CSI Fic: Possibilities
I said once I got a handle on my life I'd start updating with the fic I've been writing. I'm still in full on flail-mode but this is overdue.
I wrote this for the CSI Secret Santa Challenge and seeing as I'll most likely be late with my CSI Smut-a-thon entry I offer this as appeasement.
My very first try at Yo!Bling
Title: Possibilities
Rating: PG
Pairing Cath/Warrick implied
Summary: After his life is radically changed Warrick considers all the possibilities (Warning: Character Death)
Spoilers: Up to Current Season
A/N Written for MedicWarrickLVR for the CSI Secret Santa Challenge
You can’t understand cold when you live in a desert. Sure, it could get nippy once the sun went down but you threw on a jacket and you were good. You could go your whole life never realizing that there are parts of the world where cold is more; cold is like this mean bitch that jumps you as soon as you step outside and tries to suck the breath from your lungs, a cold that makes your skin hurt, a cold that seems to get down inside you and turn everything hot and vital into solid ice.
Warrick huddled deeper into the inadequate protection of his “bought for Vegas winters” jacket and wondered once again how Tina’s family could stand it. He looked over at the sturdy clump of them gathered by the church door, their sensible black wool coats already flecked with spats of snow. Of course, being cold was probably the last thing on their minds, burying their daughter would be. Not that the solidly frozen ground would be ready anytime soon to give her its welcome, this determined and miserable gathering is just one of the steps on a long road.
Despite the pamphlets the work counsellors insistently provided, grieving wasn’t really a “multistep” process. There’s no way mourning was that orderly, or sane, especially if a junkie shot your wife in the face at her place of business. No, instead you stopped living on planet Earth and entered this strange new world; griefland; a place where people won’t or can’t meet your eyes and underneath the murmured condolences there was a small spark of avidity, that base urge to know how, and how bad was it? A place where people shook their heads and gave each other meaningful looks behind your back. A place where you almost wished there was some kind of procedure to follow because at least then you’d know the right things to do. Unlike his desire to punch people in the head or get all up in his boss’ face because Griss’ won’t let him work the case like Warrick knew he wouldn’t or couldn’t anyway. So instead he was here in the cold wondering what the hell he was doing in Buffalo.
“We’re taking Tina home, so she can be buried with family.” Tina’s dad; his Baptist deacon voice grave and slow, his dark eyes still wounded looking. Warrick had understood he wasn’t asking, he was telling.
“If you think that’s best.” He had been her husband, damn it.
“We do. My wife never understood why she had to go all the way out to Vegas to be a doctor anyway. Plenty of chances to be a doctor back home.”
Warrick knew why. Tina’s voice had filled with chagrined fondness when she’d talked about her family; their stolid middle-class values and simple heartfelt Baptist beliefs an embarrassment in lurid Vegas. She’d longed for freedom and excitement, it wasn’t enough to be an ER doctor; she had to be a doctor in the city mobsters had built on peoples’ need to gamble.
Even their hasty union was in many ways more of a “why the hell not?” gamble in a city where marriages don’t count for 72 hours anyway; brought on by playful pillow talk and the nagging mental image of Nicky’s face on that monitor, life was too damn short so yeah, let’s do this thing. But 72 hours had come and gone and somehow the joke was still going strong.
Or it had been, until Tina got shot.
“We’re heading back to the house now,” Bernice, Tina’s mom, said. A short round woman made even puffier by the long down coat she wore. She had been the only one to hug Warrick after he had spent endless moments resting his hand on the satiny dark wood of Tina’s casket. He had had an impression of doughy softness as her arms enveloped him, then lily of the valley sachet. He had closed his eyes and inhaled, remembering how his grandmother had worn a similar scent. “Eau de Old Lady” she used to joke. Too old for Bernice; or the Bernice he recalled from Tina’s family pictures. Her daughters’ death had aged her, everything firm and solid about her, even her girth, had been reduced. He had sunk into the embrace of the slack, sagging woman who had held him and crooned when he finally broke and cried.
“I’ll pass thanks. I want to head back to the hotel and touch base with…” He trailed off, the enormity of “my wife’s murder investigation” caught in his throat. Also he wasn’t sure he could take another minute in Tina’s old house, surrounded by her family and the constant surprising reminders of Tina’s life-before; Tina in an electric green leotard surrounded by other thirteen year old girls proudly posing by a dance trophy, an impossibly young Tina grinning gap-toothed out of a school photo, the neat row of bronzed baby shoes displayed in a curio cabinet, the laughter and tears as her family regaled each other with story after story of “what Tina did that time”. Warrick was nobody’s fool, they were polite and kind, but he wasn’t kin, no matter what the ring on his finger had meant.
