Disclaimer: They're not mine
Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case
Before I say thank you, here's me saying sorry: "Sorry!" I didn't realise it'd been 11 days without an update (thanks to WSShippeR for the nudge) – needless to say I've been ridiculously busy doing nothing interesting. But I really was intending to update now before I go off to Spain for five days – I also wanted to beta Chapter Seven of a very wonderful joint WarrickSara fic I'm doing with Joyce3 and Megara1 (See, I'm still plugging away...) before I updated (which I didn't manage to do, but WILL do before I go, Megara!).
And yes, thank you very much for the lovely reviews I've been getting. That's to JennCorinthos, MissyJane, Ladybug07, Aleja21, icklebitodd (Oh very smooth. And I figure she'd just dress him like a normal cute kid. Think Baby GAP and dungarees – stylish...), WSShippeR (x2), Daisyangel (I'll take those cookies but leave the milk, thanks – I don't drink milk ever and am prepared to put up with osteoporosis.) Review1234, Joyce3 (perhaps not as long, but at 206 words, it ain't bad!), sidlegirl (Sorry – I did say there'd be GCR in bits. There'll be some in this chapter too.), cherished-crush and Katiyana. Wow – see this is what happens when I don't update for a while – the A/N grows... I don't even have space to plug my live journal community, write (underscore) impulsive... Oh wait... Ha! Sorry for the delay, kids. Here it is. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx
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Wake The Hope. Chapter Thirteen. Ring Any Bells?
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"In order to succeed, people need a sense of self-efficacy, struggle together with resilience to meet the inevitable obstacles and inequities of life."
ALBERT BANDURA
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Catherine pulls back after a moment and stares at her feet.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, not sounding sorry at all. At any rate, he'd kissed her back.
"That's okay," he shrugs and smiles. "It's a tough case and I know it's even harder now that Sara's involved, but we have to stay focused." He looks at her carefully. "When was the last time you slept?"
"A couple of hours ago; I'm fine, Gil." Catherine waves a hand dismissively.
"No, I mean really slept. Not just closed your eyes and pretended." he tells her with gentle sternness. Catherine smiles; she could never get anything past him.
"I can't even remember," she admits with a laugh. Gil nods.
"I thought so," he murmurs. "You need to wind down, Cath. And I know just the thing."
Catherine raises an eyebrow, enquiring. "Oh?"
Gil grins but says nothing as one of the cops knocks on the door and pokes his head around it.
"It's all ready, Mr. Grissom," he tells him, referring to the line up. Grissom nods a thanks and, offering a grim smile to Catherine, follows him out.
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Sara can't even remember the last time she bit her nails but she's doing it again, sitting outside in the hall waiting for Grissom to let her into that dark, narrow room behind the mirror. Nate has been handed over to Warrick who watches Sara with apprehension, as he paces the polished floor.
"You don't need to do this right now, Sara," he murmurs to her once again. "We can call it off at any time. Don't do this before you're ready."
"'Rick...please." Sara protests quietly, glancing over at Catherine who'd been watching, equally dubious. "I'm fine."
"I can hope you are but that doesn't mean you have to be," he tells her. Sara blinks a couple of times.
"Three women are dead." she says flatly. "That count would be forever rising with the meticulousness of this particular guy. We've been looking for a break in the case for how long now, Warrick? How long as it been? And how many more dead?"
Warrick winces. It could've been her, he thinks achingly. And she's beautiful, she's beautiful – it hurts him to think of it. It could've been you.
"I am that break, Warrick." she asserts, not choking back that hint of desperation. "I am our break."
He nods, seeing her dark eyes burn with something more than anger, something more than passion. There's no talking her out of this one – Sara's mind is set and, though he can clearly see the healing scar of dull red across her pale, tensed neck shiver with every shaky breath she draws in, there's no talking her out of it.
"You ready?" Grissom asks quietly, opening the door. Sara gets up with tenacity and nods.
"Yep."
He smiles and hands her a small pad of paper with a pen. "You know the drill."
She takes them from him and, not looking back at Warrick or the other anxious faces of Catherine, Nick and Greg who gathered to see her in, marches confidently into the room.
At the sound of the disembodied voice that echoes eerily in the room through hidden speakers calling out his number, Lyle Woodstock, clutching his board, steps forwards. He stares blankly into the mirror behind which he knows someone is scrutinising his face and turns sideways on instruction.
Then he steps back and is left to wait.
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When Sara emerges from the room just minutes later, she's ashen-faced and frowning.
