Author's Note: Gotta love some Greg/Cath bonding, and a curious little cliffhanger. For those of you who thought I was ending this, wow. There were a few of you who thought it was over. But there is a whole other story line that's been left unresolved! And what of Sara? What of Nick and Catherine? And where's Danny gonna go? Will I answer these questions? Of course I will, because I HATE leaving stories hanging. So if you still have questions about a story I've written, odds are it's not finished yet. This isn't Lost or anything like that. ;o)

Oh, and by the way, I'm not particularly religious (at least not towards any organized religion) but I respect people who are (Christian, Muslim, Jewish...) The religious— what's the word— parts of this chapter aren't meant to endorse Christianity or whatever, but as Christmas is a theme in this story, as are some of the things it stands for (forgiveness, family, loyalty), I figured it was appropriate. It's meant to show the side of religion that I like. As for the side of religion that doesn't appeal to me, well... go read Salam for further commentary on that. No offense was intended with this author's note. All creeds, believers and secularists, are all OK in my books.

Chapter Fourteen: Not Alone

Catherine watched Greg's retreating back even as Grissom called after him. And then, Brass came up to her and was speaking to her, and she became distracted.

"Catherine, are you OK?" Brass was saying.

She nodded, then looked down at her arm which was throbbing wildly. "I think he might have fractured my arm, though."

Brass touched it gingerly, and she winced. "Well, we can get that taken care of." He looked over his shoulder. "Can we get a medic over here?"

"I'm fine for now, really," Catherine said. "Go make sure Sara's OK first—"

She was cut off by Danny's screams. "No! No!"

"What's wrong with this kid?!" an officer was screaming. Catherine pushed past Brass to Sara and the screaming teen, who was being restrained by two officers but fighting them madly. She looked fleetingly at Danny, who stopped struggling when she showed up, then kneeled down near Sara's head as the paramedics worked to stabilize her and stop the bleeding. She softly pushed the hair back from her eyes, her heart lurching as she hoped her friend wasn't dying. She looked up at the paramedics who were working on her.

"She'll be OK, won't she?" she asked, her eyes desperate.

One of the medics looked up at her, his eyes seeming to search for the answer. "We think so," he said, but she heard the doubt in his tone. "She hasn't lost a lot of blood yet, and the bullet doesn't seem to have hit any major arteries, thank God."

Catherine sighed with relief and nodded, then looked up at Danny who was struggling against the cops' grip again as the tears rolled down his cheeks. "Let me go!" he was saying. "I want to see her, I want to tell her that I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

For some reason that not even Catherine could determine, she stood up and looked at the cops. "Let him go," she said.

Danny stopped struggling and the cops looked at her as though she'd just told them that Santa Claus did exist and she was one of his elves. "What, ma'am?" one of them said.

"I said let him go," Catherine repeated. "He's not going to go anywhere." She looked at the boy. "Are you, Danny?"

Slowly, and with wide eyes, he shook his head.

"You promise?"

He nodded.

She smiled and looked back at the two cops. "There, you see? He gives you his word. That's enough for me."

"But ma'am—"

"Oh for God's sake, it's Christmas and he's just sixteen years old," Catherine said. "Have a little faith in him."

Slowly, they released him and he fell to his knees next to Sara, taking her hand in his. "God…" he whispered, the tears flowing freely now. "Please hear me. Please let her be OK. Please don't let her die. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll fix it, I'm so sorry that I ruined everything, that I helped him kill those people, those kids and their parents, and Sara… Please, Jesus… help me… let her be OK…"

It surprised Catherine slightly that he wasn't asking for Sara's forgiveness, but for forgiveness from a higher power. She almost smiled.

"OK, son," one of the paramedics said to him. "You're going to have to step back, we're gonna transport her to the ambulance now."

Slowly, he nodded and moved backwards, his eyes on Sara as the medics moved her through the crowd. True to his word, Danny didn't make an escape attempt or move to go after Sara. He simply stood there and turned to the police. He nodded and held out his hands. "OK," he said. "I'm ready to go now."

Looking slightly surprised, the two officers nodded and escorted him from the premises. With Danny gone, and Sara being taken care of, Catherine looked around the rest of the room. A few officers were untying the librarian, who was rubbing her wrists and seemed to be speaking to the cops, her lips moving at light-speed as an EMT checked her out. Another gaggle of paramedics were stepping away from Mickey's cold body. Brass and Grissom stood looking down at the boy, speaking in hushed tones to one another. She approached them and stood next to Grissom, also looking down at the boy who stared up at them with glass eyes, blood pouring from his mouth, the two wounds in his chest, and the wound in his foot.

"He's dead then," she stated more than asked, making Grissom jump beside her.

"Uh… yeah," Grissom said, recovering. "I didn't hear you come up there. The first bullet pierced his lung; the second one hit his heart. He never had a chance, really." He turned to Catherine. "Did Greg shoot him?"

