Sleeping with the Enemy

Fandom/Pairing: CSI, C/S
AN: Part of the 'Variations on a Theme' Series. Catherine overhears Sara.
Spoilers: For Sex, Lies, and Larvae and much of Season 1

"You want to sleep with me?" I was heading to Grissom's office to update him on our missing painting case and that's when I heard it. Sara Sidle, propositioning our boss, right there in middle of the lab.

"You want to sleep with me?" The words reverberated in my head as I beat a hasty retreat to the locker room, my anger rising with every step. How… she… my thoughts were completely incoherent as I stomped through the halls, scattering lab techs in my wake.

She just asked him to sleep with her! How could she be so… brazen? So… stupid? So… blind? Throwing herself at Grissom, of all people. Grissom! He has no clue what to do with a woman; hell, he can't even lift his head up from the microscope long enough to… to…. I'm so pissed I can't even figure out a good insult for Grissom. But Sara Sidle, I can think of a lot of insults for that bitch. Whore. Slut. Damn her, sleeping with the boss, making all women professionals look bad.

After I kicked the shit out of my locker for a few minutes, scarring the toe of my new shoes, I've calmed down to fuming, but I am in no way articulate enough to confront her. Anyway, I have a case to finish up.

Warrick wisely stays quiet during our drive back out to the rich burbs, which does nothing to sweeten my disposition. Stupid people; I feel for the kid, but god, the entire family is stupid and deserve whatever happens to them.

Just like another certain someone I know, because when people find out, when Ecklie finds out, and the rumor mill starts, her reputation, her whole career, will be shot to hell. And for what? A crush on an emotionally retarded, commitment-phobic man with bugs on the brain. Who, I could point out, will never see her the way she sees him. To her, he's a mentor, a role model, an intellectual challenge. To him, she's emotional, available, open to life, love, and hurt: all the things that scare the shit out of him.

And she doesn't see it. Just like she doesn't see a lot of things.

The rumor mill is already flying; apparently Sara had to be pulled off a suspect and she's this close to being fired. Or, in another variation,, she went off on Grissom when his bugs proved the suspect she liked for the murder was innocent. Or, and this one is my personal favorite, she threatened to pull the guy's arm off if he touched her. The words 'bloody stump' are circulating the hallways faster than one of Greg's primo coffee blends.

But the woman of the hour, or at least of this hour's gossip, is nowhere to be found and I'm exhausted. Time to check out of the madhouse for a few hours.

When I return, the rumor mill is flying again, this time about a pig, an all-night experiment involving, who else, Sara and Grissom, and the original suspect ending up behind bars. Last time I pulled an all-nighter, it certainly wasn't to babysit some damn bugs on a pig. Gee, I wonder where he'll take her on their second date. The fucking body farm? Unfortunately, knowing Sara, she'll probably love it.

It hits me then, with a sudden, sickening, clarity: I'm jealous. Me, Catherine Willows, jealous. And not of Sara; oh no, that would be too easy. No, I'm jealous of Grissom… Grissom, and of his ability to connect with Sara, on their affinity and similarity in interests and intellectual pursuits, of her obvious attraction for him.

I must have turned white as a sheet because Greg catches my arm and asks if I'm okay. I want to scream, 'Do I look okay? I just realized I'm attracted to Sara fucking Sidle. Is that okay in your book?' Instead I just mutter something about being tired and head to the ladies room to splash some cold water on my face.

Only to find someone already there, water dripping from her dark curls as she leans up against the sink, oblivious to anyone or anything. She's exhausted and emotionally drained; I'm turned on and furious. This is not a good combination.

"I hear you solved your case," I sneer, putting just that edge into my voice that I know will get her to play. I should know; I've perfected it in the last few months since she arrived, the constant snipping, the adversarial tone… it's my gift, the ability to get under her skin.

She opens her eyes and looks me up and down, like she's gauging me, like she knows what I'm trying to do, and her quiet contemplation makes my breath catch in my throat. Damn, she's gorgeous when she's intense.

Finally, she seems to lose interest, and answers with a quiet 'yeah' as her eyes slip closed and her head falls back.

Now I've been dismissed. Me, Catherine Willows, ignored. I can't let that happen.

"Did you sleep with him yet?" The words slip out; I was going to try a different goad, but obviously, my brain has other ideas.

Her eyes snap open and fix on me, wide and unblinking. "Did I what?"

"Did you sleep with him?" I ask again, slowing the sentence cadence as though I were speaking to a particularly difficult child. She looks at me like I'm speaking Martian or I've grown two heads in the minutes since the conversation began. "You did ask him, didn't you?" I say, playing my trump card, letting her know that I know.

"Grissom?" is her incredulous response. "Are you asking me if I slept with Grissom?"

"Oh, come on, Sara. Everyone knows you have a thing for him. It's a huge joke around the lab, Grissom and his little puppy dog."

She shakes her head, sadly, her dark hair flying around her face. "That's low, even for you, Catherine." She pushes herself off the sink and heads for the door. "I would say something about the gutter finding its own level, but that would be redundant at this point. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm heading home to bed."

"What, Grissom and his pig wear you out last night?" Sadly, my last retort goes unheard as the door slams shut behind her. Too bad; I was rather proud of that one.

The next few days at work are contentious; all the lab techs, and even Nick and Warrick, keep their heads down around Sara and I, afraid to be the one who sets off WWIII. When Sara and I both step into Greg's lab from opposite directions, I swear his first instinct is to duck under the table, like a bystander getting out of the line of fire when two gunslingers step out onto a dusty street. Instead, he just pales, visibly, and hands us each a results sheet, and then turns back to his microscope as though he is too busy to chitchat. However, the way he watches our every move out of the corner of his eye spoils the effect.

We both head out the same door, running into each other in the doorframe and trying to be the first to squeeze out the door, like a comedy routine. Under her breath, I hear Sara mutter something like 'that's fucking it' under her breath. I'm about to ask what she said when I'm rudely yanked into the locker room.

"What the…"

"So what if I did sleep with him? What business is it of yours? Why should you care?"

She did sleep with him. Sonofabitch. "I care because you make us all look bad, women on the job, jesus, sleeping with the boss, can you be any more clique?"

"Me? ME? I'm the one making us look bad? Oh, that's rich coming from the former stripper…"

"I was a dancer…" The warning edge in my voice doesn't deter her even though she knows she's on dangerous ground.

"the woman who took her clothes off for money…" I can see it in her eyes, she's not going to stop, "who did who knows what else in a drug-induced haze…"

My hand is flashing toward her face but she's faster, pushing me back against the locker, my wrist caught in a steel grip. I squirm to free myself, but she has me pinned, just as her eyes capture mine, staring at me with an eviscerating gaze, like she can see into me, through me, like she knows, with crystal-clear clarity, exactly what I desire. And maybe she does, because her next words are, "I didn't sleep with him."