"Lyle Woodstock?" Nick jumps to his feet as soon as she comes out. "Number 5, right? Lyle Woodstock."
Standing behind Sara, Grissom shakes his head slightly at Nick and Sara only holds up the pad of paper. It's still blank.
"None of them." she replies, finding her voice. "Our guy's still out there."
Catherine bites down on her tongue, resisting the temptation to ask her if she was sure. Of course she was sure; how could you forget something like that?
"Are you okay?" Greg asks gently as the rest of them sigh and disperse. He stands beside Warrick who's still holding Nate though he hasn't said a word. Sara nods a little uncertainly but puts on a smile which Greg returns before heading back to the lab.
"Come on; I'll drive you home," Warrick says eventually. Sara shakes her head and takes Nate out of his arms.
"It's okay, 'Rick. I'll make my own way back," she answers softly. Warrick opens his mouth to argue against her but she gives him such a soul-empty, hardened look that he knows she only wants to be alone. With a sigh, he relents and nods.
"Call me." he calls after her imploringly as she turns to go. He sees Nate beam at him from over her shoulder but Sara doesn't respond.
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Catherine stands on the roof of the lab and looks out across Las Vegas at night. She looks at her watch. Her shift was over half an hour ago but she was called to the roof by Gil and he isn't even here. She crosses her arms and thinks to herself that, if he isn't here in ten minutes, she's going to go home and continue her pretence of sleep.
Almost as though he heard her thoughts, Gil stumbles up the stairs, through the door to the roof and drops an armful of blankets onto the roof. Catherine looks at them cynically.
"Is this worth the wait?" she ponders out loud. Grissom smiles but doesn't answer her.
"Gil?"
He turns to her and slides the backpack off his shoulders, sitting on the pile of blankets laid at the edge of the roof overlooking the colourful city at night.
"Come on," he pats the space next to him on the blankets and she, masking her intrigue with reluctance, takes a seat beside him. "Here." He hands her a thermos flask from the backpack and she takes it, looking at him in suspicion.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" she presses. Gil grins and shrugs.
"Nothing much – you just need to relax a little, Cath," he tells her. "Learn to let go – you know."
Catherine shakes her head with a sigh and unscrews the lid of the thermos, peering warily inside.
"It's decaf," he adds with a smirk. She laughs slightly and takes a sip. Then Gil reaches into his bag and pulls out a hefty book and torch.
He clears his throat importantly, leaning against the low concrete wall surrounding the roof, and reads out the title: "Dreaming: An Introduction to the Science of Sleep by J. Allan Hobson."
Catherine laughs out loud but doesn't protest and instead leans with her back against his shoulder, sipping the warm decaf coffee.
"What is dreaming? What causes dreaming? Why are dreams so strange and why are they so hard to remember?" Grissom launches into the book, putting an arm around her. "Modern science has given us –"
"And this is just an introduction?" she mutters critically. "You really are gonna get me to sleep, aren't you?"
He only shushes her and laughs slightly as he goes on: "– has given us a new and increasingly clear and complete picture of how dreaming is created by the brain..."
Catherine smiles and rests her head in his lap, lying against the cushion of the blanket pile and staring up at his torch-lit face against the backdrop of vast, midnight sky. She lets the soft rumble of his voice soothe her into relaxation and, despite the fact that she'd be unwilling to admit that he really did know how to calm her down, she settles comfortably into the blankets, feeling the comforting weight of his arm across her chest.
She isn't surprised that he managed to do the impossible and relax her but she registers only now that he may just be the only person in the world who really understands her. It should've been a frightening thought – what if she lost him? – but it wasn't; it was a strange kind of solace that let her lie there, without reservation, unconsciously stroking his arm where it rested across her. Maybe a part of her just knows she won't lose him.
When Gil reaches page 34, however, the serenity of the situation is cut into sharply by someone throwing open the roof door. Catherine sits up hurriedly and Grissom turns his head to see who's burst in on them with such urgency, like a pair of adolescents caught with each other by a parent.
Warrick looks livid and, for a moment, cannot even speak.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demands, irately. "Both of your pagers are turned off. I've been looking for you for over an hour; I don't even what to know what you've been up to."
"Warrick – calm down, what's going on?" Grissom speaks rationally but Warrick refuses to be spoken rationally to.
"She's gone." he snaps, a passion of fury and concern. At once, Catherine and Grissom are on their feet. Warrick sways on the spot for a moment, finally hearing his own words and repeating them with solemn gravity. "Sara's gone."
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