The Dead Find Ways by Marita Linde

Rating: T

Notes: For scarletumbrella, who requested Catherine and Warrick angst in the locker room.

He was standing by his locker buttoning up a blue dress shirt when she saw him, her tired eyes at first groaning to find someone there, but then happy that it was him. "Hey, Warrick," she said softly, scared of what his face would look like when he turned towards her. But he didn't, only kept his face to his locker.

"Hey, Cath," His voice was hoarse and dark – it made her wince and wish even more that the last week hadn't happened. She wished that he could be less miserable than her tonight, give her some of his warmth. But he was just as beat up as she was, and she knew that trying to find comfort in his mood was a lost cause.

"Rough day," she remarked, hating how mundane that made it sound, and collapsed on the bench, sighing loudly.

"Yeah," he said, sounding almost impatient but more tired. He finally turned in her direction but didn't look her in the eye. He looked old, older than she'd ever seen him. It almost made her cry for the inevitability of age and death and the vulnerability of even the most beautiful. "You all right?" he asked, his voice softening.

She shook her head, almost sobbing. "I hate to admit it, but I'm not." Her confession reminded herself of another time, another place, when he had been the one she had told her fear and pain to. "Days like these…… I wonder things."

He nodded slightly, his face still hard, pained, and full of shadows. "We all do. We wonder why we're here. What good we actually do." He cleared his throat and took something out of his locker. She prayed he wouldn't leave.

"Normally that is what I wonder," she said slowly, almost cautiously, "but today it's... different. Today I'm wondering about life in general, where it gets us." She thought maybe she'd confused him at first, but then he sat down beside her and took her hand.

"About being young, getting older, dying, living, being born..." he said, sounding philosophical and distant. She said nothing, only watched his intent face and thought about how beautiful he was, even like this – exhausted, limp, messy, and aging. She wondered if he felt the same about her sometimes. "He's been dead for a week but it still scares me. People in their prime of life get murdered even where they're supposed to be the safest. Everything dies."

"I'm getting older, Warrick," she said, after an almost dramatic pause to give his words the credit they deserved. "Every morning I wake up and see it in my face and on my body. Everybody's getting older, we're all dying. And at this job…" She paused, letting her head fall down to concentrate on her nails. "It seems to happen faster here."

He was silent, squeezing her hand tightly while he breathed heavily, fighting tears. "Is anyone safe?" he asked, finally, and she knew she was supposed to answer.

"No." The word hung in the air like a smell; both of them took it in slowly and then rose.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked her, putting a hand on the small of her back and pulling her into a tight hug.
She shook her head again. "After a night like this, you never go back to what you were before." His eyes gave her his agreement. "But if you mean safe from cocaine, or something as disastrous, then yes, I think so."

"You think so?" he asked, his eyebrows rising. "Listen, maybe I should come home with you tonight. It's really not good for either of us to be alone right now."

She thought about all the things he could give her in one night – life, the reminder that not all was lost, the knowledge that there was always something more waiting on the other side. She almost thought of the consequences, but then refused to let herself. What good did refusing yourself happiness do when you felt like she did every day? It obviously wasn't getting her anywhere. With Warrick, she'd feel further away from dead and closer to alive. Was there anything she needed more right now?

She slipped her arm through his and let him lead her out the door and into his car, both of them trying to forget the dead and yet knowing they never would. The dead haunted them every day, got under their skin and never let go. But it was worse when it was someone you had known and loved, someone close to you. Catherine sighed softly, knowing Warrick couldn't rid her of her pain forever. But he could, at least, for tonight.