FF: Borderline 11/?

[doubleedog]

Title: Borderline
Author: e-dog
Summary:  Summary: A looney brother, a freak accident and a fortuitous love. It was bound to drive you a little crazy, right?
Author’s Notes: Firstly, I will refer all the way back to chapter one in this. Secondly, just FYI. I’m going on vacation this week. Expect a nice delay between this chapter and the next. Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the support and reviews! I love all that you have to say and appreciate you taking the time to read, let alone leave a review. I also felt unsure about the end, but I hope it's okay.

Previous chapters here (Borderline Chapters 1 -10)

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Part Eleven

Wake

“So, how is Ms. Willows?”

The question shocks your system a bit. Why would Nurse Garret care about how Catherine is doing? You don’t answer. Your expression clearly befuddled because the nurse fumbles with a chart or something, scrolls the page with her index finger until she finds the information she’s looking for.

“It says here your emergency contact is Catherine Willows?”

“Oh,” you say. You forgot about that. You rub your wrist (now free of the cast) and smile, “Uh, Cath. . .Catherine is great. Really great.”

“Good to hear,” Nurse Garret smiles now. She gestures toward your arm. “So, full mobility?”

“Yep,” you confirm. It feels good to finally be free of those bandages, those restraints. The freedom means you can go back to work soon. Tomorrow would be preferable, of course. Whether Grissom or Catherine will allow you back tomorrow is still uncertain.

You’re instructed to open your mouth, which you do. A light is shined in and you hope that whatever she sees will give you the green light to go home. When she’s done shining lights in every orifice on your face, you ask, “Well? Pneumonia gone?”

“It would seem like it,” Garret says, nodding and checking off more things on the chart. “Just wait here a moment. The doctor will clear you and then you can go.”

“Great,” you say, watching Garret leave. You sigh inwardly, counting down the seconds till you can say goodbye to this place for good. You hate hospitals. Always have, always will.

There’s a shrill sound, loud and garish. You nearly jump out of your skin.

What is that?

Ohhhh.

Damn it all to Hell. Paul changed the ringer on your phone again. That boy will be the death of you, you swear. You grab the phone out of your pocket and quickly answer it. You look around, hoping you didn’t disturb too many people and say quietly, “Hello?”

“Hey! You all done?”

You smile. It’s Catherine.

“Not yet,” you say. “Why?”

“No reason, really,” she says. Her voice is too sing-song, too mischievous for there to be no reason. She continues, “I wanted to catch you before you left.”

The grin on your face widens. It’s just the way her voice carries over the airwaves, the smile you can hear without seeing her face that causes those muscles in your face to twist in such a satisfying fashion. What the hell is she planning? You have to ask, “Okay, what’s going on?”

You can hear the over exaggerated gasp. “Sara, nothing is going on. Honestly.”

“Then why call?” you push.

“Just don’t stop by my house on the way back. Meet me at the Treasure Island Hotel instead.”

Treasure Island Hotel? The number of emotions coursing through you couldn’t possibly be counted. You feel excited, fearful. Curious, unsure. This screams of some kind of set-up, some sort of surprise. Something.

“Sara, you hear me?”

“Yeah. Treasure Island. I’ll be there soon.”

She says goodbye and you end the call. You’re smirking to yourself, you know this.

“Boyfriend?”

“Huh?” you snap your head up.

“Was that your boyfriend? Nick’s his name, right?”

It’s the doctor. Dr. Zimmerman. He’s a nice fellow, very cordial. His memory is also scary good, considering he remembered your pseudo-boyfriend’s name. When you don’t answer right away, he shrugs, “Most times, a smile like that means a significant other just called. Got plans tonight?”

You chuckle. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Well, I finished signing all the necessary forms which means you’re free to go. Have fun tonight,” Zimmerman tells you and rushes out.

Have fun tonight. You pull your coat on and smile.

Catherine Willows has something planned for you at the Treasure Island Hotel. You still don’t know if that should excite you or scare the living crap out of you.

As soon as you enter the lobby at Treasure Island, Paul rushes you and literally tackles you. You manage to keep both your selves upright as he squeezes you tight. He’s muttering about how he’s happy you’re all better and that Catherine wanted to treat you for being all better and yadda, yadda, ya.

