Disclaimer: I really, really, really, reallyyyyy promise. I DONT OWN CSI!

Proving Yourself.

Catherine was focused. She had every fibre of her being focused on that front door. Behind it, there was a serial killers house.

He'd be long gone by now, moved to a different state, or maybe country. But they still had his house.

"LVPD, open the door!" Brass yelled, like the million times he had before. Catherine had serious doubts that there was anyone inside. Come on, the guy had killed 7 people, he was smarter than that.

Brass turned to look at them, nodded, and kicked the door open. The group of people behind him paused momentarily, looking straight ahead.

There were just a few of them. Two cops, along with Brass himself, Catherine, Nick and Greg.

Then time sped up, all six people rushing inside, splitting up to clear the house.

Normally the cops did that job for them, but today they were short staffed, half the force sick with stomach flu. So the CSIs had to help.

The house was carpeted, for that they were all grateful. The walls were varied shades of beige, no pictures on the walls, shelves or tables. In fact there was nothing personal on anything.

Catherine stepped up the stairs, her gun drawn and pointing ahead of her. She paid little attention to the other people in the house, but she noticed where they went. Brass downstairs, the cops to the left. And Greg followed Nicky to the right. Some things never change.

The stairs creaked under her weight, every step up until the top one was noisy. But really, did she have to be that careful? She scorned herself. Of course she did. Some serial killers were stupid and got away on luck. He could still be here. But something in the back of her mind told her that she was being overly uneasy.

At the top of the staircase, was a small landing, and an open door, leading to a bathroom. She saw a hallway to her left, and with a quick sideways glance, she stepped into the bathroom.

Her hand hesitantly grabbed the curtain, pulling it to the side. Nothing. Her breath flew out in relief.

Catherine walked back out, not as worried as before. How many times had she cleared house? Hundreds. Maybe thousands. And she'd only found someone a few times. So why was she being so jumpy?

Maybe because this killer had been on the loose for months? Maybe because she'd put all her work into this case? Or maybe it was just nerves? Or the surprisingly eerie silence that filled the house. She only heard the odd footstep downstairs.

And so she walked down the hall, her gun pointed ahead of her, a slight shake in her hands.

The noise tipped her off.

Someone's breathing broke the silence, and her stomach dropped. Before she could even realize what was happening, he was on her.

Her gun fell to the floor, making zero noise thanks to the carpet. Damn it.

His hand pressed firmly on her mouth, preventing any noise. His grey eyes bore into her as his other hand awkwardly grabbed her hands, shoving them back against her chest. He was strong too.

A sudden sense of despair flooded over her when she noticed the gun on his belt. It was loaded and cocked, ready to be used. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

She couldnt move, talk or do anything. All she could do was listen as he started to whisper maniacally in her ear.

"Hello there miss...Willows." He said after checkng her name tag. "Do you like my house? I think its quite nice. Large size, the odd decor here and there? I like it." His rough voice penetrated her mind, and she tried to tune it out and think clearly.

Someone had to come up here soon. A cop, or CSI? But really, they'd just assume she'd found something. They wouldn't come up for at least a few more minutes. And what if those few minutes cost her her life?

"A house is supposed to say something about its owner right? Does mine tell you I'm a murderer? Huh?" The tall man whispered, moving his hands at lightning speed to grab his gun, leaving her hands free.

Without thinking she struggled, pushing him, shoving. But nothing had any effect.

His strong arm caught one of hers beneath it as her pressed the gun to her neck. Its cold barrel stung her skin, the pain barely noticible beside her fear.

She was going to die. Not just that, but die at the hands of a serial killer. At least they'd be able to catch him. He'd always worn gloves before now, and his hands were bare. But what if he hurt her team?

The thought hit he rlike a ton of bricks. She couldn't imagine the world without her little family, especially the two of them downstairs.

Nick had the best smile, one that sadly enough, faded often. He was the most deeply caring person she'd ever met. He'd saved her life, she'd saved his. He'd been buried alive, held at gunpoint, thrown out a window, shot, blown up and so much more. Maybe that's why he was so caring. But it hit hard when she saw him cry. And a world without Nicky... she just couldn't imagine it.

