In the night, Sara laid awake, listening to the crackle of the fire. They did not often sleep downstairs, but the rooms upstairs felt so empty without their friends that it had happened naturally tonight. Grissom had placed a mattress in front of the fire, and now she lay upon it, watching the firelight flicker throughout the room. It was toasty warm, the thick blankets fallen to her waist, and she had to admit that the room did vaguely resemble an advertisement for a romantic getaway. In other circumstances she knew they would have made love, thereby completing the picture, but despite the perfect set-up it had not happened tonight. Neither of them felt relaxed enough for sex.
Instead, Grissom had held her, and spooned her for a greater part of the evening. His hands had been unusually possessive, roaming freely under her shirt and pyjama bottoms, but the touches hadn't been sexual. While his hands roamed they had always returned inevitably to her abdomen, right above their baby, and they had lingered there, as though he was contemplating what lay beneath.
She had let him touch her – it had been easier than tackling the subject verbally, which to Sara felt like a growing quagmire of concerns. Though she felt a budding love for her baby, she knew also that the naïve excitement she had felt a month before had long worn off, and had been replaced now by a much more realistic sense of alarm at how they were going to actually handle it. She knew that however it ended, it was not going to be in picture-perfect catalogue happiness. But she had made her choice now, and she had to face it, but still it was terrifying.
She sensed him thinking about it now, his fingers dancing over her abdomen, his little finger stretched out to nestle itself in her pubic hair, and she was not surprised when he finally admitted to being awake.
"Sara?" he murmured.
"Mmmm?"
"Are you awake?"
What a stupid question, she thought. Aloud, she said -
"Evidently."
He propped himself up on one elbow, and his fingers splayed across her abdomen, possessively caressing her. He had pulled down her pyjama bottoms an inch or two, exposing her for him, and she knew full well what was on his mind.
She just hoped he did not want to talk about it.
As luck would have it, however ...
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Relaxed," she admitted.
She had one arm behind her head, and had been gazing at the ceiling, mulling things over, but still she felt the urge to steer him away from the subject of her pregnancy. With their friends missing she felt only able to deal with one crisis at a time, and so she steered the talk quickly into safer waters.
She passed him a teasing slip of a smile, and then added, "Though if you keep stroking me like that I may have to soon revise my assessment."
He raised an eyebrow slightly, a hint of something sexual passing through his eyes, though in her pubic hair his little finger stilled, and then promptly left.
It was an ominous sign. She knew that in other circumstances he would have long seduced her by now, and would have seized the opportunity of their solitude to take her passionately all over the room, yet tonight he had not laid a hand on her, and she knew it was not just due to the stress of worry over their friends. Grissom had used her as stress relief before, and often it made for some of the best sex of their relationship, but tonight he seemed hesitant.
She looked away when she saw the conversation stirring in his eyes, and braced herself for its inevitable delivery.
"You're thin," he said.
It was not what she had been expecting, but she sensed quickly that it was a roundabout route to the same thing. His fingers had shifted upward toward her ribs, tracing the protruding bones.
"You're saying I wasn't always?" she teased, mocking offense.
"No, you were always thin," he replied, fingers stopping between her breasts. "But now you're very thin."
She did not know what to say, and struggled to find a response.
"I'm no thinner than Catherine."
"Catherine we can take care of. She's thin, but not in strife. You have a condition."
There it was, Sara thought – the conversation she had wanted at all costs to avoid. The term lingered in her mind, and quickly adjusting to the fact that they had apparently taken a time warp into the nineteenth century, she searched her mind for a reply.
"This isn't the dark ages. You can call it what it is – a pregnancy. And I might add that it's a perfectly natural state, not an illness."
"I wasn't referring to your pregnancy being an illness," he said, swiftly defensive. "But rather my concern that your illness may affect your pregnancy."
Sara said nothing. She knew precisely what he was talking about, but felt no urge to engage in it.
"Whatever terminology you choose to use you can't deny that you're thin – or that your body will need strength to see this through."