She nodded. "Yeah," she said. "All three times. Grissom, I don't think he wanted to kill him. I mean, he went for the foot first. But then…"

"Of course he didn't mean to," Grissom said. "It just happens sometimes. Still, there'll probably be an inquiry. He may be a murderer, but all the press will see is a dead eighteen-year-old boy."

Catherine nodded. "Right, of course. Dammit, Grissom, he's already done that dance once."

"I know," Grissom said. "Believe me, I wish…"

He didn't need to finish the sentence. Catherine wished the same thing. "Grissom… He saved my life."

"He saved all of your lives if I understand correctly," Grissom responded.

"No…" Catherine said. "You don't understand… Mickey aimed at me. Shot at me and he…" She trailed off

"Good," Grissom said simply.

She gave him an incredulous look. "Good?!"

"Yes," he replied, turning to look at her. "You can tell them that he had to do it. To save your life. Look, it probably won't amount to anything. It probably won't even see a judge, not with all of your accounts. An inquiry doesn't mean an inquest."

"Still, it'll put Greg through more hell he doesn't deserve," Catherine said quietly as she rubbed her sore arm.

"Did you get that checked out?" Brass asked, looking at her past Grissom.

She took a deep breath and sighed. "Not yet. I'll stop by the hospital on the way home."

"And how will you get there, Catherine? You can't drive in that condition," Brass pointed out.

Catherine looked at the door to the library. "I think I can find someone to drive me…" she said absently and started heading towards the door.

Once outside, she looked around. There were ambulances and cop cars and crime scene tape and officers and news cameras and reporters… She couldn't see him at first, and wouldn't have if she hadn't looked directly to her left, where he was leaning against the side of the library, looking up at the sky with his hands stuck in his pockets. She smiled sadly to herself and walked over to him as the wind whipped at her bare arms, but she ignored the cold.

"Hey," she said, simply.

He didn't seem to hear her at first as he continued to stare up at the sky, taking deep, even breaths. And then, he closed his eyes and sighed. "Hey."

She put her good hand on his shoulder. "You did a good job in there, Greg."

"No, I didn't," he replied, shaking his head as he stared out straight in front of him. "Doing a good job would have been not being so brash, not being so angry or impulsive…" He turned to Catherine. "I was really ready to kill that kid, Catherine. After he shot Sara, I…" He closed his eyes and looked away from Catherine briskly. He rubbed his arms to warm them and shivered in the frigid night air.

"I know you, Greg," Catherine said. "You wouldn't have shot anyone if you could help it. Remember? I once criticized you for that, earlier tonight. I called it a weakness. It's not."

He was so cold, even his breaths were shaking. Or maybe, that wasn't the cold. "If that's the case, then why is there a dead teenage boy in there, Catherine?"

"Because you couldn't help it," she replied. "Greg— You saved my life. He was going to kill me."

"Was he?" Greg returned. "I mean… He didn't kill Sara. At least, not instantly… Oh God, Sara…" His hands came up to cup his mouth. He breathed into them to warm them before putting his palms together in front of his face. "He could have just wounded you. You could have survived it."

"Well, frankly, I'm glad that you saved me from a bullet wound, fatal or not," Catherine said, rubbing his arm in a vain effort to bring some warmth and reassurance to him. "I owe you, Greg. Big time."

"You didn't deny that he's dead," Greg observed, staring up at the sky. "I assumed, and when I said it, you didn't say that he was alive. I really killed him, didn't I?"

"Your first bullet hit his lung…" Catherine said quietly. "He would have died more slowly if you hadn't fired the second shot. In a way… it was quicker this way."

Greg buried his face in his hands. "I don't want to do this again, Catherine…" he whispered. "I don't want to feel like I'm the criminal. Because a part of me will always believe that I am."

"Greg, you weren't alone this time," Catherine said. "I was there, too. I'm still here. And I'll stand right beside you, I'll yell out to everyone that you're a hero, you saved my life, and Sara's, and you did everything you could. Brass and Grissom were listening, hell, that librarian will testify, I'm sure!" She shook Greg's shoulder, making him look up at her with tired eyes. She smiled, trying to instill some courage in him. "I won't leave you alone in this, Greg."

"I didn't kill my sister," he said suddenly, as if it was important to her that she understood. "Please, I just… I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what he wanted to hear. I was just so angry when he shot Sara, and the way he treated you… The way he treated you… My God, I'm thirty-one years old and I've killed two people. I almost killed a third. I almost killed that kid."

Catherine looked down. "When I was fifteen…" she said slowly. "My mother's boyfriend snuck into my bedroom uninvited. After he was done, he slipped out of my bed and went down the hall to my mother's room and fell asleep next to her. I couldn't sleep all night. So at around four AM, I went down to the kitchen and found a knife."

