Title: After Everything – Chapter One

Author: Marita Linde

Pairing: A whole lot of YoBling (C/W), and a little bit of C/G friendship. I might add other pairings as I go along, but as of now nothing specific is in the plan.

Summary: Warrick's had an exhausting day, and Catherine takes him out for a drink to make something of the tension they've been feeling for years.

Thanks: To Amber, Zsazsa, and Rainblows, for being the best editors/proof readers ever. Especially Amber, because she wrote me Mia/Hodges. :)

This one's for Les, who requested hot Warrick/Catherine.

"So let me get this straight." Warrick's deep voice sliced through the heavy stillness of the interrogation room and caused a tremor in the air – Catherine felt it resonate through her bones and shivered. "You beat your wife to death because she refused to take out the trash?"

Catherine watched him, his elbows perched on the edge of the table and his eyes, suddenly cold, staring straight into hers. She knew that look, she'd seen it thousands of times. It was the look that told her of the weight of knowledge, of seas and countries of the truth – everything neither of them could forget.

She heard him sigh as he followed her out of the room, putting a warm, heavy hand on the small of her back. She could feel his body heat all over and around her, making her ache and wish she was someone – and somewhere – else. "Some days," he said, and collapsed on the chair in the hallway while the officer brought the cuffed killer past them.

She nodded, exhaling loudly and sitting beside him. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands, intensity seeping from his pores. "I can't believe the way some people treat each other." His voice was hoarse, but he wasn't upset, just appalled. When he put his hand on her knee, she felt the muscles in his fingers, and it made her mind wander.

"You got time for a drink?" she asked, her mind screaming no but her body screaming yes, yes, yes. She watched him as he turned his face to her, his eyes roaming over her with that look still set deep within them.

"Yeah," he said simply, standing and offering her his hand. She took it and felt the warmth of his skin seep through her, almost shivering. Everything about him tonight was intent and focused – his jaw was clenched and the tendons in his neck were bulging. She felt no shame in staring at him and hoping she could help him unwind tonight.


They arrived at the club twenty minutes later, both of them drenched in hope and anticipation, walking quickly to the bar in time with the music. The air was thick but full of possibilities, and Catherine felt like a different person, all tainted and mysterious. She stole a glance at Warrick as he was ordering their drinks and found herself fascinated with the shine of sweat on the back of his neck.

He handed her drink to her without saying a word, only searched through her face and hung on something he found there. "You ever been here?" he breathed.

She tried not to show what he did to her. "No," she said, smiling, trying to get back to what they used to be. What happened to funny, harmless Warrick? She took one look at the snatch of chest peeking through the top of his blue shirt and told herself he was long gone. "I like it, though." The music's beat stole through her, mixed itself up inside her. She bobbed her whole body to it, hoping she didn't look ridiculous.

He took a long, drawn-out drink from his glass and continued to watch her. Their silence felt personal, almost sexual. "Do you dance?" he asked, his voice more familiar.

"Not well," she lied. "Not to this kind of music, anyway." Now that was more honest.

"What, you don't have the beat, Cath?" He grinned at her and held out his hand. Reluctantly she took it, feeling him all over her again, and followed him out to the dance floor where pulsating, thumping bodies were already gathered.

He looked at her closely, frowning, then pulled her closer to him so their bodies were almost touching, but not quite, and started moving. She could feel his breath against her forehead, but she tried to concentrate on the beat of the music and move to it. As soon as she started, he put a hand on her waist and gently pulled her with him so her movements were parallel to his. Her blood was boiling and she could feel that his was, too. Electricity was racing through the air and landing all over them – she lowered her head and moved closer to him, feeling his tension.

"Catherine," he whispered, and she almost lost it. "I can't take this anymore. Your place or mine?"

She admired him for his forwardness. She smiled, then leaned into his body, put an arm around him and whispered, "Mine."


He groaned softly above her as she lay on the cool sheets of her bed, her hair spread out around her and her fingers on his back, gripping and tugging at skin so soft it made her sigh. His hand was twisted around white sheet – she could feel the tightness of the fabric underneath her shoulders.

She had come to him long ago (amidst not-so-whispered words of encouragement and praise and then, ever so softly, his name) and she was triumphant as she watched his face clench and his mouth open to call out to her and disturb the static air around them. He fell on to her and they were like a pile of heaving skin, humming and tingling and beating all together.

She awoke in the middle of the night from a dream about him – his lips parted and against hers, their legs tangled and moving, their bodies so together that they were almost like one – and reached over to grip his strong shoulder and take him again. Her body was full of him, her skin was on fire with him, yet all she wanted was more of him. And her mind sang of the way he moved and how beautiful the cream-and-brown mingling of their skin was.

More to come.