Sara closed her eyes, sighing involuntarily. It was not the first time she had been faced with an unwanted discussion about her weight – the topic had been cherished not just by Grissom but by the entire team. Once the novelty of her pregnancy had worn off, the excitement had dwindled into concern, and over the preceding weeks she had seen all her friends take an increased interest in her figure. It had started with Nick, who when he hugged her complained that her bones were protruding under his fingers, and he had gone so far as to use the term "emaciated" before Sara had glared at him. Sofia and Warrick, perfectly interpreting the glare, did not dare broach the subject, but that had not stopped them from making their thoughts known – it had not escaped Sara that whenever the two were allocated dinner duty they never failed to give her the largest helping, despite the limited supplies, and she had sensed them all sharing looks with each other across the table whenever her back was turned.
The only one Sara had tolerated the subject from had been Catherine, and it was a discussion which had occurred only a week after her pregnancy had been announced. Sara respected Catherine's position as medical officer within the team, and knew also that she was fully dependent on her to help her through the process, and when Catherine had kindly requested permission to take a look at her, Sara had known better than to resist. Catherine had led her to the girls' bedroom upstairs, and sat her on the bed before conducting a thorough and private examination. Strangely enough she had not mentioned Sara's skeletal figure in any direct form – she had taken data on her weight, pulse, blood pressure, and even probed her mental status – but had not addressed the subject verbally. For that Sara had been grateful – Catherine's tact had been as flawless as ever in knowing what to ask and not ask – and despite not sharing a word on the subject Sara had emerged feeling as if it had been fully addressed, and had known that Catherine had her well taken care of.
Catherine had examined the others too, taking them upstairs one at a time, and it had been then that Sara had realised they were facing starvation. It was then too that she had started to worry intensely herself about their prospects, and started to feel grave concern for the fate of herself and child.
Nevertheless she still did not welcome Grissom discussing it, and feeling vaguely irritated, she moved to fish his hand out from under her shirt, where it had gradually roamed upward before settling on a breast.
She quickly evicted him, sitting up on her elbows.
"Sara?" he queried.
His eyes flashed with incomprehension, unsure what he had done. She usually allowed him to fondle her at will.
"I need a drink," she said.
She had tossed back the blankets and was halfway out of bed just as she heard it: a shout in the distance, penetrating the hard rain outside.
"… SOM!"
Sara froze, one foot on the floorboards.
"Was that –"
"I'm not sure," he replied.
He sat up himself, one ear cocked, waiting.
It came again, and this time there was no mistaking it.
"SARAAA!"
It was Nick – a scream of frantic desperation, and as panic gripped Sara her instincts flew into gear. In a flurry of blankets she leapt to her feet, and dashed barefoot to the kitchen, stopping at the hatstand by the door.
"NICK!" she bellowed.
She jammed her feet into sneakers, threw on a raincoat and snatched up her gun before throwing the bolt back, and leaping outside into the wet.
It was freezing, the rain vaguely reminiscent of Armageddon, and she threw herself down the stairs into the mud of the driveway, her eyes frantically searching for him.
She saw him up ahead; pelting down the driveway toward her, eyes wide and arms flailing with unbalanced hysteria.
"SARAAA!"
"NICK!"
The shout came from behind, from Grissom. Sara had not even stopped to see if he had followed – she had just known he would – and as he thundered down the stairs behind her they ran up the driveway together.
"NICK!" she repeated.
Her sneakers sploshed in the mud, the ground slippery and offering no grip, but she pelted through it until they hit him – and he crashed into them full-on, Sara and Grissom catching him between them.
She saw in a split second that he was utterly mad, his expression terrorised and unhinged.
He cried as he blurted out his words.
"They're following us," he declared, rain and tears soaking his face. "They're chasing us, Griss, and Catherine's down, we can't carry her, and Sofia's sick, she's –"
Sara did not wait for the rest.
"Where?" she demanded.
"Up the road," he said. He threw an arm wildly behind him. "Up the road, up there –"
Sara bolted. Leaving Grissom to take care of him she flew up the road, cocking her gun as she ran. As she sprinted in the dark she found herself instinctively grateful for the thousand trips she had made up the track in daylight; she knew every inch of the track intimately, and dodged every pot-hole and tree root without even needing to see them. Her feet carried her deftly up the road, her footfalls lone thuds amidst the rain, and she ran for what felt like forever before she finally saw them – three lonely figures huddled helplessly by the roadside, two of them cradling the third.
