Torrential rain distorted the windows of my Minneapolis apartment, further obscuring my view of an already foreign city. Why I chose to stay here I'm not entirely sure, though I suspect it stemmed from the mere lack of want to go anywhere else. I couldn't follow him. I thought Grissom had possessed my heart; I certainly hadn't brought it with me when I fled Vegas, parading around the jungle knowing a part of myself was missing, as though the organ itself had been stolen from my chest.

When I'd turned to see Grissom emerging from the trees I thought I would be whole again, that my heart had returned. Though by the time we returned to the states, it had become achingly apparent that it had been lost elsewhere. I didn't know where to begin to look for it, and I didn't know how to tell Gil. He asked me if I would go with him to Minnesota, to visit his old colleagues or mentors; I don't remember now. I agreed, some aberrant part of my brain telling me that perhaps I would find the rest of myself buried in the snow of the frigid city, fiercely ignoring the rational side that told me I couldn't have lost something in a place I'd never been.

He left, I stayed behind. It wasn't that I didn't love him, I did. I tried to. The first time I ran I told him that I would miss him, with every beat of my heart. That I would always love him. I meant it and I missed him terribly now, alone in this city I had made my own prison. I didn't miss him the way he would have wanted me to though so I didn't call, choosing instead to choke on my solitude.

I stared out the window, still curtained by the rain, watching flashes of yellow and red lights that I could only assume were those of the few cars unyielding to the storm. I wasn't used to the changing of the seasons: perpetual showers that turned to snow and then back again. It didn't rain like this in Vegas, though I learned that I had missed their first snowfall in nearly thirty years while I was away. I'd probably missed a lot since I'd been away.

I tried not to think about Vegas too much, but the gloom from outside had already seeped its way into my soul. I missed the strip, the lights, the heat. I missed walking the familiar halls of the cool blue lab that had felt more like a home than any place I'd lived, the people that had been more like a family than that which I was born into. I missed Nick and Greg, and of course Warrick. I missed Catherine. I didn't want to miss Catherine.

I heard the rain turn to hail as I thought of Catherine, the light tapping on the protruding bit of the air conditioner in the window now ringing through the whole unit, escalating to an angry pounding as that too found its way into my soul. I was supposed to see my therapist in forty-five minutes, the thought of bailing crossing my mind both on account of the storm outside and the one now raging inside me. I wasn't particularly rich these days though, so I figured I might as well get my money's worth.

I decided I better get a head start, her office being located in Minneapolis's even more foreign twin of St Paul. I pulled on the jacket I had finally bought after a month of trying to make due with one less adequate for the below freezing temperatures, fishing briefly into the oversized pocket to be sure my keys were still tucked inside. With no reason left to prolong my leaving, I finally abandoned my sparsely furnished apartment with its barren walls, thinking I really should get around to unpacking one of these days. It was depressing though, having nothing to hang on the walls. Pictures of the team would only make think of them more often and miss them constantly. I wasn't even sure I could bare to see Catherine's picture watching me everyday.

I opened the main door to discover the rain had once again morphed into white powder. I knew this meant the roads were going to be even worse, as the inhabitants of this city seemed to forget how to drive in the snow with each new falling, but at least I wouldn't get soaked on my way to and from the car. I produced a pack of cigarettes from my other pocket, severely craving one since the rain had prevented me from going outside for some time. The first puff of smoke intermingled with my frozen breath as they synchronously left my lips, an image of myself offering Catherine a piece of Nicorette appearing in my mind from the first day we met. She would be disappointed if she knew I was smoking again.

I shook my head vehemently, telling it as forcefully as I could without making a scene to 'shut the fuck up' about Catherine. I didn't usually smoke in the car, but I decided to make an exception today since I knew I'd be running late, hurriedly making my way towards my vehicle in an attempt to outrun my thoughts.

As suspected, traffic was moving at the speed of whatever comes just after 'nothing.' The pace was destined to be far too long a drive for me to be sitting idle with my currently disloyal mind running away with its musings. I turned up the radio, the roar of the speakers temporarily drowning out the noise in my head.

A white blanket had already begun to swallow up the road, along with the walkways and lawns that lay beside it. It took nearly the full forty-five minutes before my car came crawling up in front of the house my therapist ran her practice out of. It was an expensive looking home, though not intimidatingly so. I began to make my way to the side door, cursing as I set my foot down and it fell deeper than expected, filling my shoe with snow.

