Disclaimer: They're not mine.
Spoilers: None as far as I am aware
Rating: I've gone with T or PG-13 just to be safe. There's a use of the f-word about once and THAT'S ONCE TOO MANY! Swearing is overrated, kids.
Summary: GCR with a little WS. After an accident affects a team member, the team find themselves revisiting old memories.
Thanks very much for the reviews. I think I got quite a few more for the last chapter so that was very inspiring. Thank you to dawn2323, Megara1, Daisyangel, D.M.A.S, sitarra and cherishedcrush. Cherishedcrush, I assume you left out the 'r' in 'crush' – I'm sorry to hear you haven't had a very good week. Hope things work out for you soon. Therefore, this chapter is dedicated to you :) Anyway, let's get on with it. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx
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Perpetuity. Chapter Four. Social Memory
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"Catherine – Cath!" Nick called down the corridor, running to catch up with her. She stopped but didn't turn around until he reached her, putting a hand on her shoulder. She sighed with a watery smile.
"Just when you think things are looking up, huh, Nicky?" Catherine commented in a heavy voice. He hugged her.
"Cath, you gonna go back in?" he asked and felt her nod hesitantly against his shoulder.
"Just...just give me a second," she murmured. He tipped her head up with a gentle hand under her chin and smiled.
"It'll be alright," he assured her. "You don't have to believe it now, but it'll be alright." Catherine nodded.
"You're right; I don't believe it," she muttered darkly and wandered off down the hall. Nick watched her for a moment, sunk his hands into his pockets and strolled back into the room.
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"Okay – okay, let's try again," Grissom said with a frown. "It's Jim...Nick...Greg...Warrick and Sara...and Lindsey. Right?" Greg grinned.
"Close – I'm Greg and he's Nick," he corrected him. Grissom rolled his eyes. He was never good with names and now he was just expected to learn all this stuff.
"And...and Catherine." Gil added, his eyes drifting to the empty doorway. But the next person to appear in the doorway wasn't Catherine but one of the doctors. He shuffled his clipboard and looked around at the room.
"We think we know what's happening here," he announced.
"Wait – wait for Catherine to get here," Brass stopped him. The doctor shook his head.
"I've already spoken to Ms Willows and explained the situation. She said she was going home for a while but would be back later," the doctor replied. "Now Mr Grissom here, it appears, is suffering from a form of amnesia – often caused by trauma or being in a coma – but in this case, it is only affecting his social memory."
"Which means...?" Greg prompted.
"Which means that the memory of skills learnt such as that associated with his job are retained, hence his remembering of the police scanner codes but his personal memories, memories of faces and people and events, are lost. It's very common in coma patients." The doctor said, as though it were meant to assure them.
"Lost?" Sara repeated.
"Not so much lost as unable to be reached," the doctor verified. "They are all still there but are not accessible. That's why it's extremely important for you, his family and friends, to begin rebuilding the memories in a hope that something along the way will act as a key and bring everything back. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Brass answered for them. "But this 'key' – how long does it take to find?" The doctor only shrugged.
"In my experience, it's impossible to tell. Sometimes it takes a couple of days, sometimes the patient never finds their way back. It's all just trial and error." The doctor gazed around at the expressionless faces, nodded satisfied he'd got through to them, and then he, too, left the room.
"How was she, Nick?" Warrick spoke finally. Nick sighed.
"About as well as can be expected," he replied. "She didn't tell me she was going home, though."
"I think we should all go home," Brass interjected. "Or back to work. I'll stop off and check on Catherine on my way home."
"What's wrong with Catherine?" Grissom spoke up from the bed; they'd almost forgotten he was there. Sara looked at each uncertain face before sitting in the chair Catherine had vacated and looking at him.
"Gil, here's the thing," she began. "You were in an accident last week and have been in a coma since then. I guess you gathered that part." Grissom nodded and Sara continued: "We all work with you at the Las Vegas Crime Lab – and Catherine is your wife."
"You're kidding me," Grissom said incredulously. "What'd she be doing with me?" Sara smiled at his self-deprecation.
"She loves you," she answered simply.
"And you loved her." Warrick added from the doorway. "Very much."
The past tense in his words made Grissom flinch. He stared at the faces in turn, desperately wishing that they'd ring some bells. He loved her. He had loved her. He suddenly remembered and understood the look in her face when he'd been asking her about her marital status. And the way she'd looked at him when he told her he didn't remember her. The way she'd looked at him... Gil was helpless; what had he lost?
"We should go," Nick said finally. Sara stood up.
"Yeah, you've still got school tomorrow, Linds." Warrick chipped in. Lindsey nodded and took his hand as she, Sara and Warrick walked out of the room.
"We'll see you tomorrow or something, Griss," Greg called as a goodbye, following them out. Nick left too and, as Brass shut the door behind him, he paused.
"Try to get some rest," he told him, with nothing else to say. Then he closed the door and Grissom was left alone.
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Jim Brass pressed the doorbell again and stood back, peering through the windows of Catherine and Grissom's house.
"Catherine?" he called at the closed front door. "Catherine, I know you're there – your car's outside. Open the door." Nothing. "Catherine?"
With a sigh, Brass pulled out his spare key and, unlocking the door, prepared himself for the worst. He opened the door into darkness and paused in the hallway, listening. After a while, he heard faint sobbing from the living room and went to her. Catherine was sitting on the floor in the dark. Scattered all around her were collections of old photos, old letters, old memories. When Brass stepped closer, she turned to him with shining, unfocussed eyes.
"The doctor said it might help to bring in pictures and things," she explained hoarsely. "To try and help him...remember."
At a loss for words, Brass knelt down beside her and held her. She turned her face into his chest, breaking down again but not letting her tight grip go of the almost empty bottle of vodka in her hand.
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