Even at a distance she saw they were shaking, and that mother nature had given them a drenching; they were all as soaked as if they had swum back through the desert.
She did not chance a shout, wary of Nick's peculiar reference to being chased, and she instead hurtled into the fold without warning, her mind swiftly summing up the scene like a triage doctor.
She saw immediately that all three were ill. They were all shivering hard, and there was a vacant disengaged expression to both Sofia and Warrick that was utterly alarming, but summing up the scene her hands shot straight to Catherine. She lay pale and weak in Warrick's arms, and she was evidently the priority. She reached forward to take over.
"Give her to me," she said. "Right here –"
Warrick looked at her for a second, plainly wondering who she was, but upon recognising her he relinquished his lover, and Sara took Catherine in her arms.
Warrick gave her a weak look of relief; his body language one of utter defeat.
"Sara…" he said.
He looked like he wanted to fall into her arms, but they were already occupied by Catherine.
"It's okay," Sara said quickly. "I'm here, it's okay."
She had to hope that was enough – she had no time for anything more – and she turned her attention to Catherine. She was trembling head to toe, her skin pale, her red hair plastered by water to the sides of her face. Sara reached to push back to the strands, trying to get a good look at her.
"Cat?" she prompted.
She was freezing cold, and lay in Sara's arms like a dead weight. Sara threw an anxious glance over her shoulder – Grissom was running toward her in the distance, accompanied by Nick, but they were still a way away. She realised suddenly how cold the air was; how drenching wet Catherine's clothes were, and that she herself had landed in a puddle when she had thrown herself down to help. She could feel the mud had soaked through her pyjamas at her knees.
"Cat?" she repeated.
She touched her pulse, and found it present.
Abruptly Catherine stirred – her head turning against Sara's shirt.
"Sara…?"
She fought to open her eyes, plainly on edge.
"You're okay," Sara assured, holding her close to soothe her. "I've got you, you're okay –"
They were evidently all a wreck, and she shushed her as she examined her, but had little time for more than a cursory examination before Grissom arrived, splashing straight through the last few puddles before hurtling himself into the mud with her, Nick behind him. It had been only a few minutes since they had left the house and he already looked a mess – his hair and t-shirt speckled with rain, his eyes wide with fear – but there was no time for pleasantries as he reached straight for Catherine.
"Is she hurt?"
"Hypothermic!" Sara reported.
It was her best guess – she could see no blood or sign of pain to indicate anything else, and none of their witnesses were in any shape to fill her in.
She knew straightaway what had to be done – Nick was still shifting from foot to foot in the puddle behind Grissom, his eyes sweeping the landscape like an animal scared of becoming prey – and not knowing whether he was being paranoid or not, Sara guessed they only had seconds.
She was glad that Grissom was so flawlessly in tune with her; before she had even spoken he was reaching to meet her halfway, bundling Catherine over into his arms.
"I'll take her, you bring them!"
Catherine made a small noise of protest, no doubt sensing the set of arms had changed from comforting to masculine, but they had no time to indulge her. Grissom got up, carrying her, and Sara moved to swiftly round up the others.
"Let's go, come on –"
She tugged on the arms of Warrick and Sofia, hauling them mercilessly to their feet, but nearby Nick was spinning out of reach, hovering antsy beside Grissom.
"They're following us, Griss, they're coming –"
He was panicked, but Grissom's rebuke was swift.
"Then stay quiet and obey Sara," he replied.
There was a biting edge to the command which Sara took as an indicator of Grissom's stress levels, but Nick completely missed the tone. His scared eyes found Sara, hopeful yet traumatised, looking for leadership like a ship praying for a lighthouse. The sight was scarier than anything else Sara could have encountered, and she realised with a sinking horror that all four of her friends were broken.
She just hoped it wasn't permanent.
"It's okay!" she said, trying to project confidence into her voice as she re-routed her tracks toward Nick. "Just start walking, you're okay –"
She found herself wishing that she could hold all of their hands at once, but while also balancing her gun this was humanly impossible, and she settled instead for giving them kind yet urgent nudges on the back, ferrying them along like schoolchildren.
