A/N: My longest chapter ever! Enjoy! And thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews. I love them to bits. Sorry I didn't reply to everybody's who signed in. I was house sitting and they had dial-up and I just couldn't take the slowness. Thank you Greggo Maniac, Chickie Baby and Sunset for making this chapter what it was. They're the best beta's ever!Anyway, here's the chappie:

Chapter Fifteen: Fade to Black

Lindsey sat up at her mother's tone and gave her a questioning look. "Now what? You're not having, like, septuplets are you?"

"God, no!" Catherine said, stricken. "Don't even joke like that. You almost gave me a heart attack!"

Lindsey laughed at her mother's horrified expression. Catherine didn't think having seven screaming babies in the house was anywhere near funny.

"Sorry," Lindsey said, still giggling. "It is about the baby, though, right?"

Catherine nodded. "Not specifically, but yes."

Lindsey, noting her mother's hesitancy, squinted in thought. "Is this when I find out that by some odd coincidence or something the baby is the spawn of that jerk Chris?" she asked, her tone and facing showing obvious disgust as she said his name.

Catherine cracked a half smile. "No, but you're getting warm." Turning serious she said, "Lindsey, you know adults aren't perfect. We make mistakes too. And sometimes, we do things we shouldn't—"

"Mom, I'm not six."

"I know. I'm just—"

"He's married or something isn't he?"

Catherine paused. "…Yes," she nodded, trying to gauge her daughter's reaction; Lindsey's face, however, remained passive. She got her poker face from her mother.

Lindsey's eyebrows slowly went up after a few silent seconds. "It Warrick, isn't it?"

Catherine's eyes widened. "Now guess my weight and you win a prize," she said, trying to cover her shock, though she shouldn't have been surprised. Lindsey was her mother's daughter; she knew all about following the evidence. "What makes you think that?"

Lindsey grinned at her mother's confounded expression. "Well, for one thing, you haven't told him yet—which is like a big red flag—and it explains why you got all weird when I asked why he didn't know. I mean, you guys are close," Catherine swore she heard a little emphasis on 'close', but decided her mind was playing tricks on her, "so, I think that's the only reason you wouldn't tell him, especially when Sara and Uncle Gil already know. Besides, he's one of the only married guys you know. So, what? Am I right? I'm right, ain't I?" To say Lindsey's expression was smug would have been an understatement.

Catherine sighed, not bothering to correct her daughter's grammar, and pressed a hand to her forehead. "Yeah, you're right." She looked the younger version of herself in the eye. "How do you feel about that?"

Lindsey shrugged. "I'm just glad it's not that Chris guy's. Besides, if you were gonna cheat with anybody, I'm glad it was him."

Catherine wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so she didn't. She did wonder how Lindsey could take this news, serious as it was, in such stride, showing vague glimpses of the maturity Catherine knew lurked somewhere in the shadows of her psyche. Especially when, on the other hand, she was still quite capable of throwing torrential hissy fits worthy of the worst toddler over something as minor as not being able to have pizza for dinner.

Teenagers, she thought.

Lindsey continued to look pleased with herself, having figured out her mother's secret, and grabbed an apple from the basket sitting in the middle of the island. "So," she said, taking a bite, "when are you gonna tell 'im?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Catherine corrected automatically before answering. "Probably tonight, during shift."

Lindsey nodded. "Cool. How do you think he'll take it?" she asked, obeying her mother and finishing her question before taking another bite.

"I don't know," Catherine responded honestly.

"You don't think he'll go all Maury on you, do you?"

"God, I hope not," Catherine sighed, doing the hand to the forehead move again.

Lindsey gave her a sympathetic smile and shook her head. "He won't," she said with absolute assurance. "Warrick's cool. I bet he'll be happy."

Catherine wasn't so sure about that, but she didn't bother to voice her opinion. No use spoiling the girl's optimism; in this world, that would come soon enough. If she had decided to share, though, Lindsey's next words would've stopped her anyway.

"He never should've married that Tina chick, anyway," she mumbled around a bite, and this time Catherine didn't even notice the apple clearly visible in Lindsey's mouth.

"What makes you say that?"

Lindsey swallowed the last of the apple before looking at Catherine with an expression much like one of her own: eyebrow raised, mouth fixed in a wry, knowing smirk. "What do you think?"

With that, Lindsey hopped off the stool and headed for the doorway. "Oh, yeah. Kimmi's mom said she'd take us to the mall. I can go, right?"

"Sure," Catherine answered on autopilot, barely seeing her daughter. "Be home by 8:30."