Even though he’d been shut out of the investigation, he’d still pestered Nicky day and night for updates on the investigation and Warrick could hear a trace of frustration underneath the drawl.
“Trust me ‘Rick, there’s no way this scumbag is walking away from this without a Murder One conviction…”
Deep down Warrick knew this; to avoid any implication of a personal vendetta and in a rare burst of professional courtesy Ecklie had assigned his best team from day shift. They’d amassed a solid block of evidence that the DA was planning to tie around the perp’s neck to hang him with, not too difficult considering they’d found Tina’s killer-one Mr. Randy Catalano-with ample GSR on his hands to go along with the chicken grease and traces of Tina’s blood under his fingernails, a half block from the hospital still clutching the small supply of morphine he stolen. The gun he’d tossed turned up in a dumpster nearby. As far as cases went it was pretty much an open and shut one. If he were just assigned to the case he’d have long put it behind him and moved on to the next one, but he wasn’t. He’d already pulled out his cell and punched the speed dial for Nick before his rental car had even warmed up properly.
“Willows.” Hearing Catherine’s voice, even her professional brisk “I’m at work so make it snappy,” one startled him; he must have pushed the wrong button.
"Uh, hey Cath’, it’s me.”
“Warrick.” Instantly her voice changed, not into that phoney sympathy voice he was beginning to hate hearing from everyone, just the warm regular voice he knew so well, “How are you doing?”
He didn’t answer right away, ever since Tina’s death he’d found reasons not to be alone with Catherine, “I’m fine.” The answer was automatic. “Sorry to bug you at work, I meant to call Nick instead…”
“Oh and bug him at work? Come on Warrick, what’s up with you?” The anger and hurt in her voice silenced him. “You’ve been avoiding everyone but Nick; you blew up at Grissom, then the next thing we knew, you took off to Rochester-”
“Buffalo.” He corrected.
“Whatever! What’s going on with you?"
He wanted to say, “Apart from burying my wife?” but said, “Nothing. I’m fine,” like a sullen teenager, instead.
She didn’t stand for it. “‘Fine’? Warrick stop it. This isn’t like you; you’ve barely talked to me during the past week.”
“Oh and that’s really pissing you off isn’t it? The fact I didn’t come running to you after all this happened?” he said acidly. “What did you think? That we were-”
“Stop it.” She snapped.
They both said nothing; just let the painful silence fill the space between them. He knew she was upset because she was rarely quiet for that long. When she spoke again her voice was stiff.
“If you think I expected…anything from you-that I thought we’d…”
“I was going to ask for a divorce.” Warrick blurted.
Another beat of silence.
“You were?”
“Yeah.” He sighed and felt that hard knot in his chest he’d been carrying around ever since everything happened begin to loosen. “I think we both knew it was a mistake. It wasn’t like we didn’t get along, we did. But we were just…drifting through the marriage,” Once he’d confessed he couldn’t stop, it all came pouring out. “We barely saw each other, and when we were together there was just this…”
“Distance?” she said.
He seized on her description. “Yeah, distance. We’d be lying in the same bed and I could tell she was miles away.” He paused. “Then she was murdered and…I dunno, I feel…” He groped for the word.
“Guilty?”
“Exactly. Like somehow it’s my fault Tina got shot.”
She sighed noisily. “And then you feel angry for feeling guilty and surprised at how much it still hurts? That maybe you were still in love and you’d made a mistake thinking it was over?”
“Yeah.” He was surprised at how easily she was able to put a name to everything that had been roiling around inside him, “How do you know?”
“Because I felt the same way after Eddie was killed.”
“Oh.” How could he have forgotten about Eddie?
“It all just kind of hit me and I lay on my bed and sobbed. Scared the hell out of Lindsay…”
He laughed weakly. “You cry? I thought you were too tough for that.”
She chuckled at his small joke and a kind of peace settled between them.
“Love doesn’t end just because the marriage does. Feelings aren’t something you can turn on and off.”
He nodded forgetting that she was thousands of miles away and couldn’t see him, but he couldn’t speak; he was aware that they were talking about something more than just Tina. He sensed she knew this too. He opened his mouth unsure what he was going to say but she kept talking.
“And even if we could have stopped this tragedy and she hadn’t died and the both of you had divorced…you’d still need time to deal with everything. Just like you need time now.”