"Just walk with Gil, you're safe … follow him …"
She urged them along behind him, and they obediently followed, silent like the walking dead. Sara followed a foot further still behind, walking backwards and holding her gun cocked and ready at the road. She knew she was the sole line of defence, and that she had to get the others home no matter what, yet she was still unsure if the foe was phantom or real. Nick's state gave her no clues – he was so deep in shock that she knew she had a job ahead in unravelling him – and all she could do was conclude that it was not worth the risk.
She held her guard as they trudged slowly home, Grissom walking slowly with the weight of Catherine, and she utilised the time to process their situation: they were in danger, all four of her friends were ill, and something bad had clearly happened. It was a menacing scenario by any standard, yet by the time they reached the house her brain had wrestled it all into order, and when she dashed up the steps and entered she knew exactly what to do.
She ushered the group inside, and then flew into action: she bolted the door, jammed a chair under the knob, and closed all the blinds before she dashed back to the fireside to help Grissom with the triage.
He had not made much progress; he had set Catherine down on her feet, gathered the others in a flock close by, and then stopped – his hands hovering an inch above Catherine's soaked clothes, suddenly thoroughly out of his league.
"Sara –" he started.
He threw her a look for help.
"Take the guys," she commanded.
She tore towels, underwear and clothes from the drying rack by the fire and thrust them into his chest, before gesturing out of sight toward the kitchen.
He caught on immediately, and a moment later had rounded up both men to go with him, leaving Sara alone with Catherine and Sofia.
Sofia had sank onto the rug in front of the fire, staring absently into the flames, and trusting that she would be all right for a minute, Sara turned her attention to Catherine.
Grissom had deposited her on the coffee table, and she sat somewhat lopsided, appearing on the verge of physical collapse.
Sara knelt in front of her, taking both of her hands. They were cold and wet, and she smothered them with her own.
"Cat," she said gently. "Can you hear me?"
Catherine lifted her eyes to focus on her, and blinked twice hard as if to clear something from her vision. When she finally recognised Sara she gave the most minute nod, but did not stop shaking.
"Are we safe?" she asked.
"You're safe," Sara assured quickly, rubbing her hands. "You're safe with me. You're home now."
Sara could tell she was highly agitated – despite how wet she was, how icy cold and ill, she appeared to be fighting at all costs to stay awake. Her fingers were rigid and tense, and her eyes flew about the room with intense distrust.
"You're safe," Sara repeated. "You're home with me now, I'm going to take care of you, okay?"
She did not relax, but Sara did not expect it to happen instantly; she had too much experience with trauma herself to expect instant results, so sought to distract her instead.
"Cat, listen to me. You're very cold right now. We need to dry you off, get you changed into some fresh clothes, okay?"
Her reactions were slow, but she attempted a nod.
"Stand up – hold onto me."
She helped Catherine shaking to her feet, and Catherine held onto her arms for balance as Sara set to work. She did the job without fuss, not wanting her friend to feel embarrassed, and soon had her stripped of her shirt and jeans. Both were soaked through and heavy with water, and she tossed them into a sodding pile on the coffee table as Catherine stood there nothing but in her bra and underwear, trembling and looking around anxiously.
"The others," she said. "Warrick, they're –"
"They're fine," Sara said, catching the way her eyes were anxiously searching the room. "The guys are in the kitchen with Gil. Everyone's safe."
She seemed to take a second to absorb this, and Sara used it to ponder her next move. She had planned to leave Catherine in her underwear, but seeing them now forced her to change her mind. Both items were soaked, wrinkled and plastered to her skin; they would have to come off.
"I'm going to remove your underwear, okay?" Sara told her. "We'll put dry ones on."
"Just do it," Catherine replied.
She sounded impatient with Sara's gentle approach, and removed a hand from Sara's elbow to reach around and flick open her own bra catch, popping it loose. As Sara obligingly removed it and tossed it aside she was reminded yet again of Catherine's former life as a stripper; after stripping in front of hundreds of wild, drunken men she apparently had no qualms whatsoever about letting Sara help her in a time of honest need, and showed not a scrap of embarrassment as she pushed down her panties and stepped out of them, leaving them in a twisted mess on the floor.
She was naked now, and Sara draped her immediately in a large white towel, wrapping her up snug and warm before advising her to dry herself off. She tossed the wet panties onto the pile with the rest, and snatched up some fresh clothes from the drying rack before returning to help her dress.
