Greg looked around as he followed Grissom down the hospital corridor and past the nurses' station. Once they reached the end they took the elevator to the forth floor. After a series of twists and turns Grissom pointed out a room on the righthand side and motioned for him to follow.

"Why are we being so quiet?" Greg asked.

"Why do you ask so many questions?"

"Just curious."

"Then I don't know why we are," Grissom replied, furling his brow.

"Okay then."

Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of Grissoms' cell phone. "Grissom." He hissed into the handset as Greg slithered on ahead, sticking close to the shadows, playing the part of Double-O-Greggo as best as possible.

"Grissom, it's Sara. She's not here."

"Any sign of anything suspicious?" He kept his eye on Greg while he talked, the spiky-haired CSI-wannabe lingering at the end of the nurses' counter, eyes flickering from Catherine's room to Grissom's crouched form.

"I can tell you this, she was definitely not in Bozeman on the dates that the airline says she was. There were some restaurant receipts sitting on her counter, date: February 23rd. And Nick found her date book. She had dinner with a woman named Claire Atkins six times during the month of February. Weird thing is, the dinners stopped after the 18h."

"Just before Catherine went to that pharmacy. And just before Mrs. Scott supposedly went to Bozeman. That last dinner was probably just to finalize the plan...give the decoy the plane ticket, makes sure their story is set."

"But how did she even know Catherine would go to the Garfield's three days later?"

"I wouldn't put it past her to have been watching Catherine...Eddie's death was in the paper...maybe she saw it as an opportunity."

"We know that she's been taking advantage of opportunities lately." Grissom mused to himself, nodding his head in a futile gesture. "Sara, collect as much evidence as you can and get it back to the lab. Have Brass post a team at Mrs. Scott's residence, and you and Nick get back to the lab as soon as possible."

"All right." The connection was broken, and Grissom tucked his phone away, drawing his weapon and coming up behind the waiting Greg.

"Do you see anything?"

"No." The door had been left partway open, sounds of Home shopping exchanges filtering out into the otherwise silent hallway. "I thought nurses stayed on shift all the time. Where'd they all go?"

"That's a good question." Grissom gently fingered the handle of his gun and shook his head, glancing behind him. "Greg, I want you to stay here. Call the police if you see anything suspicious."

"Sure." Greg hung back, pulling a sleek silver cell from his pocket and clutching it in one hand as Grissom headed toward the open doorway and slunk inside. No one was in the room, the bedclothes tossed and rumpled, bathroom door closed tightly.

"Catherine?"

"Gil, I-" There was a sound he'd never wanted to hear, Catherine's call cut short by the familiar sound of a blunt object striking human bone. And silence- a cold, bitter silence washing over him like death.

"Catherine!" The bathroom door was thrust open, and before he knew it, his body hit the tile floor beneath his feet, gun sliding out of reach beyond the doorframe and into the hall.

"You just couldn't stay out of it, could you?! Had to help your precious Catherine." The woman moved out of the doorframe and over to him, her body hovering over his. Grissom winced as he heard the click of the gun as she turned off the safety and his eyes came face to face with the barrel of the gun.

"Mrs. Scott..."

"Shut up! I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear any of it! She...she put my baby away, and he was innocent. She killed him. Not you...this isn't any of your business, Mr. Grissom."

"She didn't kill your husband, Mrs. Scott."

"She may as well have....Jake, he was innocent! She put him in the very jail he was killed in.... if that isn't murder by association I don't know what is, Mr. Grissom."

"Mrs. Scott...if your husband was guilty...then Catherine only did her job. She didn't have a personal vendetta...."

"Like I do? She didn't have a personal vendetta, Mr. Grissom? A mother, like your precious Miss Willows, didn't have a vendetta against me for having a husband who loved me and my daughter?"

"Mrs. Scott..." He tore his eyes from the muzzle of the gun and sought out her eyes, the pain and anger radiating from the depths and almost tangible. "You don't have to do this."

"And you didn't have to interfere!" She wrapped her fingers more tightly around the weapon, backing the criminalist into the corner of the room beneath the active television set. "But you did, and not only did I have to take her out of the picture, but she can have her lover die needlessly, just like mine did!!"

He didn't move, couldn't speak as the manicured nails began to squeeze at the slick, black trigger...and the television droned on about gun safety in the voice of the local sheriff....

And a shot rang out above the sounds.

It felt to familiar, to reminiscent of the last time he'd found himself threatened with bodily harm. He opened his eyes to find that he'd not been injured, save a bruised ego and a small bump on the back of his head. Except this time the face he saw standing before him was not Catherine's, but Greg's. And the body on the floor was not Sid Goggle, but Mrs. Scott...and she was most certainly not dead.

She was instead, writhing on the floor in agony, clutching her thigh in an attempt to slow the bleeding.

"Thanks, Greg."

"Anytime boss," Greg replied, lowering the gun, and putting the safety back on. "You okay?"

"I'm fine...but we really could use a doctor in here."

"Sure...I'll be back in just a second."

Grissom watched as Greg exited the room, and went in search of a doctor. Abandoning Mrs. Scott, he ran through the open bathroom door, and knelt by Catherine's side.

"Catherine...come on baby, wake up." It was then he saw the blood flowing from the back of her head. It wasn't much, and taking a cloth from the edge of the sink, he tried to stem the flow as best he could.

"I told you to play nice, Gil-- the bedstead isn't built for human skulls to bounce off..." Catherine's parched lips moved before he'd expected, her hand coming up to cover his as he continued to staunch the bleeding.

"What th..."