"I know," Lindsey said in what her grandmother had dubbed her 'teenaged exasperation' voice. "I'm gonna go get ready," Lindsey said and disappeared into the living room.

"Okay," Catherine said to no one in particular.

-x-

Warrick spent the day playing house with Tina and pretending to be as happy as she seemed to be.

Her parents had had long standing plans for an anniversary cruise, she was telling him, explaining why she had the townhouse to herself.

He nodded absently, rhythmically beating eggs as she chattered, busy flipping pancakes and making sure the bacon didn't burn.

His mind was wandering. Seems he'd lost all control of his mental faculties recently, which would've worried him, had he thought of it. Instead his brain was currently preoccupied with thoughts similar to those he'd had when he'd awakened that morning.

"Warrick? Warrick?" A hand passed in front of his face. "You in there, Baby?"

"Huh?" he asked, shaking his head slightly, as though to clear it, before giving her an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I'm a little tired," he said, noticing that she was done with her part of breakfast. His statement was true enough. He'd been operating on little sleep when he'd arrived yesterday and they'd stayed up into the wee hours of the morning talking.

She poked out her bottom lip in a playful pout. "Aww, poor baby. Well," her look grew more devious, "we could go back to bed. Seems like we're a overdue for a little make-up lovin'," she grinned.

Warrick turned to face her, wrapping his arms around her, her stomach keeping him from pulling her too close, a barrier as it were. "We are, aren't we?" he said with a devilish grin of his own.

"Mm-hmm," she murmured, her eyebrows bobbing upwards suggestively, and she raised up on tiptoe, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his. The kiss was short, deceptively so and when they pulled apart neither was thinking about breakfast.

Warrick studied her face; her eyes, the curve of her cheek, his expression serious. The heavy lidded look induced by the kiss somewhat lifted from Tina's face, and she cocked her head to one side. "Something wrong?" she asked, the concern in her eyes belying her slightly husky tone.

He continued to stare at her, his gaze intent. He cared about Tina, he really did, and if the kiss was any indication, there was definite chemistry. So what explanation was there for that feeling of uncertainty…

"No, nothing's wrong," he said, as much for his benefit as hers.

Her grin returned. "Good. Now," she rose on tiptoe again, "where were we?"

-x-

Catherine arrived for shift feeling about as much conviction for telling Warrick as she had when she'd been talking to Lindsey. But if there was one thing she'd learned from Sam Braun, it was how to act like she had all the conviction and confidence in the world, even if she were little more than a bowl of Jell-O on the inside. Pretty soon, one may even start to believe it.

At the thought of Jell-O, she instantly got a craving for the wiggly substance, something she found strange considering she hadn't liked the stuff since she was Lindsey's age. It usually just put her in mind of ballistics gel. She chalked it up to either nerves or pregnancy, quite possibly a combination of both, and made a note to check the community fridge. Greg had been spotted with the stuff every once in a while. She'd be in his debt if he had the red one; she could never be sure if it was strawberry or cherry. It never tasted like either one.

Catherine headed for the locker room, her stride purposeful, her demeanor cool, calm, and collected. Anyone who passed her would perceive that she was confident. No one would've guessed that she was about to break news that would completely change her life and the lives of those closest to her. No, they wouldn't have a clue. In other words: mission accomplished.

She walked into the locker room, surprised to find it empty. She wasn't early, nor was she late and the locker room was usually a hub of interaction. More often than not, there were at least a few people in the room, joking around or just talking, before shift really got underway.

Maybe the rain's keeping everybody, she thought as she pulled off her coat, damp from the downpour that had been drenching the city since about 2:00 that afternoon. Shaking it slightly to rid it of clinging droplets, she hung it in her locker before pulling off her cap, black to match the coat, and tossing it on a shelf.

It was a random thought, though, since she was moving on autopilot at this point. Her brain power was devoted to one thing: when to tell Warrick…how to tell Warrick…what Warrick's reaction would be...and whether she would get through it.

For the when, she had an answer. The sooner in shift the better, if only for her peace of mind, because the 'how' and the 'what' were driving her nuts.

Proof positive: she'd forgotten to take her prenatal pills twice already and would've forgotten again had she not noticed a corner of the napkin she'd wrapped them in sticking from her coat pocket. She pulled the napkin from the pocket and made a beeline for the break room. She'd just filled her mug with water when Greg walked in.

"Hey," he said, his tone holding trace amounts of wariness.

"Hey," she returned, smiling brightly to let him know her mood was not a repeat of the previous day.