As she completed the process she stole glances toward the fireplace, keeping one eye on Sofia, and became increasingly worried as she realised that Sofia had failed to move since sinking onto the rug. She remained leaning against the side of the armchair, knees arched, staring vacantly into the flames.
Sara's heart knotted with fear; she had seen that look before, long ago, back in her own childhood. She suddenly rushed to get finished with Catherine, questioning the fact that she had prioritised her, and helped her on quickly with fresh jeans, a warm coat, and a blanket around her shoulders before she lowered her onto the mattress that she had vacated with Grissom just minutes earlier.
"Sit here," she said, making her comfortable. "Keep the blanket around you, stay warm."
"Where are you going?" Catherine asked worriedly.
"I'm going to help Sofia," Sara said, sparing her a quick squeeze to the shoulder. "Just stay here, I'll be back, okay?"
"Okay."
She sounded no less agitated, but had it at least together enough to attempt to follow Sara's instructions. She remained where Sara had left her, snuggled in the blanket, and Sara moved to join Sofia.
She heard Grissom shout out from the kitchen.
"Sara, how are you doing?"
"We're not there yet!" she shouted back. "Sit tight!"
She did not want the men returning before she had helped Sofia change, but as she crouched in front of her and took a look she saw immediately that that was not the problem. Unlike Catherine, Sofia seemed relatively dry; her jeans were speckled with water from the rain, wet but not drenched, and her LVPD windbreaker – the one that was bloodstained but which Sofia still cherished – was waterproof. The only thing that was wet on her was her hair, and it was draped like a wet sheet down her back, but none of this explained her state.
"Sofia?" Sara questioned, touching her knee. "It's Sara. You feeling okay?"
Sofia did not answer. She did not even look at her, but stared through her to the fire.
Sara moved to hold her closer.
"Sofia?"
No answer.
"You know you're safe now. You're home, you're safe with me. It's okay."
There was still no reaction, and Sara realised with a crunch that Sofia was deep in shock.
She heard Grissom shout out again from the kitchen.
"Sara, talk to me!"
"You can come in!" she replied.
She saw no choice. Plainly something was very wrong, and though she knew what to do, she did not want to delay the guys access to the warm fire either. From what she had seen they were just as wet and ill as Catherine.
Grissom returned with the two of them in tow – both dressed and dry – and led them to sit on the mattress beside Catherine.
"Sit down here with Catherine," he said. "Just rest a minute."
He placed blankets around their shoulders, and then looked over the top of their heads to Sara. She passed him a grave look, trying to wordlessly communicate to him Sofia's state.
He received it perfectly, his eyes narrowing slightly, and he moved to rise and join them just as Nick caught him on the wrist.
"Wait, Griss, Sofia, she's –"
He sounded even more agitated than Catherine, but like Sara, Grissom quickly moved to calm him.
"It's okay," he said. "I'm going to go help her now, you stay here with Catherine and Warrick, and stay warm."
He left before they could debate it, but Sara saw all three sets of eyes follow him across to where she sat with Sofia. Knowing there was nothing worse she could give Sofia than an audience, Sara quickly urged her up.
"On your feet," she said, gently but confidently. "Let's go."
Sofia obeyed without even seeming to comprehend it, her movements mechanical and absent-minded, and taking a side each they helped her into the relative privacy of the kitchen. Sara had intended to pull out a chair for her at the table, where she saw a lone candle burning and a pile of wet clothes from the men, but Sofia barely made it into the room before she lost interest, and sank to sit on the floor in front of the kitchen cabinets, ignoring them.
Grissom's eyes widened with barely restrained concern, but Sara held up a few fingers to him, holding him short of launching into a series of questions. She knew Grissom was superb at handling some forms of counselling – in particular philosophical discussions about their situation – but when it came to raw trauma, it was Sara who was a library on the subject. It was Sara who had gone through it all in her own childhood, and who still lived it with it every day. It was her who knew what to do now.
She knew straightaway there was no point in questioning Sofia – she was plainly deeply in shock and incapable of conversation of any kind, and so she instead knelt on the floor with her and reached for her, doing the only thing which she knew would help.
"Come here …"
Sofia willingly leaned into her arms, and Sara held her.