You have barely any time to process what the hell is going on before you notice Nick, Greg, Warrick, and Grissom walking up to greet you. Catherine and Lindsey hang back, probably giving you time to recover from Paul’s vicious embrace.

You spy Greg and look at him. “What is all this?”

“A party!” Greg exclaims. “Catherine got us in at Kahunaville. Big table. Lots of exotic drinks. Hot waitresses. Hunky bartenders.”

“Hunky bartenders? And you said Hodges was gay,” Nick remarks jokingly.

“For the girls,” Greg explains to deaf ears. He stammers, “Hunky...the girls would appreciate that...forget it!”

You’re all laughing too much for Greg to get a word in an d he gives up.

When Paul finally lets you go and bounds over to Nick, you receive hugs from everyone else. Warrick first, who whispers, “We tried to keep Paul calm. He was like a Mexican jumping bean the whole time we waited on you to get here.”

You smile. Sounds like Paul.

Grissom hugs you next. “Can’t wait for you to get back to work,” he says.

“Really?” you say.

“Ecklie’s been covering most of your cases while you’ve been out,” Grissom explains. He doesn’t say more than that and he doesn’t need to. You’ll be more than happy to return to work tomorrow.

Nick and Greg have a little trouble deciding who should hug you next, bumping shoulders on their way toward you. (Greg wins. Nick sulks.)

With the barrage of hugs over, the boys start to walk ahead of you. You approach Lindsey and Catherine now; Lindsey greets you with a huge smile and a hug. “Glad you’re better, Sara.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” you smile down at her. You then look at Catherine as Lindsey rushes to catch up with Greg. “This wasn’t necessary, Cath.”

“I wanted to do this,” she insists with a wide grin. She hooks an arm in yours and starts to lead you to the bars. “You overcame a great ordeal and let’s face facts, you scared the hell out of us. We just wanted to show you how grateful we are that you’re better. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That’s okay.”

It’s more than okay, actually. You’ve got a beautiful woman on your arm.

This is all more than okay.

“Hey, Greg, slow down. We still gotta work tonight,” Nick teases.

“I’m fine,” Greg kinda slurs. “In fact, I’m great. Totally great.”

Heh, yeah. He’s great and you’re name is Bob Texas. He’s totally wasted. You see Grissom watching Greg with a wary eye.

You glance around the bar again, the colors in this place just grabbing your attention. Absolutely astounding.

Bright, yet lusciously deep hues of blues and reds and greens. Yellows and purples. Even the ‘exotic drinks’ seem brighter, livelier than most you’ve taken part in. You’re typically a beer gal, but tonight is unlike your normal alcohol run. You’re not draining a few to get over a tough case. You’re with your friends and family. This is all purely to have fun.

Speaking of family. . .

Paul is getting along fine. You haven’t mentioned doctors to him nor has he told you he doesn’t need one. You’re not sure when to bring that up again or even if you should. Talking about it will only anger him. If he gets angry, you’re not only afraid he’ll want to try and push you again, you’re afraid that you’ll push him back. You don’t want to fight.

You blink your eyes, take another swig of your cocktail. For now, you’ll forget about the doctor. For now, you’ll just have a good time.

A hand waves at you. That hand belongs to Warrick and you wave back. He’s charming some cute woman you all ran into at the bar earlier. He says he knows her, that her name is Tina. She seems nice enough. You have a feeling that Warrick will be spending most of his time with her tonight, which is fine with you. It’s not that you don’t love Warrick, but he has the tendency to hit on Catherine. A lot. Especially when drunk. You’d rather not ‘accidently’ kick him in the balls tonight.

“I want that one,” Paul points at the menu, bringing your eyes back to the table. “No, wait. That one. It’s pink.”

“How about you get what Lindsey’s getting?” you suggest. “Iced tea. It comes with an umbrella.”

“A pink umbrella,” Nick is sure to add, a huge grin on his face.

“Ooo, okay,” Paul agrees.

