Disclaimer: I don't own CSI and am glad.

Author's Note: I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but we'll see what I can come up with. I'll let you figure out whose point of view it's from. XD


It was never about love, or any of that bullshit. No, it was a lot less than love. It was a release; a way to escape from our jobs. A way for us to take out the frustrations we had, in a way that just seemed the least destructive. Fucking each other, no matter how bad of a choice it looked like, helped immensely. I was shocked at first when I found out how much better I felt after one of our little sessions. So was she, but we never spoke about it.

Slowly and awkwardly, things continued. We made sure we didn't get the same cases at work, as if it would've given away what we did together on our nights off. On the off chance that we did have to work together, she didn't bother me and I did my best to do the same. Sometimes I couldn't help but to ask her a question, just to see that look in her eyes. That look that conveyed so many things, the main being that she was very ready for the event we both knew would take place that night. Looking back now, I remember always loving that glance she gave me. I thought it was clever of us to communicate through knowing glances and very brief but telling words.

I remember that night as if it had occurred yesterday, and it scares me to revisit it. I'm not exactly thinking clearly, so my mind rushes back to that memory, despite my protests.

She had driven the two of us home after what had been a very long shift. As usual, there was no conversation. There never was. We always went straight home, took turns fucking each other until we passed out, and when we awoke, went about our own business. I don't think in the entire year we kept our secret, we ever said more than two words to each other. That night, that horribly fateful night, was the one exception.

Inside my apartment, she pinned me against the door with a force that I had never seen. Her mouth hungrily met mine, our tongues aching to taste more of each other. Something inside of me clicked that I was having sex with this breathtaking woman, and she didn't even care about me. Don't ask me what caused this revelation, because I honestly don't know. But it was there in my head, and I couldn't make it go away. You could see the disappointment on her face as I pulled back.

"I can't do this." My voice was soft and barely audible through my panting breaths. How she managed to hear me I have no idea.

"What?"

I slowly walk away from her as I go over things in my mind. We get together, fuck each other unconscious, and then she leaves. Is that really the smartest thing to do with a coworker?

"I cannot do this anymore."

She sighs as her eyes close momentarily. When the open back up, I know that she's trying to stay calm. "Why?"

"We're coworkers." I pause, gathering the reasons why this is a bad idea. "I mean, we have to work together for a long time, right? It just doesn't seem right."

She's not as moved by my realization as I had hoped. With another sigh, she walks over and sits on the couch. Her strawberry blond hair gleams in the dimmed overhead light. I was as she runs her hand over her face, then looks up at me. "You knew those things when we started this."

I nod quickly, calming her before it's needed. "I know, and I'm sorry. But I really can't do this anymore."

My heart pangs with guilt at the look upon her face. A look of shock, sorrow, and loss. The last one is the most devastating; I didn't expect her to be quite so saddened by this. Without another word, she stands up and leaves my apartment. Leaving me to stand in my living room wondering what the hell made me hurt someone that I cherished so much.