She said little for a while, merely holding her close and shushing her, comforting her as a mother might, and Sofia leaned against her shoulder and absorbed it all. She did not cry – even now Sofia was not the sobbing kind – but Sara waited it out until a few moments had passed, and when she felt Sofia relax slightly, her muscles slackening, she finally chanced to whisper in her ear.
"Sofia, I want you to listen to me, okay?"
She did not reply, but Sara took that as an affirmative regardless.
"I know you're hurting a lot right now, and I know you're not ready to talk about it, but I want you to know that no matter what happened out there, no matter what you went through, we're here for you. You're safe with us now, and we'll never let anything happen. We love you far too much, okay?"
She hoped she had got it right. If she was honest with herself she knew that profuse speeches of love were not her strong point – such territory was held better by Catherine, who did not hold back in expressing her feelings for anyone in the group, but she said it, and meant it.
"You know we consider you family," she went on. "You're a part of us. And whatever you're feeling right now, whatever you need from us, we'll support you. I'll help you deal with it, every step of the way."
She had run out of words, but hoped it would be enough. She continued to hold her, and saw that next to her, Grissom's eyes had softened immeasurably, his heart breaking. He had watched the entire scene without commenting, but now that Sara had fallen silent seemed to feel prompted to say something, and she saw indecision flit through his eyes before he shifted forward hesitantly, and laid a hand on Sofia's back.
"She's right," he said simply. "We care a great deal."
It was all he said, but for Grissom it was ground-breaking. As much as Sara loved him she knew he was woefully inept at expressing his feelings verbally, and the fact that he had even attempted it was a sign of how bad he felt for Sofia. He said nothing further, but sat with her as Sara continued to comfort her, until a minute or two later when Sofia finally spoke, and whispered two words into Sara's shirt, barely audible.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," Sara replied, holding her close. "You just stay with me, I'll take care of everything."
Sara did take care of everything, and soon found herself at the forefront of psychiatric nursing. She held Sofia for several more minutes until the latter was ready to let go, and after that helped her change. Sofia consented to a fresh pair of jeans and socks, and even let Sara towel-dry her hair, but refused point blank to relinquish her LVPD windbreaker. Sara let it go, spotting fast that the jacket was an object of comfort for her, and was perhaps a connection to her mother, and giving an indicative shake of the head to Grissom she led her instead over to the fire, and bedded her down with the others.
They had set up makeshift beds for them on the couch and floor, and one by one Sara managed to settle them all. She hugged and kissed them one at a time, quelling their anxiety, and was not above telling them that she loved them in order to help them relax and feel protected. Nick and Catherine both needed persuading to put aside their guns, seemingly wanting to fall asleep with them ready in hand, and it was not until Nick did fall asleep that Sara was finally able to slip in and remove it from his grasp, placing it instead on the relative safety of the coffee table.
"You handled that well," Grissom told her, once they had retreated back to the kitchen to let the four sleep.
"Their sense of security is shattered," Sara said, worried.
He nodded. "And a sense of safety is one of the most basic human needs."
"We're going to have to rebuild that. And right now the only thing that's going to help is TLC – letting them know they're loved, that someone cares."
"Then I'll follow your lead."
He gave her a rare look of pure respect, and Sara put a hand on his chest, grateful. She leaned up to kiss him, briefly pecking him on the lips, before they settled in for the long wait. She knew sleep was impossible – that as long as they had no idea what was lurking outside they had no choice but to stay awake, just in case. She was also reluctant to go far in case one of the others woke, knowing they were probably still badly traumatised, and all in all the next few hours passed with torturous slowness. Grissom passed the time by cleaning up, Sara held a vigil in the living room and kitchen, pacing frequently, and in the end it was Catherine who rose first, when it was dark and still a few hours short of dawn.
Sara was ready for it, and was at her side, crouched by the mattress, before Catherine had even fully sat up.
"Hey," she whispered, wary of waking the others. "You okay?"
Catherine took a moment to get her bearings. She rubbed her eyes, pushed back her hair, and looked tiredly to Warrick asleep beside her before she nodded.
"Yeah, I'm okay."
She still sounded weary, and Sara reached straight in to give her a hug.
"Come here – "
"I'm all right," Catherine said, sweetly rubbing Sara's back in return. "I'm okay."
