She’d thought the process would be a great deal easier if she’d loved the man, although difficulty was raging, as were her fears and doubts regarding Lindsey’s well being. The bullet tract wasn’t quite as deep in comparison to Lindsey’s psychological trauma, and to lose a parent...the loss of her own family hadn’t been quite as dire, but the circumstances were drastically different. And she wasn’t sure how to mourn.

The blood fell from her fingertips, dropping onto the moist grass, steam rising from the pointed stems and sending its coppery scent to mingle with the smells of dewy early morning. She sat, her legs folded beneath her, feeling the wet and the cool seeping through the fabric of her form-fitting pinsripe pantlegs, and found that dispite the discomfort, she didn’t care. The brilliant purple rose in her fingers fell to the earth, curled stem wrought with thorns that gently clutched her blood to them, and she turned her hand over to gaze indifferently at the small gashes that had formed in her palm. They didn’t hurt as much as she’d thought, and didn’t seem as intense as the ache forming in her stomach. Days had passed, and between dealing with Lindsey, the funeral...Lindsey...she’d finally found a moment in her out-of-work sabbatical to visit the only place she hadn’t yet been to. And it was strange; still, to be sitting atop the fresh grave of a man whose life she’d once treasured...until the day when she’d made the decision that herself and her child were more important than family and togetherness. A coke habit shaken, independence gained...and she’d thought about him for months afterward, remembered the scent of his skin and the way he’d held her at night. Although she knew the decision had been for the best, and once over the shock, she’d begun to realize her strength and become accustomed to handling it alone.

"Eddie, you know I would have come sooner," She reached out to arrange the rose closer to the polished gravestone, paid for by Eddie’s meager savings, and her eyes traced the letters slowly, absorbing the information they spelled out. Grissom had been there, by her side as she’d written the words on paper, and even then they’d seemed false, although somehow...the tug at her heart gave her the urge to write them, to somehow honor his final memory as best she could. It had helped with Lindsey, in the slightest sense, putting a smile on the face that had aged, slightly, over the passage of time between his death, and the acknowledgement that he was finally gone forever.

"I’m thankful that Lindsey was all right...she misses you every second of every day...refuses to go to sleep without wishing on her lucky card that you’re all right. Made me put a calling card into your coffin...in case heaven was a toll call." She’d told Grissom this, and he’d smiled...hand resting tenderly on her shoulder as she’d scribbled upon the form for the tombstone.

He’d been there through the majority of it all, passing off her cases to Sara, Nick and Warrick...offering her a ride home, a ride to pick up Lindsey...and to pick up dinner, as her need to cook had diminished along with her desire to live for the moment. Currently, her desire had fallen to the level of ‘just get through it’, and that had to be enough.

Fog rose as Nevada welcomed the dawn, sunlight rising over scattered trees and reflecting off of sharp angles carved into the stone. She held her hand over her eyes, shading them as her body angled itself away from the harsh rays, ignoring the beauty of the morning against the scattered memorials surrounding her. It was time now, time to finish the moment and move on to the next...start living her moments and help her daughter to live her own with the most fulfillment she could get out of everything. Eddie’s death had been investigated, case closed, and file banished to the depths of the filing facilities at the crime lab.

She climbed to her feet, brushing grass and twigs from the knees of her pants, drawing her hand closer to the stone and pressing her palm against the warm surface, again tracing the etchings with her fingertips as she straightened her body.

"I’ll always love you in a certain way, Ed...but rest in peace, now, and give us a call from heaven, sometime...when you’re not busy playing your music for them." A smile formed on her lips, soft and gentle against the tightly drawn skin around her eyes, the furrows in her brow that had formed over days of trials and tribulations. "Goodbye."

And Catherine Willows pivoted, boots leaving barely discernable impressions in the grass that dried beneath the rays of the morning sun. Her hair bounced against her powder blue t-shirt, blond curls golden in the light, and her stride was long, casual and light, the burden and tragedy lifted from her shoulders to fly with the birds on the horizon.

The words glistened in the sunlight, and as she glanced back, one last time, she realized that she’d never once spoken them aloud...and yet, they were so final. The end.

/Eddie Willows. As a father he was loved, and as a husband he was cherished./