The door to her office was still closed, leaving me barricaded in the cramped entryway occupied only by a small bench that I couldn't help thinking looked more like a church pew. It was the one thing that unnerved me when I was here, never really having been of the church going sort. Most of my memories of church were also those of funerals: my father, Warrick, a small handful of others. Final farewells. I had never been good at saying goodbye; I wondered if my family back in Vegas understood that. I hadn't meant to abandon them, I just couldn't bare to see their faces as I told them I was leaving. I wasn't sure I could have bared to hear myself say it out loud and still find the courage to go.

The commotion of a door opening startled me, revealing Carroll, my therapist. An older woman with graying hair to just past her shoulders, she wore wire rimmed glasses and had deep laugh lines around her mouth that made her cheeks vaguely resemble the jowls of a dog. She had a reassuring smile though, and matronly demeanor that made me comfortable enough to at least attempt to open up to her.

"Sara Sidle," she addressed me with an inviting grin. "I was hoping I would still be seeing you today."

I smiled back awkwardly as I stood, not really understanding why she found my decision to show up so exhilarating. I followed her to the next room, taking my usual seat on the far sofa while my eyes traveled the spines of books overrunning the shelves. To this day I couldn't tell you the name of a single book on those shelves, employing them merely as a place to rest my eyes in avoidance of meeting Carroll's.

She took a seat next to the dining table she used as a desk, making an innocuous comment about the snow, which wasn't particularly necessary but probably meant to ease me into a conversational mood.

I watched Carroll open my file and then a notebook, placing the latter in her lap with a deep cleansing breath before declaring "Let's get started, shall we?" I nodded, deterring my stare back to the shelves beside me.

"How are things with Matt?" she inquired.

"They're not," I casually informed her.

"You broke up?"

I shrugged, deliberately showing my apathy. "Not really. He hasn't called, I haven't minded. We were never officially a couple anyway."

She nodded. "True. But you had mentioned you thought there might be potential there."

"Potential doesn't mean I was ready to sneak off to Vegas and marry the guy," I explained, cringing at my accidental reference to Vegas.

"Of course not," Carroll agreed again. "I simply meant that it seemed like this relationship gave you a sense of hope for the future. What changed?"

"Nothing changed. See, that's the thing. It never grew, it was never hard. Not that loving someone should be challenging, not all the time anyway. But the thought of losing him, being without him, it never frightened me. I mean, you can't love someone and not fear their absence at least a little, right?"

"Perhaps," she replied, pausing to make a note. "When was the last time you felt this fear for someone?"

I stopped to think for the first time. Of course I had feared losing Grissom, but not the way we we're talking about here and I knew she was well aware of that. The more I thought about it, the less I wanted to answer the question.

"When I left Las Vegas," I finally replied, purposely vague.

I should have known she wouldn't let it slide. "Who were you afraid of losing in Vegas?"

"I don't know." It wasn't the whole truth, but I hoped she would drop the subject. For the moment, she seemed to be willing to comply.

"Alright then, we'll return to this topic another time," she said, jotting it down in her notebook. "I think we're making some good progress dealing with the issues from your childhood," she began again, skimming through her older notes. "We can continue to discuss them when and if you'd like, but today I'd like to try switching gears and address some of your more current issues."

I frowned. "What current issues?"

Her expression implied she thought I was bluffing, avoiding the question with another question, though I honestly wasn't sure what she meant.

"Are you ready to talk about Catherine?" she asked, causing me to groan internally. Thirteen hundred miles away, and still I couldn't seem to escape her.

"No," I replied firmly, using a tone that was usually effective for killing a subject.

"Sara, you brought up this Catherine woman at our first meeting, and have refused to acknowledge the topic ever since. Why do you think that is?"

This is why I didn't like therapy. I didn't like questions like that, intended to send me digging into the hidden chambers of my mind for an enlightening answer. I didn't have one; I never did. I figured if the answer was buried that deep, there was probably a reason it should stay there. "Because there's nothing to talk about."

From the corner of my eye I saw her deposit her notebook on the makeshift desk, leaning forward slightly on her arms. Only when I finally turned to face her did she speak. "I don't want to push you Sara, but your attitude towards this topic and your reluctance to face it does lead me to believe that it will have to be addressed eventually."