She sounded like she meant it this time and Sara drew away just as Grissom arrived, kneeling down beside her.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
Catherine shrugged. "Better. I'll get there."
"You want to talk?" Sara asked.
Catherine nodded, and a moment later they led her through to the kitchen, Grissom pulling out a chair for her at the table.
"Sit down – I'll get you some hot chocolate."
"None for me, thanks," Catherine replied, taking the proffered seat. "You should probably save it – we found no food."
"We can spare it," he ruled.
He busied himself in making it, and Sara sat by Catherine's side, readying herself for whatever came. A moment later he joined them, and pushed the mug in front of her.
"Thanks," Catherine said.
Her fingertips hovered on the handle, hesitating.
"I'm going to assume the others haven't filled you in already," she began.
"You presume correct," Grissom said.
She nodded to herself, but still hesitated.
"Can you tell us?" Sara prompted.
"There's not much to tell," Catherine replied. "I mean I still don't know what happened, something just snapped. In me, in the guys …"
She looked almost apologetic, wary of their judgement, but Sara waved it down. She felt nothing but empathy.
"It's okay," she said.
"Why don't you start at the beginning," Grissom added.
She took a deep breath before ploughing forward.
"Well we found the highway, turned east, found the town a few miles out. It was pretty much the same story as Vegas, only on a smaller scale. The place was trashed, deserted, no food or anything useful. Someone had cleaned the place out before us. It smelled like a sewer. Then the rain came, we left to set up camp, and on the way out Sofia said she saw something."
"Saw what?" Sara asked.
"A person," Catherine replied. "Though she wasn't sure at the time. We shrugged it off, but hiked a few miles further just in case, camped the night somewhere isolated. It all seemed safe. We were all exhausted, wet, but we fell asleep okay. Later I woke, I was cold, shivering, Sofia and Warrick helped me and then Sofia said she had to go to the bathroom."
She paused, regret clouding her features.
"We should've gone with her."
Sara's insides felt as heavy as lead. Her mind quickly connected the statement with Sofia's mental state earlier, and she did not like the picture it drew.
"What happened?" Grissom asked.
Catherine paused, but then pressed on, her eyes closed as though the memory was painful.
"We fouled up," she confessed. "She went outside half naked – just her shirt and panties – she thought we were alone."
"I take it you weren't?" Sara prompted.
"No, we weren't."
She paused, and Sara took her hand. Her hot chocolate was already forgotten.
Catherine took a deep breath before proceeding.
"We were so overconfident, we gambled needlessly. But after a few minutes I realised she'd been gone a while, and I sent Warrick out after her. Then he didn't come back."
Sara was liking the story less every second, but knew she had to see it through. She squeezed her hand.
"Keep going."
"I realised quickly something was wrong. So I woke Nick, grabbed my gun, we went out after them. We found them down in the bushes. She'd done her business – there was a roll of toilet paper on the rock – but they were crouched down, hiding, guns drawn. They were scared. She said she thought she'd heard something. I looked around, and I thought I something move – a branch shifting unnaturally. But there was no wind, just endless rain. So we sent her back to the tent with Nick, told her to get dressed, and Warrick and I went to take a look."
"I'm going to assume it wasn't the weather," Sara guessed.
"There were footprints in the mud," Catherine confessed. "And they were fresh – not ours. And then I found semen on the rocks."
Sara took in a breath, suddenly knowing what had happened.
"He jacked off watching?" she asked.
Catherine nodded sadly. "Sofia was shaken. I mean, understandably. It's not every day some pervert watches you in that position. And then Nick ticked her off about being out there alone – he seemed more disturbed by it than any of us. But I knew they were in no shape to help, so Warrick and I left them safe by some trees, a visible landmark, and then we went to take care of it."
She paused there, and Sara's mind honed in on the phrase. There was a caution now evident in Catherine's eyes.
"Take care of it?" Grissom asked, noticing the same thing.
"This is the part you may not like," Catherine said, meeting his gaze level with her own. "And if you want me to talk any further, I need to know you're on my side."
"We're always on your side," Sara said firmly. "We're all in this together."
"You don't have to talk on if you don't want to," Grissom said, looking suddenly depressed. "I think we can tell what must have happened."
Catherine nodded, and then looked down at the table. She was quiet for several long moments.