You glance at Nick, unsure if that was a teasing remark or not. Then again, you find it a bit strange that Paul would pick a drink based solely on the color pink.

Paul snags fries from a basket he and Lindsey are sharing. He jumps a little from the music, but then resumes eating. A lot of the deep bass sounds are felt in your chest, the DJ spinning some really funky tunes. You were worried the lights and sounds would freak him out a little, but he’s clearly too enamored by the food to be completely worried with the fireworks display that is Kahunaville. Then something catches his eyes and he points. “Nick! What is he doing?”

Both you and Nick turn toward the bar. Ah, yes. Bartender theatrics. Tall blond, overly buff. Probably too pretty. He’s flipping bottles, pouring drinks, winking at the ladies. He’s a true alcohol artist.

“He’s what we call a Flair Bartender,” Nick explains. “You order a drink and he puts on a show for you.”

“Will he do that for iced tea and an umbrella?” Paul inquires.

Nick laughs. “I guess he would. C’mon, let’s ask him. You wanna watch too, Linds?”

“Sure,” the young girl shrugs. She’s really no stranger to the lights and sounds of Vegas, but you guess even she can admit it’s all still fun to watch.

Nick, Lindsey and Paul rise from their seats to watch the bartender. You take another sip of your cocktail, never more happy to see Paul happy. You like Paul happy. A happy Paul is a good thing.

There are other things in Vegas you’d like to show him, you think. It’s all new to him, his view so childlike. Everything that’s boring to you is fascinating to him. You’d like to revisit Vegas and see the city through his eyes.

“I think we’re running low,” Catherine shouts to you over the music. “Wanna help me grab more drinks?”

“I’ll help!” Greg shouts before you answer. He falls out of his chair trying to get up. “Okay, maybe I won’t.”

You laugh, helping him back to his feet. “Still a lightweight, I see.”

“Just get me another, will ya, dollface?” he jokes, winking at you. “Grissom wants another too. Chop, chop.”

You have to raise a warning eyebrow at him this time. “Excuse me? Chop, chop?”

“I’m fine,” Grissom says, effectively adverting your rising irritation away from Greg. Lucky for Greg.

Catherine asks, “You sure, Gil?”

Grissom nods. He’s still nursing his second drink. He’s also been quiet. Not to say he’s never quiet, but this quiet is strange, even for Grissom. He insists, “Go. I’ll watch Greg. Make sure he doesn’t put on a hula skirt and start dancing.”

“Oh my God. Did you just make a joke, Gris?” Greg asks, to which both you and Catherine laugh.

At the bar, Catherine waves for an available bartender. He walks over, all smiles, then his gaze zeros in on Catherine and he exclaims, “Kitty?! Is that you?”

Kitty?

Catherine blushes a bit at the nickname. An old nickname, you assume. She’s obviously thinking hard about who this guy is, though, because she doesn’t say ‘hello’ back with quite as much enthusiasm.

“Oh, c’mon, Catherine! You gotta remember me!”

Seconds later, recognition burns bright in her eyes. “Barney? Barney Holt?”

“In the flesh, darling.” Barney grins a greasy smile. He just screams ‘sleazy, scumbag’ to you. “I haven’t seen you in years, baby! How’s life treating you?”

“Not bad,” Catherine smiles at him. Is it weird that you almost wanna puke? Could be the alcohol in your system, but yeah, you really almost want to puke.

“How’s Eddie? Still shirking his support payments?” Barney asks. Hmm, he mentioned Eddie. Ouch. He doesn’t know.

Catherine’s face falls a bit, before she explains, “Eddie was murdered a couple of years ago, Barney.”

You hurt along with Catherine, not just for her loss. No, you hurt because Catherine still shows signs of lingering love for Eddie Willows. You see it in her eyes whenever Eddie is brought up. You hurt because you could never nail his killer.

“Aww, baby, I’m sorry to hear that,” Barney coos, putting on his best ‘I’m so sad for you’ face. “I had moved out to L.A. for a few years. Only been back in Vegas for two months.”