I couldn't see why she was being so persistent. Just because I didn't see any relevance to discussing Catherine was no reason to conclude it was an issue.

"Look," I started, determined to diffuse the situation. "I've just had enough Catherine for one day already, I don't really see any reason to push this."

Carroll looked puzzled. "Did you see Catherine today? Speak to her on the phone?"

So much for getting out of that one, I was digging a hole big time now. "No… No, of course not," I dismissed the topic again with a wave of my hand.

"Then how have you had enough of her?" she implored me. "Have you been thinking about her?"

I really should have bailed on my session. I felt my emotions, messy little bastards that they are, beginning to work their way to the surface. "Not really," I shrugged my shoulders. "Not extensively anyway."

"Does thinking about Catherine upset you?"

"No." I turned back to the shelf, unable to confront her questioning stare any longer. Carroll was regarding me carefully, analyzing my every word and gesture for hidden truths. Truths that were quiet deliberately concealed, many even to myself. I began to fidget apprehensively, knowing a question was being delicately formulated and considered before it would be blasted upon me.

"Sara," she began, still seeming to thoughtfully pick over her words. "Have you ever had feelings for another woman before?"

I knew she'd struck a nerve, feeling a flash of panic before my limbs seemed to go numb. "I never said I had feelings for Catherine," I spat back.

Carroll's voice remained level. "Nor did I."

I felt the heat creeping up my back, neck and cheeks, my whole body burning with embarrassment as I desperately tried to free myself from the once comfortable sweater that had suddenly become as suffocating as a noose. "You implied it," I hissed. "It was a trick question."

"No tricks Sara." She raised her hands as though in surrender. "I simply wanted you to explore the possibility."

"Well I don't." She'd promised not to push me until I was ready, and that promise had been broken. I wasn't ready for this. "I'm done talking about Catherine." I knew I was pouting, my arms folded defiantly across my chest.

"Very well, Ms Sidle," Carroll agreed with a glance at her watch, irritatingly aloof now that I was revved up for a fight. "That actually concludes our session for today. I hope you'll take the week to mull everything over, and consider discussing this further at our next meeting."

"Whatever."

I knew it wasn't a very adult reply, nor was the way I snatched my belongings off the couch and stormed out the door, not even bothering to put on my coat. My body still felt feverish as the winter air bit my skin, the stinging cold actually providing some relief for once. I lit a cigarette as I marched back to my car, figuring I'd already smoked in there today so there was no real point in abstaining. In reality I didn't want to wait until I got home to smoke, but I needed to get out of there, deciding taking the cigarette along was the lesser of three evils.

My mood was too foul for music now as I punched the radio off, forcing my way through the snow on the streets. In the silence my thoughts screamed loudly, too loudly to distinguish one from the other. When I finally managed to quiet them down enough to take turns, I began to wonder what it was I was so angry about. Carroll probably had thought I was ready, it wasn't her fault. It wasn't as though I'd made a particularly astounding discovery either. I had ignored it with all of my might, but the notion had always been there, even if as nothing more than a possibility with a giant question mark hanging off the end.

It wasn't like the question mark had been erased either, the question had simply been rephrased. Back in Vegas, I knew that I'd always gazed a little too long, that my heart beat a little too fast whenever she entered the room, that she was on my mind just a little too often. I tried blaming it all on every thing from admiration to jealousy. Still, every now and then, that terrifying question would rear it's ugly head: Did I feel something for Catherine? Every time the thought ignited itself, I'd snuff it out just as quickly. Though today, it had for the first time been given the chance to burn just long enough to melt away the top layer and take on a new shape. So I did feel something, apparently for some time without acknowledging it. The question was no longer whether there was something there, but rather "What is it?"

By the time I entered my apartment, I decided that ultimately it didn't matter. I wasn't going to call her, I wasn't going back to Vegas, I wasn't going to do anything. I was here now, in this city of snow and rain, presumably with an upcoming summer hidden in between. It might not be home, but this is where I was. Looking around my desolate living area, I decided it was time to settle in. Deep down I knew it was just an act of defiance, to show myself that I didn't care, a faulty declaration that this was where I wanted to be. Still I put my coat in the closet, and began opening boxes one by one, pointedly ignoring the one in the far corner labeled "photos."