"I've never felt so close to Sam in all my life," she said, tears in her eyes. "And he just stood there, his pants and boxers around his ankles, touching himself, looking like he wanted to rape both of us and then go finish off Sofia. And I don't know, something just snapped. It's like nine months of trauma caught up with me – all the anger, the frustration and the pain, and I fired."
"You don't have to apologise," Sara said, shaking her head in disbelief. "You did nothing wrong."
"I killed a man," Catherine retorted.
She looked deeply uncomfortable, and Sara knew that however easy she had found it in the moment, she did not find it easy to deal with now.
"In self-defence," Grissom pointed out.
"I wish I could be that sure," Catherine said quietly.
Sara took a deep breath, and edged her chair closer.
"Catherine you did nothing wrong. If you hadn't have defended her, there's no telling what would have happened. And it's not a risk we can afford to take. What you need to remember is that the rules we used to live by, the moral code of our old lives, no longer holds here. We're living in a world of complete anarchy, without laws, without government, a land where common decency is buried in that graveyard in Vegas. And the only law that holds out here, that we have to live by, is the law of our own conscience. It's about who we love, about trust and loyalty, and you shouldn't ever be sorry for saving someone you love."
"Sara's right," Grissom added. "The first casualty this plague took was law and order. And now the only true law left is the law of nature. It's survival of the fittest. And if we're not fit, both physically and intellectually, we won't survive."
"And we need to survive," Sara said. "We have not come through eight, nine months of hell only to surrender now. What you did may have been an ugly choice – it sucks that it was necessary – but it was still necessary. And if we're going to settle down here and survive, then those choices are ones we need to be prepared to make. I mean, it's true those people have suffered, that they've lived through so much cruelty and pain that they've been degraded beyond all humanity, but our reality is that if they're bent on killing us, on raping us, then we have to be prepared to defend ourselves. This is a warzone. And if we don't stand together, we won't stand at all."
"Are you saying you would've done the same thing?" Catherine asked.
Sara thought about it, and gave the best answer she could.
"I would've defended Sofia."
Catherine looked to Grissom.
"I'd defend any of you," he said, at ease as if he had long considered this a possibility. "And like Sara said, that moment may yet still come. It might come for all of us. But if it does, then I'll go in with a clear conscience, because if there's one thing Sara's ordeal taught me, it's that there is such a thing as too late. And I'd rather get on the front foot and be sure that everyone is safe, than to risk facing that again. I'm reconciled to that."
Catherine nodded, and finally she seemed to relax a little.
"I guess you're right," she said. "United we stand."
"And divided we fall," Grissom finished.
"Well I didn't come this far to give up on Lindsey now," Catherine said. "Otherwise it's all been for nothing."
"It hasn't been for nothing," Sara said. "Like Gil's said, there's been some positives. It's a question of how we look at it. And as much pain as there's been, we still need to look on the bright side, where we can."
Catherine nodded, but she seemed disinterested in thinking about it for the moment, too mentally weary to contemplate it.
Instead she said, "I still don't understand why he followed us. All those miles through the desert …"
"Isn't it obvious?" Grissom said.
Catherine said nothing.
"Two of the most basic human needs are food and sex," he said. "And both are in short supply out here, if you're stuck out there on your own. And I think for someone who's gone through all that, through eighteen months of privation, the sight of you and Sofia, clean and showered, would have been like sighting the promised land."
"You were probably the first beautiful woman he'd seen in months," Sara said. "And I'm not surprised he stalked you halfway across the desert. I know it's painful to hear, but it makes me glad that you were on your guard."
"You saved Sofia," Grissom said. "And you brought everyone back safe. For now, that's all that matters."
"And the short food supply?" Catherine asked. "Our situation?"
"We'll worry about that tomorrow," Grissom said. "For now, just rest. You've earned it."
He nudged the hot chocolate toward her, and while Sara pressed for a few more details, and learned that they had in fact been followed at least part of the way home by an apparent ally of the dead man, she did not pursue the subject in depth. The house was fortified – all the doors and windows locked – and Catherine needed rest. She hugged her and kissed her, reassured her that she had been right, and then led her back to the bed by the fireside for more rest.
For now, that had to be enough.
To be honest, I really enjoyed wriitng this chapter. I would really love to know what people think - please feedback. :)