A/N: My first CatNick, please review...Yeah, go CatNickers!

Disclamer: I own nobody in the story, but if I did, this is what would happen:

On Fire

Tendrils of smoke crept silently through the house and slid under doorways unnoticed as Nick slept. Subconsciously, he must have smelled it– he twisted fitfully in his sleep– but his mind was unable to connect the smell with alarm bells loud enough to wake him up. Tongues of fire began to lick the door to the basement, crackling menacingly. Unaware, he slumbered on.

Next door, a little boy was unable to sleep. He was wrapped around a huge German Shepherd but she was struggling in his embrace. "Mila!" the little boy protested, "Stop, girl!" She whined and woofed quietly. The little boy unwrapped his arms and let her go. She immediately leapt off the bed and raced down the hall, claws clacking against the laminate surface. She barked; startlingly loud this time. The sleepy father looked out the window. His wife grabbed the phone at his shout. Soon, sirens wailed in the distance.

Catherine couldn't sleep. She sat in the dark, still wearing a t-shirt and rocking back and forth with her knees to her chest. She didn't know why: she was off, having just pulled a triple with Nick and Warrick, she was tired, her eyes hurt, hell, everything hurt. Lindsay was at a friends for the weekend. Her mother was downstairs, sleeping quietly on the couch. Nothing more would be demanded of her for two straight days. Finally, Catherine closed her eyes. Suddenly, her pager beeped shrilly. She sleepily turned on the light. And grasped around; eyesight blurry. She read the message: Fire at Nick's.

In an instant she shot out of bed, pulled on some jeans, and raced to the garage.

Minutes later, Nick sat up on a stretcher, still half asleep. He yelled in surprise and instinctively reached for where his night table would have been, searching for a gun. "Sir," one of the firemen said, as the stretcher continued to move down to the street, "Sir, sit back," and the other fireman applied pressure to Nick's chest, forcing him back down. Nick looked around. Everything had a reddish glow, men were shouting. Water vapor clung to the air. So did heat. It came from the direction of his house in sickly waves. Oh God, a fire?

Just as the fireman stopped the stretcher at the bottom of the long driveway, a black SUV pulled up. The door clicked open and Catherine appeared. Nick sat up again. "Nick!" she called as she ran towards him, worry tinging her voice, "Nicky," she said again as she got nearer. She was out of breath and it wasn't from running. She was worried about him. "Thank God you're all right," she said breathlessly and put her arms around him.

Over her shoulder, he could now see the full extent of the fire damage to his house. It was still blazing, heating up the night. Fire lapped the midnight sky. It was gone. It was all gone. His photo albums, his clothes, his kit, the files he had brought home to review, all were turned in to ashes without him noticing. She squeezed him harder as if sensing his dismay. He laughed into her ear. "What?" she asked, pulling away slightly, to look him in his deep brown eyes.

"It was almost worth getting my house burnt down for this," he teased. The deep brown eyes danced.

"Almost?" she asked with mock shock. The fire behind her made her hair seem even more silky, her piercing blue eyes even more luminous. Suddenly, he felt the mood between them change. He was suddenly stroking her back, breathing a little faster. She gave a coy smile and fingered the edge of his shirt. A paramedic appeared behind Catherine.

"Ma'am," he said, "I'm going to need to ask you to step away for a second while we check Mr. Stokes out for lung damage. Catherine obligingly stepped away. Nick let out an involuntary wince as the cool stethoscope made contact with his chest. Catherine smiled mischievously and licked her lips. Nick suddenly found it very hard to breathe.

"Mr. Stokes," the paramedic chided, unaware of what Catherine was doing just over his shoulder, "I need you to breathe deeply."

"Oh, yeah," Nick said absently and concentrated intently on taking deep breaths and looking anywhere but at the woman standing, arms crossed, on the sidewalk. Then he realized he was only wearing a shirt and a pair of boxers. Internally, he groaned. All of his clothes had been burnt.

Catherine smiled impishly to herself, it was time for a little fun. Nick's face was amusingly pink. Shortly, the paramedic slid Nick's shirt back down and stepped away. "Everything looks all right but you'll need somewhere to go," the man observed.

Catherine jumped right in, "He can stay with me." Nick's face turned a darker shade of pink. The paramedic looked from Catherine to Nick and winked, giving the thumbs-up as he left. Nick groaned but slid to a standing position before Catherine.

Nick looked at his hands, embarrassed. When he looked up, Catherine had disappeared behind the Tahoe, rummaging through the trunk. She noticed him watching her and held up a pair of pants. He thanked her and put them on, he was beyond embarrassment. He turned away to look back at the smoldering ruins of his flat.

"I can't believe it's all–" he choked on the word, "gone..."

"No, no, no," Catherine said as she propelled him towards the car, "the nice firemen saved the most important thing in that house." She challenged him, with her eyes, to ask "what?"

Instead, he replied with a tease of his own, "Good thing they were nice firemen, huh." And he gave his best cocky smile.

"Yeah, good thing, otherwise they would have probably rescued all that extra money you have lying around instead," she agreed evilly. She opened the passenger side door and playfully shoved him in, her hand lingering an instant longer on his lower back. Then, with a quirky smile, she slammed the door shut.

Nick blew air out, in a sigh. Damn, she was hot. Maybe this night wouldn't be all bad, after all.

