Wow....how long has it been folks? I know, I know, I should be ashamed. Things have been pretty hectic here though, I started Uni - I'm doing a double degree in Law and Psychology, so that's pretty full on. Forgive me?
Here's something new for you to enjoy anyway.
Sara rested her hand on the door handle hesitantly for a moment before she opened it. She was surprised to see Catherine standing in the observations room, her arms crossed over her chest, her back ramrod straight. For a moment Sara was going to back out quietly and maybe come back later, but then she saw Catherine's reflection in the window and the tearstains down her cheeks. She stepped into the room and closed the door.
"You ok?"
"Perfect." Catherine muttered in a tone that implied she was anything but.
Sara shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. It was obvious Catherine wanted her to leave her alone, but Sara found she couldn't, in good conscience, do that. "You got him…" she observed. "That's good, right?"
"Perfect." Catherine muttered again. The silence resumed. Catherine broke it this time, "What? No speculation about why?" she challenged.
"What do you mean?" Sara murmured, stepping a little closer to Catherine so she could see the man in the next room. The man who'd murdered seven women and, when his DNA had been run through the system, had come up as a familial match to another man who had raped and murdered women. This man had never known his father, he was born as a product of rape, yet he had grown up to commit murders with practically the same MO as his father.
Catherine's gazed snapped to Sara. Her younger colleague's gaze was fixed on the man sitting calmly at the table on the other side of the window. "Everyone else who's been in here…has been saying it's in his genes." Catherine whispered, turning her gaze back to the window so she didn't feel so vulnerable. What was possessing her to confess her unease to Sara Sidle of all people she had no idea. Perhaps it was their burgeoning friendship, maybe it was the feelings she felt slowly developing between them — on her side at least. Maybe it was because she wanted to see if Sara would run the other way once she was reminded of Catherine's father. Sara was silent and the blonde felt a small hiccup of panic rise up in her chest. "Is that what you think?" she questioned, turning her head to survey Sara's expression. She needed to know.
Sara shrugged, "I don't know." She answered shortly. For a moment she was hung up on her own fears of the veracity of that theory, but then her mind backtracked, wondering why Catherine would resent it so much. It took her all of two seconds to remember the Sam Braun disaster and what she had heard on the grapevine afterwards. She turned to the older woman, desperately trying to think of some words of comfort. The problem was she didn't really believe any of it. She was scared that it was genetic. Stranger things had happened. "I hope not." She tried some humour, "One of us might find ourselves on the wrong end of a murder investigation."
The look Catherine shot her told her that it wasn't appreciated. As Catherine went to leave Sara found herself speaking up. It seemed that Catherine understood her fears…maybe she could understand everything else as well. "Do you think…do you think I might ever kill someone?" she asked, her voice quavering ever so slightly.
Catherine blinked, confused. Sara's question made no sense, not in the context she was aware of, but something in her tone made her just respond honestly without questioning it, "You've looked like you've wanted to, when it looks like the bastard's going to get off…but I don't think you could kill anyone, no."
"I don't think you would kill anyone." Sara offered, her heart skipping a beat at Catherine's declaration.
"What's that got to do with anything?" Catherine's tone wasn't harsh but, rather, measured.
"Your father killed someone." Sara started, seeing the recognition of truth in Catherine's eyes. "So did my mother."
Catherine stepped towards Sara, her forehead creasing in concern and maybe a little disbelief. "Your mother…murdered someone?" she asked, trying to clarify it in her own mind.
Sara ducked her head, nodding. Softly she whispered the answer to Catherine's silent question, "My father."
"When?" Catherine's short questioned was tempered by her hand reaching for Sara's and the soft tone of her voice as she moved closer again.
"I was nine." Sara answered. Again it seemed that Catherine was wary of asking the question running through her mind. Sara answered it anyway, "They didn't really believe in Battered Wife Syndrome back then, she was sent to prison. She died in there a few years ago."
"What happened to you?" Catherine murmured, her forehead creasing further as she tried to mesh this new information in with what she already knew about Sara. It fit surprisingly easily and that made her cringe.
"Foster care." Sara answered shortly, swallowing. So far Catherine hadn't really reacted. Sure, she'd stepped closer and taken her hand, and she hadn't run away screaming, but Sara was still waiting for the other shoe to fall.
Catherine swallowed. This wasn't what she had wanted to share with Sara; she'd wanted some pleasant common ground. The fact that they both had parents who were murderers…it was unpleasant to say the least. However, it touched her to know that Sara had chosen to trust her with this knowledge. Catherine stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Sara. Inexplicably she now felt a lot better "Thank you." She whispered it so softly she wasn't sure Sara even heard it, but the brunette's arms wrapped around her, returning the embrace whole heartedly.
Neither of them was sure how long the hug lasted. Pulling away felt wrong. Sara was the one to break the ice, surprisingly. "You want to get breakfast?"
"I'd love to." Catherine murmured, her smile splitting into a wide grin. She pulled back for just a moment, checking that she was reading the signals correctly. Almost tentatively she placed a light kiss on Sara's cheek. A moment later she was kissing her lips, and Sara was kissing her back.
Feedback is love.