Cold Heart
New Sara/Catherine fanfic. Written from Catherine's POV, set around season five. Reviews always welcomed. Enjoy!
Chapter One
My fingers played lazily with the pen in between my fingers, moving it from one side of my hand to the other, my elbow rested on the large glass table as my other hand flicked through the case file in front of me.
Shift ended an hour ago - it was 8am. Nancy was taking Lindsey to school so I was in no rush to get home. The words on the case papers were blurring together with my tiredness. I rubbed my forehead, letting out a sigh.
"Alright, Catherine?" The question pulled me out of my trance and I shifted my eyes up to see who had entered the break room. Sara stood on the other side of the table. She gave a small smile.
I shook my head at her, she'd arrived for work hours before I had and looked wide awake. "Do you ever sleep?"
She laughed a little, heading over to the coffee pot on the corner work surfaces, "You, Catherine, are obviously just not drinking enough coffee." she poured two mugs of the hot liquid, topped them up with milk and placed one down in front of me. She took the seat next to mine and peered over my work. "How's it going?"
Rarely did Sara pay attention to my cases, unless we were working on them together of course. It was no secret we'd had many fall-outs in the past but we were now generally friendly to each other. Truth to be told, apart from the fact she was 30 years old, single, lived alone and had been drafted in from San Francisco after Holly Gribbs, I didn't know much about her. She studied the papers on the desk, occasionally sipping her coffee. I drank mine too; it tasted good and was a welcome relief to my tired body.
After a few minutes she gently slid the pen from between my fingers and began to add to my notes. Whenever Sara and I had worked together I had always been amazed at how quickly she could piece a case together, although I'd never tell her that. I'd been a CSI for six years before she'd gotten her job at Vegas, and I couldn't help but be a little agitated at her skill level compared to my own. No wonder Grissom was obsessed with her.
Her arm grazed against mine as she reached through the papers. Her skin was bare, she wore a short-capped black t-shirt, and the warmth of her skin was sort of comforting to me. It'd been so long since I'd had any physical contact with anyone. Well, anyone alive.
Within a couple of seconds her arm had moved and she pulled one of the photos of the D.B from the pile. "See the colour of the carpet she's lying on? It doesn't match with the wool fibres found on her shirt." I blinked a few times, my eyes heavy with tiredness, staring at the photo before me. "Were there any other carpeted floors in the house?" she asked.
I paused; my mind wouldn't work. "I... don't remember." I felt my cheeks redden with embarrassment with what I'd missed.
Sara stood up, "The scene is still open, isn't it?"
I nodded.
"Then let's go check it out."
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The drive to the crime scene was mostly quiet. Occasional comments were shared over the quietness of the roads, the weather and Sara's SUV, which had recently been kitted out with inbuilt satellite navigation and new upholstery - a birthday present from the team a few weeks previous.
Once parked at the house, we exited the vehicle and I slid the key out of my trouser pocket and into the front door.
The house was small but typically suburban in surroundings and decor. We entered the house to be greeted with the smell of scene processing chemicals. It had only been 24 hours since the body had been found, and I had made quick work of the evidence collection. Maybe too quick.
The wool fibre on the victim was blue. The living room, where she had been found, had a cream carpet. So, together, Sara and I walked the house. She asked a few questions regarding the case as we went, which I answered, although still puzzled at her efforts on my case.
It was when we reached the last room in the house to check, the guest bedroom, we stopped in our tracks. All the carpets were cream. Sara started searching through draws and cupboards as a last resort to finding something in the house that would help us. I watched her moving across the room, taking in my surroundings afresh.
"Catherine," she spoke as she searched the wardrobe, not turning to face me, "Are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine." I frowned a little at her abrupt question.
"But seriously, are you? You've been distracted at work for a few weeks," Sara remained turned away from me, going through shoes at the bottom of the wardrobe, "I don't want to intrude, but..." she trailed off and I realised I needed to speak.
"Then don't." I was short with her, unintentionally so, but her question had thrown me. I couldn't remember the last time someone had really asked me how I was, and I certainly didn't expect it to be Sara.
She was silent as she continued her wardrobe search and I felt foolish at my response to her. But it was too late to apologise, or carry on like it hadn't happened, so within a couple of minutes we'd left the house and got back into her SUV.
"You must be exhausted. Shall I drive you home? I can take the few things we've got back to the lab. You can process them tonight." she kept her eyes on the wheel but her voice was soft.
I nodded, grateful for her kindness when I'd been, well, a bitch. The drive to my house was in silence, she already knew the way from the few times the team had visited for coffee, and when she pulled into my driveway I could only mutter a soft 'thank you' before exiting the car.