Chapter Seventeen

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"Cath? Cath! Wake up!"

"Hmpphh…"

"It's time for your medicine."

"Oh no." Catherine groaned and turned to bury her face in her pillow.

"Cath, you need to have them." She heard Sara's gentle scolding. "That's what the doctor prescribed. A pill every four hours."

"Those pills are bitter." Catherine grumbled.

"All pills are."

"And they leave their bitter taste for too long."

"Cath, I've brought you some warm milk. It'll remove the taste." Sara brushed a strand of hair away from Catherine's eyes.

"I hate milk." The blonde muttered.

"No, you don't. Now get up."

"I hate you."

"Ah." Sara grinned. "That, I know you don't."

Catherine couldn't help smiling as she felt warm lips kiss the top of her head.

"You know what I do to naughty people who don't listen to me?" Sara slowly curved her fingers around Catherine's slender waist and began wiggling it.

"No, you won't!" Catherine closed her eyes even tighter, anticipating the said torture.

"You know I will, Catherine." Sara whispered into her ear. Despite the dizziness from the fever, she shivered at the husky tone of her lover's voice.

"Okay, okay, fine!" She sighed. "I'm getting up. You are just too Goddamn stubborn, you know that, Sidle?"

She turned to face upwards and proceeded to open her eyes.

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Catherine blinked several times. There was no dreaded medicine. There was no glass of milk. There was no Sara. She wasn't even looking at her own bedroom. She raised her hand to rub her eyes and felt a sharp sting of pain.

"What is this?" She frowned as she saw her left hand swathed in thick bandages. She tenderly prodded the bulky cloth and felt a numb ache. The ache increased exponentially when she tried to move her hand.

As the fogs of her dream receded, recent memories came back to her. She looked around, half expecting her mysterious, young captor to be still there. She was alone.

When Catherine rose up from bed, she felt a rush of wooziness. She gripped the bed sheets for support and willed her body to straighten up. The nausea worsened when she tried to stand up on her feet. They appeared to have no strength to carry her entire body weight. But she tried nevertheless. The prospect of returning back to sleep didn't hold any appeal for her. Plus, she felt the need to use the restroom really bad.

She noticed the room wasn't as dim as before. In addition to the floor lamps, she saw sunlight filter in through high vents. A dull idea formed in the back of her brain but she pushed it away to give precedence to more urgent matters. Catherine looked around and saw a door in one corner. With some difficulty, she managed to walk towards it. Once she reached there, she almost collapsed with the exertion. When she pushed against it, she was grateful to find that it was indeed the washroom.

While she relieved herself, she took some time to observe the moss green tiles and the paler green ceramic for the sinks. There was a tiny shower room and a modest bath tub. Everything looked squeaky clean. She caught the faint whiff of disinfectant mixed with the stronger floral aroma of air freshener.

When she returned back to the room, Catherine felt overwhelmed. She knew that the first thing that she should be planning is her escape. For that, she needed to get acquainted with her surroundings first. But before she could do that, her stomach rumbled. She didn't know for how long she had been in this place but it must have been quite a while.

The girl had said something about food and sure enough Catherine spotted a takeout box lying on the coffee table. She vaguely pondered whether she should be eating meals from some stranger. For all she knew, they could have poisoned it. But common sense told her that whoever was keeping her there would want her to remain alive. Killing her will spoil their plans. That was all the justification her hungry self needed, to tear open the box and dig into its contents.

After ravaging half the meat balls and steamed rice, she felt she could function again. With the box in her hands, she began to explore her room. A semi-large entertainment unit dominated one half of the wall, opposite the bed. At right angles to it were placed squat shelves containing books. A writing desk sat beside it. A pen holder with some pencils and several writing pads were all she saw on top of the desk. At the foot of the bed was a mini fridge. As promised, it was fully stocked with bottled water, milk and a twelve pack. The room wasn't large and she could walk from one end to the other in a few steps. But it seemed to have been equipped well enough to occupy her for several good days.

Which brought in her a panic. Her captors were obviously planning to keep her there for some time. So far, she had gotten some evasive reason that it was for her own protection. But she knew better than to take everything at face value.