And Greg? Oh god, Greggo. He joked and laughed and made everyone happy. His dorky ways and obsessive mind was hilarious, and it made him like the little brother they'd all always wanted. He never gave up, he never gave in. But he was different now. After the explosion(for which the guilt still ate away at her) and the beating, he'd matured. He wasn't the same joking lab rat. He was a CSI. He had been for years. So why, even when he was a higher level than others on the team, did he still get treated like the underdog? Who knew. But one thing was for sure. The world without Greg... not a good place.

The killers gun pressed harder into her neck, breaking her thoughts. He was going to kill her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought that maybe, she should be saying good bye. Praying, wishing or something. But what was that going to do? Nothing. Nothing at all.

The seconds seemed like hours.

She heard a thud and wondered if he'd done it yet. Was she dead? Ws she actually dead?

The man's body slumped to the floor, his hand sliding off her mouth. It was then that she realized he'd been knocked out.

By who? Her gaze moved from his body to who was standing in front of her. Greg? Greg had saved her?

His gun was raised, blood dripping down it. The look in his eyes as strange though. Like he didn't know what had just happened. But she did. He'd saved her. She was safe.

Her legs seemed to give out, and she watched as Greg moved quickly to catcher her by her arms, lifting her with strength she hadn't known he possessed. She stumbled.

"Are you okay?" His voice asked her, and she managed to look in his eyes.

"Yeah." Was all she could manage.

Catherine got her footing back, leaning against the staircase banister.

They both looked at the mans unconscious form, and then met each others gaze once again. A small smile formed on both their lips, but they had no idea why.

"Brass." Greg called out, keeping one hand on Catherine's arm, he seemed fearful that she might fall over.

Jim came racing up the stairs, followed by Nick. His face was regretful. Like it was his fault. He always did that. Seriously, it had nothing to do with him. And yet he'd blame himself, his choices and his actions. Just like he always did.

When he got to the top of the stairs, Nick's face was shocked. His eyes moved from the unconscious man Brass was currently handcuffing, to them, and back again. His eyes said it all. He wanted to help, he wanted to be the one who helped like Greg did. He was going to blame himself too. Really?

Cath felt like screaming. This was her fault. Hers, hers and only hers. Why did everyone feel the need to take the blame? How had it come to that?

She met his eyes, then Greg's. Both were stunned. She wondered if she looked like them. She was still in shock of what had happened. Not the attack, or the man,or the gun. No, she was stunned that it had been Greg to save her.

He was the underdog, always put on perimeter, the easy cases, never solo. Cath realized it was because she feared forhim. He was like her son, and she feared for him like any mother does. It made sense thinking back to his first solo, they all knew how well that turned out. He got the shit beaten out of him. Since then they'd all been over protective of him, maybe a little too much.

Greg sighed, seeming to accept the events. She didn't know if she could. Nick sighed too, looking her over, checking for injuries.

"I'm fine, Nicky." She muttered, rubbing the spot where the gun had been pressed. It hadn't cut her, and for that she was grateful

Greg still had a firm grip on her arm, and it was odd to see him so protective. He'd really just proved that he wasn't the underdog. Just a few months ago he had saved her boyfriend from a bomb. And now he'd saved her. And both Lou and now Catherine were thankful. Thankful beyond words.

Not waiting for another second, she hugged Greg. She hugged him out of shock,out of fear, thankfulness and maybe even out of regret. But mostly, it was out of love.

He hugged her back, and she sensed a small smile on his face. His arms tightened briefly, and for just a second, the tables were turned. He was the one being overprotective of her.

They broke apart and walked out of the house with Nick, not bothering to work the scene. Day shift could do that.

Catherine leaned against her car window, watching as Greg and Nick climbed into their cars, and headed back to the lab. It was still surreal, hard to accept.

She was going to go back to work, just as she always did. Just like they all did. But the first call that came in, no matter how big, was going to Greg. Solo.

Because he had proved himself a long time ago. And he deserved this.

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