light making him for a moment seem almost other-worldly. Beautiful Warrick. Her Warrick. In her house, making a claim for her heart and her family.

"I'll go and check on Lindsey, make sure we didn't wake her," she said, finally setting down her mug. The tea had probably turned cold anyway. "Then I'll join you in bed. We won't catch this guy if we're falling asleep in the lab."

He nodded and she watched him walk away before she headed out of the kitchen herself and found her way to Lindsey's room. The light there was off, but she could still make out the bed and the shape in it as she eased the door open.

'Oh, Lindsey,' she thought gently and slipped into the room. Her daughter looked innocent in her sleep, all the trials of growing up washed from her face. They would return soon enough, mark the years and pain passed on her skin. Time burned away the child in them all.

The room still bore some traces of childhood, even if the posters had changed and the books on the desk were no longer fairytales. Or perhaps they were, but now simply masked as other genres and with other covers.

She threw a quick glance at the desk and felt the blood in her veins freeze, as if touched by winter. A white rose. A white rose like the white roses near Jocelyn Creer's body. Like the white flowers near Georgina's body.

Like white flowers in a funeral.

'No,' her mind thought, the word seeming to fill her. No. No, it couldn't be.

"Lindsey!" she said urgently, taking hold of her daughter's shoulder and shaking her awake. Lindsey blinked confused up at her, innocence draining away with whatever dream she'd had.

"Mom? What is it?"

"Where'd you get that flower, honey?"

"A guy gave it to me when I was out with Teena. Said I should have it cause I reminded him of his daughter. What, you're afraid I'm dating someone? I can't get flowers from guys?" Lindsey crossed her arms, looking defiant.

"It's not that," Catherine whispered, still staring at it. Like white flowers to a daughter. No, no. Not Lindsey. He could not have Lindsey. He could not have another daughter. "Mom? What's wrong? Do you know this guy? Who is he?"

"A father," Catherine said distantly, looking into the night. Fathers and daughters and funerals. Murder for what was lost. Murder for what was desired to be regained. Murder for Anna.

A father's revenge at the world that took from him. Pain for pain. Death for death. Daughter for daughter.

Lindsey for Anna.

No.

Enough now.