"You're all right, Catherine. Don't try to sit up yet." The cloth was doing it's job, and Grissom hastily tore a string from the wall, where it dangled limply from the 'help' button, tying the folded cloth to his lover's head wound. "You were hit over the head."

"I'm glad you cleared that up. Things were a bit fuzzy." Her response was rife with sarcasm, and Catherine shifted position on the floor. "Mrs. Scott came in...I thought she was the nurse, and I was in the bathroom...."

"She's out of the way, Catherine. Greg went for the authorities."

"Out of the way? You sound like a Mafia hit man."

"I didn't tell you about my secret identity?"

"Ha ha. Funny man."

"I've always wanted to be a comedian."

"Don't quit your day job."

"Well, you almost quit yours." He slipped his hands beneath her knees and hoisted her into his arms, placing a gentle kiss upon her forehead. "You wouldn't want to leave me with a big hole to fill in the roster, would you?"

"We'll see what Mobley has to say about that."

"Leave him to me, Cath." Catherine's arms secured themselves around his neck, and Grissom carefully maneuvered them through the doorway, where they met a team of paramedics who were hoisting the wounded Mrs. Scott onto a stretcher.

"All she wanted was her husband back," Catherine murmured as the woman was rolled away.

"But he was guilty."

"He was."

"You couldn't have prevented him from dying, Catherine."

"I know, but that doesn't make it any easier. Sometimes I think it makes it that much harder to deal with...knowing that everything was out of my control."

"We're not talking about Mr. Scott anymore, are we?"

"Does it matter?"

"Catherine...nothing's going to be out of your control anymore. I promise." Waving away the medical personnel, Grissom carried her past the waiting police, motioning to Greg to follow along. "Greg- go pull up the Tahoe."

"My knight in shining armor is taking me home?" Catherine's eyes were heavy-lidded, and she turned her chin upward to smile at him. "Your home or mine?"

"It's a surprise. Shh."

"You know how I like surprises."

"Well you have to get that head checked first...then you'll get your surprise."

"I knew it was too good to be true."

Grissom found a mostly quiet spot and set her down. "I'll be back in a minute."

And he was, doctor in tow. The doctor looked her over once before focusing on her head wound. First, he cleaned it up, and then stitched it up carefully. "Miss Willows, are you adamant about going home?"

"I need to get out of here."

"Well, normally, since you have a concussion, we'd keep you here...but Mr. Grissom assured me you were in good hands so you are free to go provided you follow a few instructions."

"Just name them."

"No work for at least a couple of weeks...you're body's been through a lot these past few days, it still needs some time to heal, and recuperate. Second, don't get your stitches wet. Third, I've talked so a few of the psychiatrists here, I'm recommending you go talk to one of them...you don't have to. But it might help, to get things off of your chest."

"Thanks." Catherine smiled as she took the piece of paper containing the instructions from him. "We can leave now?"

"Yea, you're free to go."

"Hear that? I'm free to go." Catherine's eyes met those of her 'knight', and she smiled. "You know, I seem to recall that it's your bringing me to the doctor that got me into the hospital in the first place."

"It was for your own good."

"I'm sure." She commented, as he began to hoist her into his arms once again. As he slipped her into the back seat of his Tahoe, moments later, she took one look at Greg in the drivers seat, before beckoning Grissom to get in next to her.

"What?"

"The doctor may have suggested a psychiatrist to help get things off my chest," She said, reaching up to stroke his ear teasingly. "But we're just going to have to revamp our techniques a bit, don't you think?"

"Catherine- I don't think that's what he meant."

"I know that's not what he meant." Catherine ran her hand down his arm as Greg put the Tahoe into drive and pulled out. "You know I've always liked you in leather."

"I know. Why do you think I wore this jacket?" Grissom flashed a smirk her direction, eyes flashing brilliantly.

"Who can't resist a man in leather?"

"No woman I've known." Greg offered, pulling the vehicle into traffic. "Man, where'd you get that leather jacket? If I had one, maybe Sara-"

"Greg, drive." Catherine closed her eyes to the rocking of the Tahoe as it moved speedily down the asphalt, and the scent of leather wafted to her nostrils as Grissom reached from behind her and wrapped a comforting arm over her shoulder. "Just drive."

She woke up only when Greg put the Tahoe in park and Grissom began to lift her from the front seat, wrapping her arms securely around his neck and turning her head to breathe in the scent of leather as he carried her toward the front door. /His/ front door, her mind registered, through the haze of fatigue, and she managed to lift her head enough to kiss the skin behind his ear.

Grissom replied, unlocking the door and carrying her over the threshold.

She closed her eyes as he walked through the townhouse, content with using Grissom's shoulder as her pillow. However, another minute later, she felt herself being lowered onto a bed, and when she pried her eyes open a second time she realized she was in his guestroom.

The light wasn't on, but she could see his silhouette as he moved out into the hall momentarily, and then back in again carrying a rather large blanket.

"I haven't had people in my house for a while," he whispered, and she nodded in reply. They were well accustomed to staying at her place on nights when she couldn't find a sitter to watch Lindsey.

She moved aside as he slipped beneath the blanket, leather jacket gone and leaving only the scent she knew too well as Grissom himself, the strength and stamina, wisdom and sensitivity rolled into a man who had just now become her personal body pillow.

"You smell good," she muttered as she snuggled up closer to him.

"It's the leather jacket, women love it." He winked a wink unseen by Catherine as her eyes were now closed, her breathing even. Pulling the covers up and over her shoulders, Grissom kissed her lightly on the forehead.

"Goodnight Catherine, I love you." And he settled in to sleep, arms safely around the one thing that mattered most to him.

-- Fin.