“I tried calling everyone he knew,” Catherine says, maybe trying to apologize for not letting Barney know about Eddie’s death. Quite frankly, Barney’s wolfish eyes make you wonder if he even cares that much about Eddie. He probably envied the man for what he had. Eddie had Catherine. It’s pretty clear Barney wanted Catherine too. Maybe he still does.

“Don’t worry about it, baby, don’t worry about it,” Barney shrugs. “Anyway, that’s enough talk. What can I get you two ladies?”

Oh. So he did notice you were standing here. Impressive.

“Just a pitcher of whatever’s on tap, Barney,” Catherine requests. Barney scurries off to fill the order, but not before he winks at Catherine. You really could gag on your own vomit right now. Catherine looks at you and you look back, trying for indifference. It obviously doesn’t work because she asks, “What Sara?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “Nothing at all. Kitty.”

You couldn’t resist repeating the nickname.

Catherine rolls her eyes. “That stays between you and me.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything more on it,” you swear, holding up a hand as if taking an oath. “I guess I am curious about something, though.”

“What’s that?” she asks, leaning on the bar so she can face you.

“Does this sorta thing happen every where you go?” you ask.

Catherine smirks. You hate that smirk. She leans in a little and asks, “What sorta thing?”

Her close proximity is making certain circuits in your brain go haywire. Would it be crazy to say that you think she knows this? Does she know your insides turn to mush just by being simply being in her presence?

A bad case of the flurries rumble about in your stomach, your mouth suddenly dry. You manage a nervous laugh or something. You look back at the bar, where Barney was standing, then say, “You know. That. People calling you Kitty. Does your past seem to follow you?”

Before Catherine can answer, Barney Holt returns with the beer and mugs. “Here ya go, baby. Enjoy.”

“Thanks, Barney.”

“Hey, don’t be shy. Look me up,” Barney proposes with another wink. “We got some catchin’ up to do.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll do that,” Catherine says. That urge to vomit is back.

Your eyes dutifully watch Barney move down the bar to his next customer, another redhead. He’s working the charm, just like he did with Catherine. You feel your lips quiver a bit in disgust. What a sleazy bast - - -.

“Down, Sara.”

Your eyes snap to Catherine, a huge grin on her face. She motions for you follow her back to the table, thankfully choosing not to comment any further on your green-eyed behavior. Sheepishly, you grab the extra mugs and follow her.

That’s probably another thing you should work on, you think. You shouldn’t act like a jealous girlfriend whenever another guy hits on Catherine. That’s a bit too obvious. Yeah, too obvious, idiot.

You sit back down in your chair, happy to have a beer in hand.

Greg is grinning elfishly at you for reasons you already know. You mouth the words ‘shut-up’ at him. He gives your leg a slight nudge under the table, letting you know he caught you. He caught you giving Barney Holt the glare of death.

You sigh. You’ve only given Greg more fuel in which to tease you.

There is a weight on your arm. Not the one that just healed. The other one. You open an eye only to shut it quickly again. Greg. Greg Sanders is on your arm. Or should you say, practically lying on top of you. You didn’t think you drank that much at Treasure Island, but obviously it was enough to keep you from going to work “as soon as possible”. It was enough to end up in a bed with Greg. Thankfully, you’re both still clothed, so it’s safe to assume all you two did was climb the stairs and pass out on the bed.

Wow, where did the night go? You somewhat remember Barney What’s-His-Face seeking out your table. Well, let’s face facts. He was seeking out Catherine and the more he talked to her, the more you drank. The more she smiled at him? The more you drank. You could see Nick trying to placate Paul and his suddenly insatiable hunger for french fries, but he kept a wary eye on you as well. You don’t really blame him. It’s safe to say you nearly drained that entire pitcher of beer all by yourself. All because Barney was hitting on Catherine.

You stir, trying to untangle yourself from Greg. That only wakes him up.

“Heeey, Sunshine. Looks like I got you in my bed after all. . .”

“Firstly, not your bed,” you tell him. “Secondly, don’t call me Sunshine.”

“Oh, Sara, Sara, Sara. . .”

“Greg, get off me, please.”

“God, if Catherine doesn’t claim you soon, I’m just gonna . . .I’m gonna just take you all for myself, Sara-Bara!”