He visibly relaxed, crossing to the coffee pot next to the sink. Catching site of the pills—she'd set them on the counter while she filled her mug—he looked at her. "Wow, Cath," he said, and she mentally steeled herself, ready to explain if need be. "That's some huge aspirin you've got there."

Catherine laughed, from relief more than humor, and rolled her eyes. "They're vitamins, Greg."

"They're horse pills, Cath."

Smiled beguilingly at him, "Be that as it may, Greg, they're still vitamins."

"Yeah, well, don't call me when you need the Heimlich," he teased, leaning his hip against the counter.

"Funny, Greg," she said dryly. "Hey, tell me—you seen anybody? Feels kinda vacant around here…"

"Uhh…Sara was in the records room earlier, and I think Grissom's in his office."

"So Nick and Warrick aren't here yet?"

Greg shook his head. "Nope. Or at least I haven't seen 'em."

Catherine nodded and picked up the first of two pills. Popping it in her mouth, she took a few swallows of water, popped the other one and repeated the process. Winking at him she said, "Guess I won't be needing the Heimlich after all. Maybe next time, Greg."

-x-

Nick and Warrick walked into the Crime Lab together, having arrived at roughly the same time. They barely noticed how empty and quiet the building felt; they were too engrossed in their conversation. They spoke in low tones, Warrick doing the majority of the talking, until they reached the relative security of the empty locker room. Only then did they allow their guards to drop, if only to a small extent.

"So, you guys are all right?" Nick asked as soon as Warrick finished his 'just the facts' account of his and Tina's reconciliation. "I mean, you've worked it all out?" He'd been well aware of his friend during the short separation, and it had obviously weighed heavily on Warrick.

Warrick hesitated momentarily, before nodding. "Yeah, man. We talked. We're gonna work things out."

Warrick's tone was determined, but there was something in his eyes, and Nick, trained professional that he was, had noticed the hesitancy as well. He was quiet, choosing his words carefully as he shed his jacket and put it his locker. "Warrick," he began slowly, "I don't know, man, call it CSI intuition, but I'm sensing there's something else there."

He left it at that, his words and tone innocent enough that Warrick could make what he wanted of the implications.

Warrick was silent a while, turning to his locker to hang up his jacket as well. When he did respond, his tone was joking, "Man, you know you're not getting those details. I don't roll like that." Most would have accepted the statement at face value, but Nick knew better.

But he also knew when to concede a point. No sense flogging a dead horse, as it were. Warrick would just clam up for good. Instead, he laughed. "I dunno, man. I could probably tell you a few things."

Warrick blew out air in a laugh. "Yeah, right. That's why you're beatin' the ladies off with a stick, right, Nicky boy?"

Nick laughed. "Hey, man, just 'cause you don't see it doesn't mean its not happening. The absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence."

Warrick gave him a look. "You've been spending way too much time with Grissom."

Nick laughed again and it was this that Sara walked in on.

"Hey Nick, what's so funny? You open the fume hood too soon again?"

Nick glared at her, but there was no real malice behind it and she beamed in return before turning her attention to Warrick. "Hey Rick? I hear Catherine's looking for you."

"You know what for?"

She shrugged and shook her head, her hair bouncing from the movement. "Probably a case. I think she's in the layout room with Greg."

"Okay. Thanks."

She nodded as he walked past her and out the door, leaving her and Nick alone.

Nick remembered the last time they were alone in the locker room she'd tried to pump him for information and his guard instantly went up again. He eyed her, his gaze openly wary, his caution only increasing when she grinned at him. "Sara," he began, "I'm not—"

"Telling me anything. I know. But," she shrugged, "I wasn't going to ask you anything."

"Of course you were. You've been hounding me for days—"

"No, Nick, I wasn't. Stop reading everything into nothing," she said, purposefully echoing his own words of a few days past. Her grin grew at his expression of pure discontent. "I'll see you later, Nicky."

He watched her saunter out of the locker room, eyes narrowed with suspicion. She was up to something. And that bothered the hell out of him.

-x-

Warrick found Catherine exactly where Sara had said she'd be—in the layout room with Greg. He nodded a greeting to Greg, who stood over some photos of blood splatter from a scene Warrick didn't recognize. Catherine was explaining to the fledgling CSI the distinctiveness of splatter and cast-off, showing him how to decipher one from the other.

"Hey Cath. Sara said you were looking for me?"

