AN: Oh, sooooo cute. And sad and sweet. I LOVE this story so very much. And yeah, I'll update A Growing Family. I'm having writers block on that story right now. And I having so much fun with this story.

Catherine was going at a reckless pace, rushing ahead before her thoughts caught up with her. But she didn't care, in fact she counted on this recklessness. She counted on her feet moving faster then her head.

She went up to her room and threw open her sock drawer. She dug in the back and her hand closed around her little orange bottle. She didn't even look at it as she chucked it into the trash.

That being done, she went out of her room quickly, not pausing not stopping. If she stopped or slowed down, her mind would catch up and she'd be back where she started.

She rushed back to her car and drove. This time she knew where she was going, she had a set goal in mind. She pulled into Warrick's driveway and got out of the car, almost before it stopped moving.

She knocked on the door which opened almost instantly as though someone was waiting for her. It was Warrick's grandmother. The first bump in the road. Catherine had not expected this and stood, frozen in the doorway because she had not thought of this.

But Warrick's grandmother seemed to know what was going on in Catherine's head.

"He's at that boy, Greg Sander's house," she said. "A 4th of July party"

Catherine nodded and turned around without say thanks, or anything else for that matter. But Warrick's grandmother seemed not to mind, and watched Catherine pull out of her drive way with a mixture of happiness and disbelief on her face.

Catherine didn't see this, she drove in the direction of Greg Sander's house. She knew how to get there, it was in the back of her mind, but she couldn't figure out how she knew. Of course the actual source of information didn't really matter.

She got there and parked on the street. Knowing a party was going on, Catherine immediately walked to the back of the house. There was a mass of people, load of them she assumed were Greg's family. She recognized no one.

She moved among the people, and then she did recognize someone. Two some ones actually. Fredy and Cassy. Because she didn't care right now, she walked up to them. They were chatting happily and then turned when they saw her.

Cassy's face twisted into a glare instantly. Fredy's face remained blank.

"Where's Warrick," she said. She was still going at that reckless pace. Cassy started to say something put Fredy pressed a hand over her mouth.

"He's behind the barn," he said, pointing. Catherine was off again, in the direction that Fredy had pointed her.

Cassy pulled away from Fredy's grasp, glaring at him now. "What the hell," she exclaimed. "Don't you remember what she DID," Cassy shouted at him.

Staying clam, like always, Fredy nodded. "I remember," he said simply.

"Then why the hell did you do that Fredy?" Cassy was angry, her face flushed.

"Because she remembers too," Fredy said.

Warrick was actually reading behind the barn. He was sitting on the ground, his knees drawn to his chest, a book open in front of his face.

"You can't put your books down can you," Catherine said softly coming up next to him.

Warrick put the book down calmly, though he knew Catherine would come, like he was expecting her. He wasn't at all surprised to see Catherine standing there. He was surprised to see the state of her.

She was so thin, like she seemed to be just a wisp of smoke, a shadow. She looked like a rag doll that was left in the rain. Sad and beaten and worn out. Like she had already seen too much. And Warrick's heart ached for her.

Catherine walked a few steeps closer. She hadn't been this close to Warrick since Halloween, so many months ago. He was different. When they first meet, Catherine had an inch or two on Warrick. Now he towered 4 or 5 inches over her. Six inches was a lot to grow in eight months. But he didn't have the gangly look of someone going through a growth spurt. He didn't look gangly.

Warrick was amazed at how small and bedraggled she looked standing in front of him. He didn't say anything and so Catherine spoke.

"You wrote that song for me didn't you," Catherine asked softly. She was looking right in Warrick's eyes. He had abandoned the bottle cap glasses for the moment and Catherine's view of his eyes was unobstructed.

Warrick nodded slowly. But he still didn't speak.

"Why," Catherine asked. She felt tears coming, but she didn't fell them form at the corners of her eyes yet. But they were coming.

"Why what," Warrick asked. His voice was equally as low and soft as Catherine's.

"Why'd you let me run away," she asked. They still held there gaze.

"I couldn't stop you," Warrick said. "And I was sacred too."

The tears did come, and they fell. Tears ran down Catherine's cheeks and her shoulders shook with these silent tears.

Her tears represented everything she couldn't say. All her apologies and claims of how dumb, how stupid she was. All her words that really meant nothing because in the ends words were words. Words couldn't fix anything. But she couldn't even get any of these words out. Her tears refused to stop but she didn't care. She had done all she really could and now could only wait.

And because Warrick hated seeing Catherine bent and broken and shattered. Because he hated seeing her so sad and pitiful looking. Because he still would do anything to stop her from falling any further. Because he would do anything he could to put her back together. Because when she cried, his own heart cried too. Because seeing her like this made his own heart break. Because somewhere deep down, Warrick knew, despite all she had done, he still loved Catherine with all he could, with more then even that.

Because of all this and because he knew he would have to forgive her to prevent his own soul from shattering, Warrick stepped forward and gathered Catherine up in his arms.

He held her shaking for to his chest and hugged her tightly, protectively. He put his head on top of her's and started to hum. He hummed the song he had sung today, the song he wrote for her. He hummed this as Catherine cried, her tears soaking his shirt. He hummed as the voice and noises of the party continued, not really reaching them. He hummed as Catherine calmed down, stopped crying, but he didn't let go and he didn't stop.