Miami
Day 4- 8:00 AM
Jackson Memorial Hospital

Gil Grissom was incredibly thankful the ward nurses had had the foresight to partially medicate Catherine before they left the hospital. Otherwise, Gil knew, having been with her after Lindsay had been born, she would put up the fight of the century to avoid sitting in a wheelchair. She'd snapped at him--"It makes me feel like an invalid," she'd whined—which was now partially true. The necessary surgeries to repair the minor internal bleeding and surface injuries required mild sedatives for the first twelve hours, anyway--what was the harm in another hour or two?

He only hoped she'd never find out, or he wouldn't live to see Las Vegas again.

Miami
Day 4- 8:30 AM
Horatio Caine's house

Horatio had never seen so many people in his house at one time. The hospital had sent over two nurses (a perk of having the MDPD on their side, he supposed) to settle Catherine into the spare bedroom. Gil had protested greatly when Horatio had instructed the hospital to send her things to his place.

"Caine, this isn't necessary," Gil has said, watching helplessly as Calleigh and Stella helped a groggy Catherine into a wheelchair. "We're perfectly capable of—"

"Well, Grissom," Horatio's hands propped themselves characteristically on his hips. "From what I see, the only choice you have is a hotel, which I refuse to allow to happen. You can't travel with her for at least two days—so, what's two more days in Miami?"

"Caine—"

"Look," Horatio stared Gil straight in the eye, "the case is wrapped up. Dalano's dead. What you and Catherine need now is to rest. And I'd rather have you do it on my watch than a room steward's."

Gil had conceded defeat. Catherine had been laid in the double bed of Horatio's spare bedroom with a groggily requested glass of water and a down comforter. Gil sat next to her in an armchair he'd pulled up to the bed.

Stella, standing silently in the doorway, watched the scene for a moment. Gil sat slouched in his chair, one hand clutching Catherine's and the other running dejectedly through his hair. His eyes were rimmed with exhaustion.

She knocked lightly on the open door.

"How's she doing?" Stella's whisper floated over to him as she tiptoed into the room. Gil gave a little half-shrug and continued to stroke the back of Catherine's hand with his thumb.

"Listen, Gil," Stella pulled up the writing desk's chair next to his. "I—just wanted to tell you," she sighed. "I just wanted to tell you that I understand."

Gil glanced at her.

"You understand what?"

"I understand this," she gestured between him and the sleeping Catherine. "What you feel. Because I've felt it. So many times, for so long. But I never—" she faltered. "I never had the chance to do anything about it. And I know you've done what you intended to do, Gil. I admire that. You have more strength than I can ever hope to possess. And, my God, she does, too."

Stella gazed at Catherine's form.

"I believe she cares for you, Gil. I believe that she's felt like that for a long time. I just hope she'll find the courage to tell you." She reached across to squeeze the hand that clutched Catherine's, then rose. "Mac and I are going to stick around for a few days. Turns out Horatio's got this thing for cooking, and I'd hate to have to leave before all of us get to celebrate together."

Gil glanced up at the curly-haired woman.

"Celebrate what?"

Stella merely winked.

Miami
Day 4- 9:30 AM
Horatio Caine's spare bedroom

She was dreaming again. She was goddamn dreaming. All she'd done for what seemed like forever was dream. There were times when she was conscious, yes, but sleep would claim her so quickly that she rarely noticed. And she kept hearing voices—sometimes indistinguishable, sometimes familiar, but always an intrusion. There were occasions when she welcomed the interruptions, though. A man's face would penetrate her dreams, dripping endless rainbow-coloured rivers over her skin, wrapping chains around her body until they sliced and cut her. Why couldn't she just sleep?

Her mind was rapidly bringing her back to the present. She fought against it—she wanted to remain in the place where Gil's voice would whisper words of comfort into her ear. Words of wisdom, regret; words of love. It was a disappointment to her every time she realized his words weren't real, that he had never confessed to her his love, that it was all a dream. She opened her eyes.

"Gil?"

Christ, it was bright!

"Cath," Gil sat forward in his chair, clasping her hand in both of his. "Cath."

"Hi," she smiled softly at him. The paint that had been cleaned from her body finally allowed him to see the rosy skin of her face. He never thought he'd ever love to see her smiling face more.

"Hi," he whispered. Catherine blinked, tried to check her watch. It wasn't there.

"What time is it?"

"Nine-thirty, on the twelfth," he replied, "you've been sedated for almost twenty-four hours. I've been with you."

She smiled again, squeezing his hand.

"I know. I could hear you."

Gil's eyes widened for a moment. Had she heard everything? He'd wanted to tell her all of it—but having to face her after? That was something that perhaps he'd counted on, but never assumed he'd have to face.

"Cath, I—I'm sorry—I just needed to talk—"

"Hey," she squeezed his hand again, "I never said you needed to apologize, did I? Truth is…I've been waiting for you to bring some of that up for so long…Eddie, the old days, even Linds."

"I never meant to hurt you, Catherine. I wanted to protect you, never to hurt you. Never." He stroked the back of her hand absentmindedly. "It's like you said—I'm not good with people."

She shook her head, laughing softly as she did so. He brushed a lock of strawberry blonde hair from her cheek.

Silence descended. Catherine watched his stroke her hand for a few minutes before whispering.

"Did you mean it?"

His head snapped up.

"Mean what?"

Catherine levelled her gaze with his. She fought to keep her voice steady.