Catherine, surprised, looked up from the photos, having obviously been unaware of his presence. "Oh. Yeah. Uh, Greg could you go see if Archie has something for me on the Miller case?" she asked in a polite, professional tone. Her gaze, though, clearly read "GET OUT" in all caps and Greg found himself fearing for Warrick's safety, and his own if he didn't make himself scarce somewhere along the lines of five minutes ago.

He cast a quick glance to the older man and Warrick gave him a nod and indicated the door with a tilt of his head. Greg need no more of an invitation and fled the room.

Warrick sighed, knowing from the way she'd dismissed Greg that this chat wasn't going to be of the light-hearted variety. Hell, the way she'd acted, he wouldn't be surprised if she said D.B. Cooper had appeared in her living room as the seemingly innocuous Sam Braun, brandishing bags of cash and talking about fleeing the country.

Well, ok. The Cooper/Braun thing may have been a bit of a stretch, but he knew whatever it was, it weighed heavily on her mind. So it wasn't much of a surprise when she heaved a sigh bigger than his and slumped into a chair, resting her head in her hands. It was disquieting, though. Maybe Sara'd been wrong. Maybe this had nothing to do with a case. And the full range of personal issues it could be put him on edge. "Cath, what's wrong?"

She let out a humorless laugh and he knew she'd closed her eyes although he couldn't see them. "That depends," she said, her tone drier than the desert in the middle of July.

He circled the table and took a seat in the chair next to hers, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "Catherine, talk to me. Are you okay?"

The concern in his voice made her want to cry. Damn hormones, she thought bitterly and let out another mirthless snort of laughter. No, I'm a friggin' mess, that's what I am. "Oh, yeah. Just dandy."

Warrick looked at her, unsure if he'd ever seen her this…whatever she was. Had he been able to read her thoughts, he would've agreed with her terminology, though never out loud.

His concern tripled and he was about to suggest that maybe she should go home for the night when she apparently pulled herself together. She looked at him and if he hadn't witnessed it himself, there'd be no way he'd believe that five seconds ago she'd had her face buried in her hands, despondency and cynicism coming off her in waves.

She took a visible deep breath, the only sign that she still felt some of whatever was bothering her moments ago. "Warrick…there's something I need to tell you," she began, and his face showed confusion. All those emotions she'd just gone through had something to do with him? What had he done?

Warrick watched her intently, waiting for her to continue.

She wet her lips, opening her mouth to continue. "Remember the other day, I told you guys about Sara helping me out while I was sick?"

He nodded, it hadn't been that long ago, and he automatically concluded the worst before reeling in his thoughts and telling himself to let her finish. Jumping to conclusions wouldn't help anything.

"Well, I went to the doctor and—"

"Warrick, there you are," Grissom said, causing both of them to jump. If he noticed they were in the midst of a tense conversation, it didn't show. "You, Nick and Sara need to head out to Summerlin. We got a 911 call punctuated with bullets. Kidnapping gone bad. Seems the baby-sitter was shot while on the line with the operator. She's 16. Neighbor heard the shots, went next door. Says the six-year-old girl is gone. Officers en route, they're going to need you at the scene. Sara or Nick can fill you in on the rest," he said, rapid fire.

Warrick stared at him, mentally taking a moment to jump from one demanding situation to another. This few second delay was unacceptable to Grissom, though, and he made this quite obvious.

"Now," he bellowed.

Warrick's shoulders dropped imperceptibly as he let out a breath and looked from Grissom back to Catherine, worry written all over his face. "Later, okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "That's fine."

His brow furrowed and he studied her face until he was assured that it was indeed 'fine'. This caused another short delay before he rose from his chair but he couldn't be concerned with getting yelled at by Grissom. Grissom could just be mad.

But the older man said nothing about this little postponement, perhaps having sensed the tension in the room. Whatever the reason, Warrick was grateful and he let Grissom know this with a nod that in man-speak meant 'Thanks. I owe you one'. Grissom gave an answering nod as Warrick walked through the door.

Grissom turned to Catherine, who was looking at him with a rather unhappy expression. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but he didn't think she'd tell him. Whatever it was he'd just interrupted was something she didn't want anybody else to be privy to just yet.

He decided to ask anyway. "Catherine, is anything wrong?"

"No. Everything's fine, Gil." Catherine forced a smile. "What you got for me?"

Grissom wanted to press the issue, something he rarely did, but he ignored the feeling. Instead he just nodded and handed her a file. "You've got another rape."

Catherine's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Another?"

"Last month, you caught a case. Nineteen year old beaten and raped. No DNA, no hair…" he said, trying to jog her memory.