“I took time off.” Actually Grissom had made him; he had wanted to keep on working, to lose himself in the comfort of familiar tasks.
“That doesn’t mean you’ve allowed yourself to grieve for her,” she said.
His throat grew thick when she softened her voice and asked, “Did you think you couldn’t…because you were ready to leave her?”
“I guess. I feel…like I don’t have the right. Does that make sense? I mean I’m not working her case, I didn’t even catch the guy, it’s like I’m not even fighting for her, you know, to get justice for her.”
“Warrick…” She paused and when she spoke again her voice was careful, “that’s not your job. Your job is to mourn for your wife as her husband.”
“Even though I didn’t want to be anymore?”
“Don’t think about that, you loved her enough to marry her, she must have loved you too. That counts for a lot. Love is in short enough supply in this world, let what you two had-for however short a time-be enough.”
He sighed and leaned back in the seat and looked out the windshield at the overcast grey world outside. He felt like that inside; drained of colour, but oddly enough, he also felt lighter than he had in a long time. Like he’d been forgiven.
“You’re such a guy.” She chided lightly. “Smooth with the ladies except when it comes to talking about your feelings, then you clam up.”
“Good thing I have a friend like you to drag it out of me.” He teased back.
“Well, I was worried about you, ‘Rick, we all were.”
He felt tears pricking at his eyes, “Even though I was acting like an ass?”
“Yes. Even though you were acting like an ass, I care-we all care about you. We’re like a family and that’s what families are for, to worry about you and care for you and love you…no matter how much of an incommunicative jerk you’ve been.”
Warrick groaned ruefully. “I guess I’ve got some apologizing to do.”
“No, you don’t-well maybe to Nicky, poor guy jumps every time his phone rings now.”
“Tell him I’m sorry. It’s just that I was-”
“You were hurting, you’re still hurting; give yourself time to let her go…”
“I will.” He heaved a shuddery sigh, feeling that hard knot in his chest finally ease and disappear. “Thanks, ‘Cath…thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome, that’s what friends are for.”
“Maybe more than friends.” It was out before he had a chance to pull it back.
She laughed unsteadily, “Slow down tiger.”
He plunged on embarrassed and unsure, “It’s just that you said once-”
“That there was a possibility. And there is; there are always possibilities. Just take your time and when you’re ready…we’ll see.”
“Sorry, I just-” He floundered; he hadn’t felt this raw and awkward since high school. The emotional roller coaster he’d been on had upset his equilibrium.
“Don’t worry about it.” She said smoothly. “Grief makes us loopy, trust me, I know.”
His heart felt overfull, brimming with loss and hope and gratitude. She understood him in a way few women did, willing to brush off a hasty confession that must have meant the world in the hope he would tell her again when they both had a chance to do something about it.
“So when will you be back?” She switched gears, expertly guiding the conversation back into safe territory.
“Soon. Sooner than I thought, actually.” It was true. Tina was with her family; he needed to get back to his.
“Good. We’ve missed you; it’s not the same without you here.”
“I’ve missed you guys too.”
“Travel safe and I’ll see you when you get here.”
“I will.”
They said their goodbyes and he hung up. He stared at the gold band on his finger, twisting it and thinking. When he’d bought it he had been filled with all the possibilities married life might mean; buying a home, having kids, who knew.
Making a decision he slipped it off and threaded it on the chain his grandmother gave him when he graduated from high school, where it nestled next to the gold cross. He tucked the chain back under his shirt. He wasn’t quite ready to stop wearing it just yet, but he thought he would be, one day soon.
As Catherine said, the world was filled with possibilities. Some good, some bad but they were always there. He still had enough gambler left in him to risk that Catherine would still be there, waiting for him when he was.
FIN.
In the "I may not know art but I know what I like..." Dept:
What was up with the cracktacular opening ceremonies for the Olympic Games? Very Felliniesque, well at least the first part was, the second part? From Futurism to the Future? Dude someone at the Italian Ministry for Concocting Olympic Games Opening Ceremonies is on the good shit, because according to them, in the future we'll be ruled by inside-out cockatoos who drive around on Mad Max motorcycles with circus strongmen. That shit is fucked up, yo.
I was watching with my sister and the best part was after I had expressed my disbelief at all this craziness was when she said, "Oh you haven't even seen the spiders yet..."