"That you loved me."

Gil was sure that if it were physically possible, he would have beaten himself up. Or perhaps have gone back in time and stop himself from confessing his deepest, most intimate secret to the one woman it happened to be centred around.

Catherine's heart fell as his silence ticked longer. She withdrew her hand from his.

"Cath, I—"

"No, it's fine, Gil." She refused to set her blue eyes upon his. "Forget it."

"No, Cath," Gil quickly sat on the bed next to her, grasping her hand once more. "Let me explain."

"Gil," her tone was pleading, "just don't, okay? Let's just chalk it up to stress and forget it ever happened."

"No." Gil gently tipped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I did. I meant it. It's just hard for me, I guess. You and I both know I'm not the most emotional person." He could see tears in her eyes. "I almost lost you, Catherine. I never want to feel that again. Not without you knowing that I love you. I've always loved you."

Catherine's smile and the look in her tear-filled eyes told Gil all he wanted to know. Without breaking eye contact, he gently brought her lips to his in a soft kiss.

Her heart was thudding against her rib cage as her lips were captured in his. It had taken them so many years, so many fights, so many tears. So many moments that could've been.

They broke apart. Smiling, Catherine leaned her forehead against his.

"I love you, too."

He laughed and kissed her again.

Miami
Day 4- 10:15 AM
Horatio Caine's house

"Look who's up!"

Stella and Calleigh quickly arrested Catherine from Gil's support and led her back out onto the patio, sitting her in the chair Mac had pulled out for her. She laughed.

"Thanks, guys. I'm still having trouble walking. What kind of sedatives were those, anyway?"

Gil kept innocently silent as he joined the others. The wooden deck they'd stepped out onto had a large, round oak table surrounded with comfortable-looking patio chairs. Gil slid into the one next to the jeans-and-a-t-shirt clad Catherine and smiled to himself. Mac gracefully led the conversation away from the 'mysterious' sedatives.

"How are you feeling, Catherine?"

"I'm better," she smoothly tangled her fingers with Gil's under the table. "Just a little shaky. It'll pass."

Mac nodded. He now had a feeling he knew what Stella had done when she'd disappeared earlier.

"What's happening with Dalano?" Gil asked Horatio, immediately feeling Catherine stiffen beside him. He tightened his grasp on her hand and rain his thumb over he knuckles to sooth her.

"His body is being transported to the morgue for Alexx to inspect, but cause of death is no mystery. Our nightshift CSIs are taking care of the warehouse." Horatio removed his sunglasses. "The Raleigh police called earlier. They discovered the body of Andrew Jenkins in a storage closet at the Raleigh-Durham International Airport, stripped and stabbed. Dalano killed him for his uniform and badge--he was an American Airlines pilot."

"Can we prove it was Dalano?" Calleigh asked him.

"Without a doubt. Jenkins had a small butterfly painted on his cheek."

The conversation turned away from Dalano after that. Catherine was clearly not ready to talk about what happened, and they were in no position to argue otherwise. Instead, the spoke of other things—Miami, baseball (both Gil and Mac perked noticeably as the subject was broached), shopping (Calleigh, Stella, and Catherine carried out that conversation while Mac and Gil bickered over the Cubs, Horatio thoroughly amused), and a whole host of other subjects that carried them through the morning and into the late afternoon.

At dusk, when the sun had started to set and the yard smelled of freshly-cut grass, Tim Speedle called to inform Horatio that he, Eric Delko, and the Las Vegas CSIs were going to remain in New York for another day before heading home. Jim Brass called to inform Gil of his departure from New York a few hours before. He told Gil to wish Catherine his best, and also took the time to tease him about his first use of his gun on the job.

"Hey, man, if I were you, I would've shot him in the—"

Gil quickly shushed Jim and bade him farewell. He could hear the Detective laughing as he hung up.

True to his word, Horatio disappeared to the Spanish-tiled kitchen and returned an hour later with the smell of marinated chicken trailing behind him. Calleigh grinned and swiftly collected a twenty-dollar bill from Stella.

They at as the sun set, talking and laughing as though they had known each other forever. The soft breeze that sashayed over them brought the sweet reassurance of a perfect night in Miami--the city was finally at rest. And the men and women of the great city would settle down for the night and await another day.

On the little patio, away from the noise and bustle of everyday life, where the only sound for miles was the ocean softly crashing against the shore, Stella Bonasera played poker with Calleigh Duquesne, Horatio Caine talked animatedly with Mac Taylor, and Catherine Willows watched the Miami sun go down with her body curled next to Gil Grissom's.

Tomorrow they would return to their homes, return back to their lives. But, for now, the six CSIs that had learned to call one another friend were content to sit back and watch life go by.

Tomorrow, they'd go back to normal.

A/N: Wow…that took forever to write. Edit upon edit, revision upon revision, two different endings. But I like this one the best, I think. So, yes, there is one more chapter, just because I really wanted to go out on the same note I came in. And it's already written (in my head, anyway…), so I hope to have it up soon. It's been a wild ride, guys, and thanks for stickin' with me. Again, thanks are owed to the wonderful reviewers: Megan-16-16, DrusillaBraun (Close to tears? Mission accomplished! Thanks so much for all of your reviews), coolcatz (I'm sorry I was cruel! I hope this makes up for it), gloomy forensic scientist, Jammalot, and reviewer. Many, many thanks to you all.

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