Sara-Bara? Okay, really time to get moving, but you really can’t move. You don’t have the strength to move Greg off your arm, nor do you have the strength to keep up this conversation with him. He doesn’t either because you hear him snoring again. You’d rather he not wake up again because if Catherine walks in on some of rambling, your secret will surely be out.

You nearly groan aloud. Catherine is the reason you drank too much, after all. Your ‘secret crush’ on her is why you’re here, sharing this bed with an equally drunk Greg. Of course, you think Greg was drinking for entirely different reasons. Or you’d like to think he was. You never thought that maybe Greg pined over you so much that he drowned his unrequited love for you in alcohol.

“Greg,” you whisper. He doesn’t stir. You try again. “Greg.”

“Sara?”

“Do you love me?”

“Of course I do,” he smiles lopsidedly. He opens his eyes briefly. They look kinda sad and droopy, but they are open and there’s a flicker of light in them. “You know I love you, Sara. You’re the best.”

“I mean love me, Greg,” you try to emphasize. “Love.”

His awry smile only fades slightly, but he doesn’t answer you. He only shuts his eyes again and you don’t feel you should ask him again. He loves you. He loves you and he knows that, but you also think he respects you enough not to pursue something that isn’t there. You love Greg too, just not in the way he loves you. Then he whispers suddenly, “I don’t have a chance against her. . .”

Her. Catherine. He knows you’ve got a thing for Catherine. That you get jealous when other men talk to her. That you look at her and sometimes can’t stop looking at her. He knows that. You know that.

“Not happening,” you mutter. It’s laughable, the denial you keep trying to front. You keep saying it can’t happen. You can’t be attracted to Catherine, you can’t lust after Catherine, you can’t be with Catherine, but you want all those things. You drank yourself silly because some idiot was hitting on Catherine last night. To make matters worse, that idiot was a former associate of Catherine’s. She was smiling at him.

“What’s not happening, sweetie?”

“Sweetie?”

You feel a hand on your shoulder. “It’s me. Catherine. You awake?”

“I’m awake,” murmurs Greg. He snuggles closer to you and mumbles again, “I’m ‘wake.”

You crank your head around and beg, “Get him off me.”

“Okay,” Catherine complies. She rounds the bed and gently pulls Greg off of you and onto his back. He complains, only a little, then is back to snoring. She’s back to you quickly, putting a hand under your arm and helping you sit up. She jokes, “Has it been that long since you had a drink, Sara?”

It’s been that long since I was that jealous of anyone, yes.

“I guess so,” you admit, slowly getting out of bed and standing straight. Catherine is still holding you up, still offering to be your brace and you don’t complain. You get to wrap an arm around her shoulders. You get to be close to her and in the midst of your hangover, you see nothing wrong with that. You tell her, “I don’t remember drinking that much.”

“Well, Paul found both you and Greg thoroughly entertaining last night,” Catherine informs you, leading you to the door.

“Paul?” you repeat bleakly.

“Yeah,” Catherine smiles at you. “If you’re wondering, I just told him that both you and Greg were just. . .really happy.”

You smile weakly. “Uh, thanks.”

Down the steps you go, into the kitchen where coffee awaits you. You make a beeline for it (as if the mug is a homing beacon) and start taking generous sips. You say, without looking up, “You always make it just right.”

“No cream, two packs of sugar,” she says simply. When you look at her funnily, she says coyly, “Oh, c’mon Sara. Did you really think I wouldn’t remember?”

You smile, “Honestly, I thought you had asked someone how I like my coffee.”

“Sara, you know I don’t ask questions I already know the answer to,” she says, one eyebrow quirked some. You swear her words were mildly flirtatious just then. Of course, you are suffering from a hangover. You might be imagining that.

You set the mug down on the table, your head still swimming a bit. A thought occurs to you. Suddenly, you feel obligated to finally answer her question. You look at her, “You wanted to know something.”

Catherine looks confused. “I did?”

“Yeah,” you nod, sighing. “You wanted to know why I’m so angry.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“I think I have a good idea now,” Catherine replies, still confused.