*boggles*
And a big YAY! to the Women's Hockey Team, You Go Girls! Keep on Kicking Ass and Taking Names! WOOOOOO! *Waves Canada Flag*
I wrote this for the CSI Secret Santa Challenge and seeing as I'll most likely be late with my CSI Smut-a-thon entry I offer this as appeasement.
My very first try at Yo!Bling
Title: Possibilities
Rating: PG
Pairing Cath/Warrick implied
Summary: After his life is radically changed Warrick considers all the possibilities (Warning: Character Death)
Spoilers: Up to Current Season
A/N Written for MedicWarrickLVR for the CSI Secret Santa Challenge
You can’t understand cold when you live in a desert. Sure, it could get nippy once the sun went down but you threw on a jacket and you were good. You could go your whole life never realizing that there are parts of the world where cold is more; cold is like this mean bitch that jumps you as soon as you step outside and tries to suck the breath from your lungs, a cold that makes your skin hurt, a cold that seems to get down inside you and turn everything hot and vital into solid ice.
Warrick huddled deeper into the inadequate protection of his “bought for Vegas winters” jacket and wondered once again how Tina’s family could stand it. He looked over at the sturdy clump of them gathered by the church door, their sensible black wool coats already flecked with spats of snow. Of course, being cold was probably the last thing on their minds, burying their daughter would be. Not that the solidly frozen ground would be ready anytime soon to give her its welcome, this determined and miserable gathering is just one of the steps on a long road.
Despite the pamphlets the work counsellors insistently provided, grieving wasn’t really a “multistep” process. There’s no way mourning was that orderly, or sane, especially if a junkie shot your wife in the face at her place of business. No, instead you stopped living on planet Earth and entered this strange new world; griefland; a place where people won’t or can’t meet your eyes and underneath the murmured condolences there was a small spark of avidity, that base urge to know how, and how bad was it? A place where people shook their heads and gave each other meaningful looks behind your back. A place where you almost wished there was some kind of procedure to follow because at least then you’d know the right things to do. Unlike his desire to punch people in the head or get all up in his boss’ face because Griss’ won’t let him work the case like Warrick knew he wouldn’t or couldn’t anyway. So instead he was here in the cold wondering what the hell he was doing in Buffalo.
“We’re taking Tina home, so she can be buried with family.” Tina’s dad; his Baptist deacon voice grave and slow, his dark eyes still wounded looking. Warrick had understood he wasn’t asking, he was telling.
“If you think that’s best.” He had been her husband, damn it.
“We do. My wife never understood why she had to go all the way out to Vegas to be a doctor anyway. Plenty of chances to be a doctor back home.”
Warrick knew why. Tina’s voice had filled with chagrined fondness when she’d talked about her family; their stolid middle-class values and simple heartfelt Baptist beliefs an embarrassment in lurid Vegas. She’d longed for freedom and excitement, it wasn’t enough to be an ER doctor; she had to be a doctor in the city mobsters had built on peoples’ need to gamble.
Even their hasty union was in many ways more of a “why the hell not?” gamble in a city where marriages don’t count for 72 hours anyway; brought on by playful pillow talk and the nagging mental image of Nicky’s face on that monitor, life was too damn short so yeah, let’s do this thing. But 72 hours had come and gone and somehow the joke was still going strong.
Or it had been, until Tina got shot.
“We’re heading back to the house now,” Bernice, Tina’s mom, said. A short round woman made even puffier by the long down coat she wore. She had been the only one to hug Warrick after he had spent endless moments resting his hand on the satiny dark wood of Tina’s casket. He had had an impression of doughy softness as her arms enveloped him, then lily of the valley sachet. He had closed his eyes and inhaled, remembering how his grandmother had worn a similar scent. “Eau de Old Lady” she used to joke. Too old for Bernice; or the Bernice he recalled from Tina’s family pictures. Her daughters’ death had aged her, everything firm and solid about her, even her girth, had been reduced. He had sunk into the embrace of the slack, sagging woman who had held him and crooned when he finally broke and cried.
“I’ll pass thanks. I want to head back to the hotel and touch base with…” He trailed off, the enormity of “my wife’s murder investigation” caught in his throat. Also he wasn’t sure he could take another minute in Tina’s old house, surrounded by her family and the constant surprising reminders of Tina’s life-before; Tina in an electric green leotard surrounded by other thirteen year old girls proudly posing by a dance trophy, an impossibly young Tina grinning gap-toothed out of a school photo, the neat row of bronzed baby shoes displayed in a curio cabinet, the laughter and tears as her family regaled each other with story after story of “what Tina did that time”. Warrick was nobody’s fool, they were polite and kind, but he wasn’t kin, no matter what the ring on his finger had meant.