Greg looked, up, his eyes startled and concerned, as though he hadn't expected this at all. But it was Catherine's turn to avoid his eyes as it suddenly became much colder in the air. She shivered, and though she knew he was cold too, she saw Greg take off his thin jacket and drape it around her shoulders.

"It isn't much…" he began, but she smiled up at him as she pulled it tightly around her with one hand.

"It's enough," she replied.

"You don't have to tell me what happened," Greg said, sounding honest. "I don't have to know. I know we're not that close…"

"No," she said. "You do have to know."

"Catherine, I understand about memories that are too much—"

"Greg, would you just shut up and let me finish?" she asked with a light laugh. He even smiled himself, a small blush creeping up in his cheeks as he looked away from her and rubbed his arms to warm them. She felt a little guilty for taking his jacket from him, but she knew if she offered to give it back, he wouldn't take it. She licked her lips and continued. "It was a carving knife my mom sometimes used when she attempted to cook. Anyways, since she never used it, it was still as sharp as it was when we bought it. I thought it was perfect. I climbed the stairs and I walked down the hall and I opened the door to my mother's room and I saw him lying there, his mouth open as he snored, the covers kicked off. And I went over to him, and I held the knife there right above him, and my hands were shaking… And I swear, I was ready to plunge it right into his chest. And then, my eyes strayed to my mother, who was lying next to him, sleeping so peacefully with a smile on her face. On the bedside table was a picture of us together. And I mean, just us. And it was like I had suddenly come to my senses. I couldn't kill this man. Regardless of what he had done to me, I couldn't do that to him, least of all while my mother was sleeping so quietly next to him. So I dropped the knife and ran out of the room, crying. But nobody woke up. Nobody followed me. And I just cried myself to sleep."

Greg was quiet a moment. "This will sound… really, really lame, but… I know how you feel. I was so close to pulling that trigger, Cath, I swear to God, and then he whimpered, like a little kid, and I heard my sister in his voice and realized I was no better than the guy who took her from me."

Catherine smiled at him. "But you are better, Greg," she said quietly, "because in the end, you didn't do it. And that's what really matters."

"Excuse me, are you Catherine Willows?"

Both Greg and Catherine jumped at the voice and they turned to see a medic with inquiring eyes. Catherine frowned at him. "That depends," she replied.

"Captain Brass told me you might have a broken arm," the paramedic explained.

"It's not broken," Catherine said quickly. "I just… can't… move it."

The paramedic smiled. "We may need some x-rays. If it is broken, we're going to have to set it. Here, follow me…"

With a reluctant sigh, she gave Greg one last look. "I'll get this taken care of," she said. "And then, I'm taking you out for a drink."

Greg smiled noncommittally as the paramedic led her away and let out a long sigh. He watched Catherine for a long time as the paramedic led her towards the ambulance. He rubbed his now bare arms, as Catherine had taken his jacket with him. He bit his lip, then jogged over after Catherine as the paramedic helped her into the ambulance.

"Could I ride with you guys?" he asked. He looked at Catherine. "I want to see Sara."

The paramedic hesitated. "Technically, we can't…"

And then Greg's phone began to ring. He and Catherine exchanged looks before he reached for the phone and looked at the caller ID.

"It's Nick…" he said, sounding surprised.

"Nick?" Catherine said. "Where's he at?"

Greg remembered Brass mentioning something about babysitting. He answered the phone. "Hey, what's up?"

"Greg? Are you all done helping out Sara down there?"

"Yeah, Nick. But I was just about to—"

"Is everyone OK?" Nick interrupted.

"Well, sort of," Greg said. "Sara was—"

"Don't think I don't care, because I do," Nick cut him off abruptly. "But no one's dead."

"Er… no…" Greg said, confused at Nick's urgency.

"Well I have a feeling that might change," Nick said, and for the first time, Greg heard the slight tremble in his voice.

"Nick, is everything OK?"

Nick laughed, nervously. "No, they're far from OK, Greg. I need you to get here now. Bring Brass."

"Nick, what's going on?" Greg asked, suddenly very worried.

"Just hurry," Nick said. "Or you might not have a station to come back to."

And with that, he hung up the phone. Greg looked at Catherine, who was watching him with wide eyes. "I gotta go," he said suddenly. "Are Brass and Grissom still inside?"

Catherine nodded slowly and leapt out of the ambulance, much to the protestations of the paramedic. "I'm coming with you."

"Your arm is fricking broken," Greg said, shaking his head. "The only place you're going is to the orthopedist."

"We don't even know if it's broken," Catherine said. "I feel great."

"Don't make me pull on your arm to prove my point, Cath, because I will."

She sighed. "Do it and I'm still coming, I don't care. If Nicky's in trouble, I want to know what's going on."

Greg sighed, knowing that arguing with Catherine was as futile as trying to tame a feral cat. "Fine, whatever. Let's get Brass and Grissom."