I didn't have time to edit this. I busted my ass to get it done before work. If I hadn't, I probably would have lost it. Enjoy, because I don't know when I'm gonna be able to get another one done. Sorry I'm taking so long... o.O BTW, I had to edit something, because my time line was waaaaaaay off. Gedda is no longer in Iowa, because time travel hasn't been invented yet, and you can't get there in fifteen minutes from Cambridge, Mass. So, he's still in Mass. I hope to get another one done soon. I love you guys for sticking with me despite the delay. 3 Enjoy!

"Hey! Watch it!"

Catherine paused as she and Warrick made their way to the entrance of the emergency room. Brass was leading a short, heavy set man through the automatic doors, and seemed to have accidentally pushed the man into one of the doors before it had fully opened.

"Oops." Brass shrugged, signaling to Catherine that the collision had been anything but an accident. Ignoring the glare he received in response, Brass turned his attention to Catherine and Warrick. He presented the indignant man he held by the collar and wrists with a rough push. "This prize pony is Marcus Kincaid. Genius had his wallet on him."

"I'm right here you know?" Kincaid grated, rolling his recently injured shoulder.

"Shut up," Brass clipped, his eyes filling with barely contained anger. When Kincaid met Brass's eyes, he shrank into himself with a wince.

Catherine glanced at the cowering suspect for a moment, taken in his disheveled appearance. Blood stained the right side of his shirt, a crusted cloud looming around a sizeable tear in the fabric.

She met the man's eyes with a disgusted glare. "Why?"

Kincaid looked confused. "Why, what?"

Brass jerked the overweight man back toward him, close enough that Brass could Mike Tyson Kincaid's ear if he had a mind to. "You know damn well, 'why, what'."

A defiant 'hmph' escaped Kincaid's lips. Brass jerked the man's cuffed hands roughly, and Kincaid let out a surprised cry in pain. "Okay, okay. I owed a guy a favor. He told me to hit that bitch in there." Another jerk of the cuffs; another cry. "Sorry. That lovely lady in there. Obviously, that didn't go so well. And now the son of a bitch is gonna put a hit out on me, too."

"What a shame," Warrick murmured.

"Does this 'guy' have a name?" Catherine asked, her blood boiling with the maternal instinct to destroy any threat to her daughter.

"Nick Gedda."

Catherine could feel Warrick bristling behind her. "Do you know where he is?" Warrick asked, his voice strained.

Kincaid's brow furrowed in thought. "I talked to him around five. He was pissed. He said he was coming back to Vegas. He didn't tell me where he actually was, though."

"Did it sound like he was in a car?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. It was quiet." He seemed deep in thought, once again. "I think I heard someone yelling. Their accent was weird. New England, I think."

"That it?" Brass asked impatiently.

"Yeah, that's all I know."

"Okay then." Brass pushed Kincaid roughly, eliciting a muttered comment about police brutality. Catherine watched until Kincaid was pushed into the cruiser--hitting his head against the door frame first.

She probably would have laughed if the circumstances were different. She rushed through the automatic doors, Warrick close at her heals. She saw Lindsey almost immediately, sitting next to Drake on a waiting room bench. Her body was stiff, turned almost imperceptibly away from the agent. She looked up and saw Catherine, nearly launching out of her seat to meet her.

"Baby, are you okay?" Catherine asked, taking Lindsey's hands to survey the damage. A bandage covered the majority of her forearm, and the skin at the edges of the gauze was red and swollen. "What happened to your arm?"

"I tripped and fell on the knife I stabbed that bastard with. It was deep enough to need stitches, but it didn't hit any major veins or arteries or whatever the hell is in there."

"For a ballerina, you're awfully clumsy," Drake chirped from behind Lindsey, and she whirled on him.

"You be quiet. I saved your ass tonight."

"Some job you did of that. My shoulder smarts something terrible." When he held up his hands in surrender, Catherine knew her daughter was giving him a glare that could compete with her own. "Okay, okay. Shutting up."

Lindsey turned back to her mother, a satisfied smile marred by the lines creasing her smooth, young face. She looked... disturbed. Not by the close call she had just experienced, but something else. It looked familiar. As realization dawned on her, Catherine gave her daughter a knowing look.

A confused look graced Lindsey's face. "What's that look? Mom? What... oh, dear God, no. No, no, no, no, no. Not right now. No."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Catherine said slyly.

"Are we missing something?" Drake asked Warrick, ignorance twisting his features.

"Get used to it," Warrick stated from behind Catherine. "It never got any easier to understand Catherine. I doubt Lindsey will be any different. Just accept that you'll be left out. A lot."