She ran a hand through her hair and felt its damp tendrils. She needed a shower but as far as she could see, there weren't any change of clothes. She could even smell her stale breath and her skin was sticky with sweat.

Catherine smirked at the dry humor. Here she was in a potentially dangerous situation and all she could think of was her personal hygiene. She then realized that it was her mind's way to keep her from being enveloped by the chilled fear rising within the pits of her gut.

She lowered herself on the floor and tried to analyze the situation. The first thing, she told herself, was to see what she remembered. Images of her family, images of Sara, and images of her crime lab bombarded her mind and it took all of her control to not stray away with the memories. She tried not to think of the wedding she was supposed to have and obviously didn't have. She needed to keep her mind focused away from concern for her daughter. But it wasn't easy…

Along with memories, came questions, a lot many questions, for which she had no answer.

Where is Sara? Is she searching for me? Surely, Sara will search for me. And what about Grissom? He'll turn the lab upside down until I'm found. So will the others, right? And Lindsay? How must she be feeling? My baby must be so scared for me.

I'm so scared for me.

Catherine told herself to remain calm.

The CSIs won't stop at anything. Brass is an expert cop, he will know what to do, where to look, right? And Sam… my father… he does love me… in his own way. He'll go through any avenue, good or bad, to find me. And my mother? And Nancy? They must be so worried. I wonder if these kidnappers have made a demand. But they said they were protecting me… what did they mean? Who do they work for? What do they want?

They won't give up. My family and friends won't give up. Even if everyone does, Sara won't give up. She loves me. She knows I love her. And she knows how much I love my family. She'll find me… she won't stop… not until I'm safe and found… right? Won't she?

Catherine shuddered as her weakness cracked through.

Oh God, I miss her! I miss them! Where am I? Why are they doing this? I want to go back to them! I want to be near them!


Sara jerked upright and looked around. For a moment, she thought she heard Catherine's voice. Even though her rationality screamed otherwise, her eyes roved around for any sight of the blonde. But all she saw was the emptiness of the house glaring back at her.

She had been sitting in the backyard, running her fingers absently over a mound of dirt. Catherine had planned to grow a lavender bush there. In this one area, both were delightfully similar. They shared their passion for gardening. But now, all that was left was a pile of scattered and unfinished dreams.

It wasn't the first time that she was hearing voices or imagining a presence in the house. She didn't believe in ghosts and even if there were any, she certainly didn't think she would fear Catherine's. But memories were so strong in this house that she couldn't breathe without being clogged down with grief. Her head couldn't think beyond how much she was missing Catherine or how she was going to spend the rest of her life without the person she loved.

She wondered whether she should go back to her apartment.


When she opened her door, Gil Grissom was probably the last person she expected to see. However, she didn't let any emotion cross her face. She only eyed him with what she hoped was enough coolness. He, on the other hand, looked distraught, a state of affairs she had never imagined seeing him in.

"Mr. Grissom, now what crime have you come to accuse me of?" She casually questioned.

"Lady Heather, I am not here as a CSI."

"Really?" Lady Heather pursed her lips in a sardonic smile. "I didn't think you could be anything else."

"There is a first time for everything." He gestured towards the inside. "Can I come in?"

"Depends. Why are you here?"

"Because I have no place else to go."

"So, I'm your last resort?"

"You are my only resort."

Their eyes met each other's for what seemed like an infinite duration. Finally, she sighed and moved aside. "Come in."

Grissom was struck by the "normalcy" inside. No one would have guessed that this was the house of Lady Heather, whose dominion used to offer unimaginable masochistic pleasure that could even surpass sexual ecstasy at times. The décor was simple but tasteful.

"How did you find me?" She settled down on a large divan, sheathed with Turkish brocades. Grissom did the same.

"You were not all that difficult to find. Lady Heather is a name that Las Vegas knows." He gave her a weak smile.

"And the name shall be forgotten. Las Vegas is not a city that dwells in memories but rather in opportunities. Sometimes, when the opportunity is lost…" She crossed her legs. "Everything is lost."

"What is a memory but a collection of opportunities lost forever?" He tried to hold her gaze. "And what do we possess from the past but memories?"