Even though he’d been shut out of the investigation, he’d still pestered Nicky day and night for updates on the investigation and Warrick could hear a trace of frustration underneath the drawl.
“Trust me ‘Rick, there’s no way this scumbag is walking away from this without a Murder One conviction…”
Deep down Warrick knew this; to avoid any implication of a personal vendetta and in a rare burst of professional courtesy Ecklie had assigned his best team from day shift. They’d amassed a solid block of evidence that the DA was planning to tie around the perp’s neck to hang him with, not too difficult considering they’d found Tina’s killer-one Mr. Randy Catalano-with ample GSR on his hands to go along with the chicken grease and traces of Tina’s blood under his fingernails, a half block from the hospital still clutching the small supply of morphine he stolen. The gun he’d tossed turned up in a dumpster nearby. As far as cases went it was pretty much an open and shut one. If he were just assigned to the case he’d have long put it behind him and moved on to the next one, but he wasn’t. He’d already pulled out his cell and punched the speed dial for Nick before his rental car had even warmed up properly.
“Willows.” Hearing Catherine’s voice, even her professional brisk “I’m at work so make it snappy,” one startled him; he must have pushed the wrong button.
"Uh, hey Cath’, it’s me.”
“Warrick.” Instantly her voice changed, not into that phoney sympathy voice he was beginning to hate hearing from everyone, just the warm regular voice he knew so well, “How are you doing?”
He didn’t answer right away, ever since Tina’s death he’d found reasons not to be alone with Catherine, “I’m fine.” The answer was automatic. “Sorry to bug you at work, I meant to call Nick instead…”
“Oh and bug him at work? Come on Warrick, what’s up with you?” The anger and hurt in her voice silenced him. “You’ve been avoiding everyone but Nick; you blew up at Grissom, then the next thing we knew, you took off to Rochester-”
“Buffalo.” He corrected.
“Whatever! What’s going on with you?"
He wanted to say, “Apart from burying my wife?” but said, “Nothing. I’m fine,” like a sullen teenager, instead.
She didn’t stand for it. “‘Fine’? Warrick stop it. This isn’t like you; you’ve barely talked to me during the past week.”
“Oh and that’s really pissing you off isn’t it? The fact I didn’t come running to you after all this happened?” he said acidly. “What did you think? That we were-”
“Stop it.” She snapped.
They both said nothing; just let the painful silence fill the space between them. He knew she was upset because she was rarely quiet for that long. When she spoke again her voice was stiff.
“If you think I expected…anything from you-that I thought we’d…”
“I was going to ask for a divorce.” Warrick blurted.
Another beat of silence.
“You were?”
“Yeah.” He sighed and felt that hard knot in his chest he’d been carrying around ever since everything happened begin to loosen. “I think we both knew it was a mistake. It wasn’t like we didn’t get along, we did. But we were just…drifting through the marriage,” Once he’d confessed he couldn’t stop, it all came pouring out. “We barely saw each other, and when we were together there was just this…”
“Distance?” she said.
He seized on her description. “Yeah, distance. We’d be lying in the same bed and I could tell she was miles away.” He paused. “Then she was murdered and…I dunno, I feel…” He groped for the word.
“Guilty?”
“Exactly. Like somehow it’s my fault Tina got shot.”
She sighed noisily. “And then you feel angry for feeling guilty and surprised at how much it still hurts? That maybe you were still in love and you’d made a mistake thinking it was over?”
“Yeah.” He was surprised at how easily she was able to put a name to everything that had been roiling around inside him, “How do you know?”
“Because I felt the same way after Eddie was killed.”
“Oh.” How could he have forgotten about Eddie?
“It all just kind of hit me and I lay on my bed and sobbed. Scared the hell out of Lindsay…”
He laughed weakly. “You cry? I thought you were too tough for that.”
She chuckled at his small joke and a kind of peace settled between them.
“Love doesn’t end just because the marriage does. Feelings aren’t something you can turn on and off.”
He nodded forgetting that she was thousands of miles away and couldn’t see him, but he couldn’t speak; he was aware that they were talking about something more than just Tina. He sensed she knew this too. He opened his mouth unsure what he was going to say but she kept talking.
“And even if we could have stopped this tragedy and she hadn’t died and the both of you had divorced…you’d still need time to deal with everything. Just like you need time now.”
