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.

Well I can't exactly leave you hanging after some really great reviews. Thank you gckyr, sitarra, Lissa88, D.M.A.S, Review1234 (that review meant a lot to me, so thank you. That's what I'm aiming to be one day – soon, I hope!), cherishedcrush, Danielle Goulding and LynH. I'd very much like to get some feedback on this chapter most of all so that I know I've managed to get the last bit right – it was tough to write and I'd like to hear your opinions and concrit – have I kept in character? Anyway, thanks again. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx

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Perpetuity. Chapter Eleven. Saturday Night, Sunday Morning

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Grissom sighed and hung his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"What is wrong with me? How could I forget something like that?" he muttered furious at himself.

"It's not your fault, Griss," Nick assured him.

"I had no idea..." Sara murmured vacantly with glazed eyes.

"Yeah." Greg muttered heavily. Jim nodded and went out to find Catherine, leaving a room full of sighs and numbness.

Catherine was standing at the opposite end of the corridor by the frosted glass of the window, facing out. He stood beside her for a while, not looking at her and not saying anything.

"Why did you make me do that?" she spoke up at last. Brass shrugged, hands in pockets.

"I figured that if he remembered anything at all, it'd be what you both tried to forget." he offered quietly. Catherine gave a sudden bitter laugh.

"But why Noah? Why Noah?" she whispered out of the window. Brass didn't answer, not sure whether that was directed at him or at someone else. Instead, he put a hand on her shoulder and joined her in her sigh. She turned to him decisively, composed.

"I don't know if I can keep on doing this," she admitted and waited him to protest or to tell her she was a bad person. But he didn't say anything.

"I can't keep doing this." she repeated with finality.

"I think it's important that you do," Brass said, choosing his words carefully. "But if you can't – don't. We'll still stick around."

Catherine nodded. "I really have nothing left now."

Brass looked at her intently. "He'll miss you." At this, Catherine laughed cynically, shaking her head.

"No he won't. But I'll miss him."

-

The Saturday visit didn't last very long. There was nothing anyone could think of to say following Noah and there was nothing else that Gil wanted to hear. He slipped into deep dreamless sleep again and woke at 3am to find someone standing surveying the memory-covered wall in his room. She had her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and she moved quietly from photograph to letter to moment.

"Catherine..?" he spoke up, clearing his throat and rubbing his eyes. She turned and smiled at him sadly.

"This one – " she pointed up at one of the photographs that he couldn't make out in the dark. "Was taken when you were using up some left over film in a camera. About three years ago. We were trying to paper maché a recreation of a functioning ant hill for Lindsey's Science Fair. You always went all out for those projects of hers; it always ended up being you and me working on it until about this time of night ages after Lindsey'd gone to bed."

Gil smiled back. He liked the stories, though he never remembered them; he liked to think that there was once a time when he could have recalled every second of their life together, every movement in the way she got ready for work in the mornings – every shade in her hair and every detail of her pretty face, before it scribbled over with sadness and pain. Even if he couldn't remember it, he liked to be told that there was once a time when he could reach for her in the night and she'd be there.

"I couldn't sleep," she went on. Gil looked at the only other furniture in the room: a straight-backed chair.

"The porter could bring you in a mattress," he offered. Catherine shook her head.

"No, it's no problem – I was just waiting for you to wake up." she answered and moved towards him. He saw she had an envelope in her hand and she gave it to him.

"What's this?" he asked, making to open it.

"No, don't open it yet," she told him. "Open it in the morning." He glanced at his watch.

"It is morning," he reasoned. She smiled.

"You know what I mean." she replied affectionately. "Anyway, I should get back – I don't want to be missing when Lindsey wakes up." She leant forwards and kissed him – something she hadn't done for many weeks.

"What was that for?" he wondered out loud. Catherine looked at him and at the letter in his hand.

"Because I love you," she answered simply and turned to go. "Get some sleep. Open it in the morning."

Gil nodded and put the letter underneath his pillow before drifting back to sleep. He remembered her slipping out of the door into the night though everything else might've been a beautifully elaborate dream.

Out in the hospital car park, just before pulling out and driving home, Catherine sat for a moment, leaning against the steering wheel with a sigh. Then she sat up, straightened herself out and shifted into first gear.

-

Sunday morning; Grissom woke with his hand under his pillow, already reaching for the letter. In the pale morning light that was trickling into the room through the yellow-white hospital blinds and beginning to fill his room with a pure and golden glow, he sat himself up and ran a finger under the envelope seal. He peered inside: amongst other things, a long letter, the handwriting becoming steadily more erratic and distressed as it went on.

Gil,

I suppose you know all the stories now. How we met and how we came to be like this now – the condensed version. In real life, it took a long time. It took a very long time; a lot of it was a lot of waiting around and screwing things up – mainly you doing the waiting and me doing the screwing-things-up. I'm sure you must've gathered that by now, even if you're too polite to admit it. You're too good to me.

Well anyway, that's why this is the hardest letter I've ever had to write because, all that time, you never once gave up on me. And that's exactly what I'm doing now. Oh Jesus, I am a terrible person. I'm sorry, Gil. I only hope you can understand, even if you can't remember, and know that it is not your fault. I feel like I've been through everything all over again, every dark corner of the life we had together but nothing is working. Going back to Noah was just the final straw and I am so, so sorry. I don't blame you for forgetting. I know it sounds wrong but if I could, I would. I've tried so hard to forget. I am a terrible, terrible person; I almost envied you for being able to just leave it all behind like that.

Gil, here's the thing – I always saw that Noah was ours – DNA or not, and after we lost him there was always that chance of future possibility. That maybe we could try again and get it right next time, but maybe we won't get that next time. Gil, I'm pregnant. Ha ha, I never thought I'd be telling you like this. You won't remember but we've tried for this for a very long time. I wish so much that I'd been able to tell you when it might've meant something to you, even if you would come to forget, but I only found out last month and it was too late by then. It doesn't matter. I know this will mean nothing to you because you won't remember how much losing Noah hurt, or how wonderful you were to me, or how much we both wanted this. It just made going back over Noah so much harder, that's all – I know you'll understand, even if you can't feel it.

I'm sure the others will fill you in on the missing memories but I've got nothing left to give and I can't watch you like this anymore. I'm so sorry, Gil, for giving up on you like this. You would never do it to me – you were always too good for me and, Christ, I hope you understand. If you remember, one day, and if you forgive me for not being strong enough for this, please, please come and find me again. Perhaps we can pick up where we left off – but I can't start again, not after digging everything up with no effect. Not after Noah.

I am so sorry. Please forgive me for not being able to do this.

I love you very, very much – and I will always remember.

Catherine.

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