“No, I mean, sure you know about my family. You know about Paul and my mother and my father, but that’s not the only reason why I’m angry,” you tell her. You sip the coffee again, then continue, “I just feel I should tell you this. I trust you.”

“You’re not still drunk, right?” Catherine asks. She’s half joking, you know, but she’s also quite serious.

You say firmly, “I’m sober enough for this.”

“I just don’t want you saying something you’ll regret, Sara,” she warns you.

You lean forward, make solid eye contact with her and repeat, “I trust you.”

“Okay,” Catherine says quietly. Her eyes soften as well.

You lean back in your chair again. “I investigate crimes, Catherine. I investigate death. I don’t know if it’s out of some sick sense of justice or forgiveness or salvation, but I know my stake in this game is not pure. I’m here in Vegas because I was afraid of what was back there. I thought I was happy. I thought Grissom. . .”

You trail off there. It hurts to say his name, all of a sudden. Maybe because back then, his name represented a hope you long thought extinguished. Maybe it still represents that hope, you just were too exhausted to keep looking for it. You shake yourself out of your funk. “I thought Grissom could give me something. . .I don’t know what. He offered me this job and I saw my chance for a new beginning. A new life.”

Catherine tilts her head thoughtfully. “Sara, you’re human. You can’t be faulted for wanting change.”

“No, I didn’t want change. I wanted erasure, I wanted new,” you correct her. “It wasn’t just my past that angered me. It wasn’t just the foster care system, or Paul’s lack of understanding for my discomfort. It was all those things, plus my own stupidity. It was easy to be angry because I was mostly angry with myself and I will always be angry with myself. I can’t forgive myself.”

Catherine’s eyes narrow, as if she’s frustrated or furious. “So what? All your work here was no good? The relationships you’ve made were make under false pretenses? You believe all your time spent here was some selfish act?”

“No, I believe I came here out of selfishness and have been trying to make up for it ever since,” you say sadly. “I guess I keep trying to prove that I’m a good person. That I’m useful to somebody.”

“Sara, you have never been useless,” Catherine states unwaveringly. “I know we had our ups and downs over the years, but don’t ever think I saw you as useless. I didn’t want to admit it then, but you were a great addition to our team and you always will be. Maybe you don’t think your time and energy was well spent, but it was you who was instrumental in closing a lot of our cases. You brought closure to those who needed it.”

“But what about me? Where’s my closure?” you ask. There it is. The ‘me’. It’s all about you, isn’t it? It was all about ‘you’ when you left Paul back home. You shake your head, a sardonic smile on your lips. “See? See what I mean? I can’t stop thinking about me. . .”

“Maybe because you’ve never had time to think about you,” Catherine says simply.

You look at her, curious. “What?”

Catherine shrugs. “I don’t know, Sara. You keep telling me your selfish and all I’ve ever seen is selflessness. The way I see it, you’ve never had time for you. You always had Paul to think about, your past, your family and what they did. You say you came here for erasure? Then what did you have? All you had were the cases because what was left of you remained back home. Sara, you’re not angry because you’re selfish. Maybe you’re angry because you weren’t selfish enough.”

“But I left him. . .,” you argue. “I was afraid. . .”

“But fate brought him back,” Catherine cuts you off. “The guilt you feel is natural. You just have to let go of what you did and start thinking about what you can do to make it right.”

You look away.

“Sara, hey. Look at me.”

You do.

“You say you trust me. Do you really trust me?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then trust me when I say, I’ve been there,” Catherine says. “I was a reckless teenager. I did everything to anger my mother and more. Then I ran away from it all. I ran away from a relatively stable home, a town with more than suitable jobs, education, connections and I came here to nothing. I’ve been here ever since. I don’t regret my decisions, Sara, but I’ve recognized that I could’ve made better ones. The work I do now will probably never make up for it, but I’m trying. Trying to make a better example for Lindsey and trying to be a better daughter to my mother. Just try. It’s all you can do.”

You can’t help but grin now, rubbing your eyes. In a somewhat airy tone, you say, “I used to think we had nothing in common, Cath.”

“I used to think the same thing.”

to be continued. . .