“I took time off.” Actually Grissom had made him; he had wanted to keep on working, to lose himself in the comfort of familiar tasks.
“That doesn’t mean you’ve allowed yourself to grieve for her,” she said.
His throat grew thick when she softened her voice and asked, “Did you think you couldn’t…because you were ready to leave her?”
“I guess. I feel…like I don’t have the right. Does that make sense? I mean I’m not working her case, I didn’t even catch the guy, it’s like I’m not even fighting for her, you know, to get justice for her.”
“Warrick…” She paused and when she spoke again her voice was careful, “that’s not your job. Your job is to mourn for your wife as her husband.”
“Even though I didn’t want to be anymore?”
“Don’t think about that, you loved her enough to marry her, she must have loved you too. That counts for a lot. Love is in short enough supply in this world, let what you two had-for however short a time-be enough.”
He sighed and leaned back in the seat and looked out the windshield at the overcast grey world outside. He felt like that inside; drained of colour, but oddly enough, he also felt lighter than he had in a long time. Like he’d been forgiven.
“You’re such a guy.” She chided lightly. “Smooth with the ladies except when it comes to talking about your feelings, then you clam up.”
“Good thing I have a friend like you to drag it out of me.” He teased back.
“Well, I was worried about you, ‘Rick, we all were.”
He felt tears pricking at his eyes, “Even though I was acting like an ass?”
“Yes. Even though you were acting like an ass, I care-we all care about you. We’re like a family and that’s what families are for, to worry about you and care for you and love you…no matter how much of an incommunicative jerk you’ve been.”
Warrick groaned ruefully. “I guess I’ve got some apologizing to do.”
“No, you don’t-well maybe to Nicky, poor guy jumps every time his phone rings now.”
“Tell him I’m sorry. It’s just that I was-”
“You were hurting, you’re still hurting; give yourself time to let her go…”
“I will.” He heaved a shuddery sigh, feeling that hard knot in his chest finally ease and disappear. “Thanks, ‘Cath…thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome, that’s what friends are for.”
“Maybe more than friends.” It was out before he had a chance to pull it back.
She laughed unsteadily, “Slow down tiger.”
He plunged on embarrassed and unsure, “It’s just that you said once-”
“That there was a possibility. And there is; there are always possibilities. Just take your time and when you’re ready…we’ll see.”
“Sorry, I just-” He floundered; he hadn’t felt this raw and awkward since high school. The emotional roller coaster he’d been on had upset his equilibrium.
“Don’t worry about it.” She said smoothly. “Grief makes us loopy, trust me, I know.”
His heart felt overfull, brimming with loss and hope and gratitude. She understood him in a way few women did, willing to brush off a hasty confession that must have meant the world in the hope he would tell her again when they both had a chance to do something about it.
“So when will you be back?” She switched gears, expertly guiding the conversation back into safe territory.
“Soon. Sooner than I thought, actually.” It was true. Tina was with her family; he needed to get back to his.
“Good. We’ve missed you; it’s not the same without you here.”
“I’ve missed you guys too.”
“Travel safe and I’ll see you when you get here.”
“I will.”
They said their goodbyes and he hung up. He stared at the gold band on his finger, twisting it and thinking. When he’d bought it he had been filled with all the possibilities married life might mean; buying a home, having kids, who knew.
Making a decision he slipped it off and threaded it on the chain his grandmother gave him when he graduated from high school, where it nestled next to the gold cross. He tucked the chain back under his shirt. He wasn’t quite ready to stop wearing it just yet, but he thought he would be, one day soon.
As Catherine said, the world was filled with possibilities. Some good, some bad but they were always there. He still had enough gambler left in him to risk that Catherine would still be there, waiting for him when he was.
FIN.
In the "I may not know art but I know what I like..." Dept:
What was up with the cracktacular opening ceremonies for the Olympic Games? Very Felliniesque, well at least the first part was, the second part? From Futurism to the Future? Dude someone at the Italian Ministry for Concocting Olympic Games Opening Ceremonies is on the good shit, because according to them, in the future we'll be ruled by inside-out cockatoos who drive around on Mad Max motorcycles with circus strongmen. That shit is fucked up, yo.
I was watching with my sister and the best part was after I had expressed my disbelief at all this craziness was when she said, "Oh you haven't even seen the spiders yet..."
*boggles*
And a big YAY! to the Women's Hockey Team, You Go Girls! Keep on Kicking Ass and Taking Names! WOOOOOO! *Waves Canada Flag*