"Certain memories are better left in the dark. They do not please nor do they teach. They simply hurt."

He tilted his head. "Lady Heather is afraid of hurt?"

"I'm not invincible. I have my Achilles' Heel. But now… no more. What used to be my weakness is long gone from my life."

"Your daughter?"

"Yes." She tenderly stroked her fingernail, painted in a rich burgundy. "Why are you here, Mr. Grissom? Catching up with your victim's family doesn't resonate with your style."

"You are more than that." He reminded her.

"That's right. I was a suspect on two previous occasions." She murmured wryly.

Grissom wanted to correct her but he knew it was a discussion they better not get into. His previous actions had antagonized his relationship, or whatever it was, with Lady Heather.

"I'm hiding." He said.

"In my house?" She could have laughed. "From whom?"

"From myself." Her brows lifted at his statement. "You must have heard about Catherine."

She nodded. "I did. It's a terrible loss. I admired the woman."

"She was my friend." He closed his eyes. "And I lost her."

"It's not your fault."

"No, but Sara… whatever happened to her today is my fault."

"Sara?" Lady Heather asked, confused.

And like a torrent, everything flowed out. Grissom kept nothing inside. He wasn't accustomed to sharing his inner thoughts but this time, he found he couldn't control himself from not sharing them. His friendship with Catherine, his oftentimes stormy relationship with Sara, his devastation at Catherine's death and his helplessness at Sara's questioning, all poured forth.

Lady Heather just listened, never interrupting. She was almost entranced by the array of emotions on the man's face. She used to have a wish, long since abandoned, to be able to stir Grissom's heart. She had even come close to catching a glimpse of the man behind the scientist. But never had she witnessed him dismantling in such a manner. For any other person, she might have experienced pity, sadness or perhaps even disgust. For him, she felt his every anguish as deeply as her own.

But of course, she wouldn't admit any of it to herself.

And then, if that wasn't enough, Grissom absolutely stunned her by asking, "What do you think I should do?"

"Are you so afraid to follow your heart?" She asked after observing the solemnity on his face.

"I am." He admitted. "I just don't know where I should stand. Being a criminalist was my entire life. It's probably the only thing I'm good at."

"That's what you believe?"

"I don't know what to believe."

"There's hardly ever anything you don't know." Despite herself, a little warmth teased its way into her voice.

"That's not true." He smiled.

"Gil." Her use of his first name took him by slight surprise. There was only one other instance when she had done the same. It was during the night she had disrobed him both physically and emotionally. It was also the last night when he had ever seen her happy.

"What?" He asked softly.

"You can't always be right. Sometimes you are wrong… and sometimes you are neither."

"It's the neither that scares me." He let out a dry laugh.

She propped her elbows on her knees and bent forward. "Maybe someone would come to Sara's aid. There might even be someone who can lend her ample support. But in Vegas, you are the only person who's known her for the longest. You've known her when no one knew her or even trusted her. You brought her into the hearts of your team. She could survive if they turn their backs on her. But if you do that, she might lose her own confidence in herself."

"I'm afraid to let her down."

"Then don't. You know she is innocent. You might have no evidence to support it but you know."

"Yes, I do." Grissom slowly said. He was now sure of what he had to do. He had lost himself in the murkiness of his own professionalism. But he had forgotten that struggling with his human side will bring him nothing but agony.

"Thank you." He whispered. "You don't know how grateful I am."

Lady Heather nodded calmly but deep inside, she was a tumult.

"On this note." He wet his lips, suddenly very nervous. "I… err… I just needed to say I'm really sorry. My fault is too great and probably even non-redeemable. I just hope you have it in your heart to forgive me someday." Grissom abruptly stood up to leave.

He almost jumped when he felt her fingers brush his hand.

"I can't say if I'll ever forgive you." She said. "But I do wish that we take a step in the realm we've never touched before."

"And what realm would that be?"

"Friendship." Her green eyes flashed. For the first time in a long time, Grissom could sense some vestige of happiness flaming within him.


A/N : Thank you for all the reviews :) I suppose Catherine is appearing quite un-Cath-like right now.In her defense,three days of being drugged, starved and tied can boggle a person. But she'll be up and about soon enough!