She nodded. "Right. Cheerleader, wasn't she?" It was a question, but a rhetorical one and Grissom didn't answer. "UNLV freshman. Andrea Davis. On her way home from her parents, stopped for gas, perp climbed in the back seat and waited for his chance."

She opened the folder and skimmed the info, even though she remembered the case in detail. "So what's the twist on the new one?" she asked, studying shots of Andrea's apartment. The only room that had showed signs of something amiss was the living room, where the actual rape had taken place.

Grissom paused a moment. "This one wasn't lucky."

Catherine looked up at him. "She's dead?"

Grissom nodded.

Catherine sighed. "Where'm I headed?"

Thirty-five minutes later, after getting the particulars from Grissom, she was on I-15 heading for the Cabana Club Apartments, home of victim number two: Rebecca Trenton. On a map, the Paradise Road address was a little over twelve miles from the lab, a fifteen-minute ride. Twenty minutes, tops, give or take a light or two and maybe a Sunday driver.

The torrential rains and slick roads made for bad travel conditions, though, and had increased travel time. Visibility was low and anybody who wasn't insane, criminal, or chasing said criminals was off the roads.

Those who did brave the weather were driving like they actually had some God-given sense for once. The 'I can go faster than you' speed usually evident on I-15, unless a black-and-white was around, had slowed to an almost overly cautious pace.

Catherine wasn't complaining though. She hated to think it, but Ms. Trenton didn't have anywhere pressing to be, not anymore; she, on the other hand, had a family to go home to. Lindsey had already lost one parent and Catherine would do everything in her power to keep her daughter from experiencing that horror again. Then there was the baby to think about, and needless to say, she'd do whatever necessary to see it born healthy.

She flipped on her turn signal, maneuvering the Denali into the merge lane for I-215, her gaze flicking expertly from the rearview mirror, to the front windshield, and back, though she couldn't make anything out but headlights in the surge of rainfall. She sped up to pull in front of a semi-truck, dropping back to a modest 45mph when she was a comfortable distance ahead.

Her windshield wipers worked overtime but couldn't truly compensate for the amount of water they were up against. The constant, rhythmic patter of rain on the metallic roof and windshields had the strange affect of keeping her both attentive and calm. Up ahead she could just make out the bright red taillights of a vehicle—truck or SUV, she couldn't be sure, but the lights were too far off the ground to be a car—just beyond the shield of gray her own headlights were illuminating.

She couldn't see the sign, but she knew her exit was coming up soon and again she flipped on her signal, slowing to get into the correct lane. She noticed she wasn't the only one who needed the exit as the other driver slowed and their signal popped on as well, the speed reduction had made its body more distinct and with the help of a flash of lightning, she could see that it was an SUV crossing the white dashes separating the lanes.

Suddenly she heard a noise. It was muffled by the insulating effect of the rain, but she'd know the sound anywhere. She'd heard it enough during the summer months when people didn't get their tires checked as often as they should. The SUV's tire had just blown out.

The driver, unprepared for the sudden change in balance, swerved, the wet tarmac working against the brakes and driver in their vain attempts to right the car. It continued its horrific 260-degree spin, naked rim screeching horribly against the asphalt before coming to a stop only when its nose struck the cement of the right road divider; the resounding sound of metal slamming into concrete obscuring the sounds of the storm.

Catherine had reflexively hit her brakes, fear gripping her, as soon as she'd realized what had happened, but the pavement was no friend of hers either and she hydroplaned before heading into a spin of her own. She heard a horn blast behind her and had the detached, irrational thought that some people were just idiots. As though she could do anything to stop this from happening.

She'd been traveling far enough behind the other SUV but its twisting course had brought it back towards her. She reflexively braced herself for impact, wrapping an arm around her waist in a futile attempt to protect her unborn child as well.

Her reaction was not a second too soon; the Denali's front passenger side rammed into the rear side panel of the other SUV and she lurched forward, the air bag preventing her forehead from slamming into the wheel, but the windshield and passenger window had shattered on impact, flying glass striking her full speed. She immediately felt the warmth of blood oozing on her forehead and cheek, but she welcomed it and the roaring pain that splintered in her skull. It meant she was alive.

Unfortunately, the horrifying experience was far from over, though, and she'd barely sat back upright when the flash of headlights brought her head around to look. The other car, a minivan was headed straight for her.

She screamed, her fear morphing into abstract terror; then, there was a blinding explosion of pain and light before everything went black.

A/N2: I promised drama. Did I deliever? Let me know whatcha think, I can't wait to hear your thoughts! Later.