They pulled into the driveway, neither having said a word the entire trip. Even so, adrenaline was still rushing through Nick and ashamedly, he wondered if Catherine had even noticed. She turned the engine off but didn't move to take the keys out of the ignition. Nick turned to her and touched her shoulder in a gesture of thanks.

They both spoke at once.

"Nick, I–"

"I wanted–"

They both halted. Nick nodded at her to continue and swallowed. She began again, hesitantly, "I-I just wanted to say that I know there's something kind of– what I mean is, there's chemistry between us. And I care about you. I guess I was wondering if there could be both?"

Nick was taken aback. Wow. She had bared herself for him. He wasn't imagining it. Tonight he was going to sleep at her house. He was still touching her. A million little facts swamped him. He eyed her, distant and pensive. "Uh, Nick." She broke into his thoughts. "You're groping my shoulder." Nick snapped back to the present, to her. His hand seemingly had a life of it's own. It was caressing her shoulder, where it rested.

He snapped his hand away, as if burned. "Oh, sorry!" he apologized frantically.

"No, no, my shoulder doesn't mind. I was only wondering if you knew." And with that, she opened her door and hopped out. Nick did likewise and joined her at her doorstep: suddenly curious about what her house looked like inside. He noticed she hadn't commented on his lack of response. Instead, she ushered him through the door. He looked around the living room and his eyes rested on the couch. At that moment, Catherine remembered and clamped a hand over Nick's mouth before he could shout. "Shh, it's okay, it's my mother," she whispered. He nodded. She took her hand away.

They crept upstairs and down the hall, only daring to make a sound once she had shut her bedroom door. "Okay," she said, voice within normal range now, "which side of the bed do you want?"

"Wh-what?" Nick said incredulously. His pulse-rate shot up.

Catherine calmly placed a pillow on the middle of the bed.

"Oh," he said bluntly. Catherine noticed a hint of disappointment in his voice to her great amusement. "Are you sure this is a good idea? Your mother is downstairs..." he poured out.

"Why does it matter? We're just sleeping, we're adults," Catherine pointed out.

Nick blushed. He struggled to say something, anything. Eventually, she decided to help him out. "Just try to contain yourself, okay Cowboy?" she teased gently. At once, the awkwardness was over and Nick laughed. He pulled off his loaned pants and pulled back the covers. Catherine disappeared around the corner into her bathroom.

She stared at herself in the mirror for a few seconds before taking off her jeans and t-shirt and putting on a slinky silk nightgown over her lacy underwear. It came midway down her thigh and was quite flattering to her figure. She tousled her hair with her fingers and returned to the bedroom.

Nick had propped himself up on "his" side. His breath caught as she entered and his chest tightened. She was any teenage boy's wet dream come true. The silk night gown clung to her hips, accentuating her breasts and brushed her long legs with a soft whispering sound as she walked. It was a bright red color which made her cream-colored skin stand out even more. His eyes were drawn to her lips which were wet and full, the same color as her red nightie. "Damn!" he exclaimed, and whistled softly. She ruffled his hair as she slid into bed next to him and clicked off the light.

"Good night to you, too," she said in the darkness, smiling.

He was glad he couldn't see her over the pillow and gradually, his arousal subsided and he slept.

Catherine awoke to lips on the back of her neck. She felt a jolt of fear before she realized it was Nick, and he was probably still asleep. His lips moved down to the hollow where her neck and shoulder connected. He was pressed up against her, the pillow barrier lost sometime in the night. "Catherine," he moaned, in his dreams. It amused her to know that he dreamed about kissing her. Wait, he was still asleep, right?

She twisted slightly, not wanting to stop him, and sure enough, his eyes were closed. She settled back down and he sleepily put an arm around her. She wondered how much longer she should allow him to contin– his hand stroked her thigh and hitched up her nightie. All possibility of thought ceased. His thumb made a soft, circular motion against her leg, inching upward. His rough hands felt so good, she realized she had wanted to feel his hands on her body for a very long time. Then he pressed himself closer to her and she felt his need. Oh. Men got aroused in their sleep? She started to smile before she remembered her mother. Shit. Okay, buddy, sleepy-time's over, she thought. "Nicky," she said softly, in an effort to wake him. He groaned and pressed himself to her harder.

"Catherine," he said again, evidently thinking her voice was part of the dream. His hand cruised higher. He fingered the waist-band of her panties.

"Nick!" she almost squealed and shot out of bed. He moaned and rolled over, falling back into deeper sleep. He looked so innocent now, as if the frightfully arousing moment couldn't have been caused by him. She took a second to examine him. His eyelashes were long and dark, his face almost boyish, but also so grown up, dependable. She liked the way he had his hair, longer. It covered some of his face and stuck up in several directions. She approached him again, this time warily: irrationally worried he would pull her down on top of him. Gently, she smoothed his hair and kissed his cheek. He chose that moment to wake up.

He was still in that fuzzy state between sleep and awareness. He thought he was awake, but– Real-Life Catherine wouldn't be kissing him, right? She sure smelled real though.

"Hello, Sleeping Beauty," she said.

"Hey, I thought I asked for a real prince."

"Mmm, that's Your Highness, to you," she murmured. Her lips were right there, asking, begging to be touched.

"The real prince would have coffee," he insisted, pouting.

"What I've got is much better than coffee, Nicky," she replied sultrily.

"Noth-" She silenced him with her lips.