A/N: CSI doesn't belong to me. Oh, and this story sooooooooo sucks ass, but I can't do any better, apparently.Enjoy this soppering, unbetaed piece of Yo!Bling crap.
She sat alone, letting the angular shadows of night fall on her. She wished they would cut into her flesh, sear her from the inside out, like she felt. She downed another shot, and felt the burn of liquor begin to soothe her.
She found it hard to ignore him that day. She didn't know why. Perhaps it was the specifics. She knew she wanted him, she knew she couldn't have him…and perhaps, that was where the attraction was. That was so shallow. A bitter laugh rang out from the hollow of her throat. But leave it to her to achieve that shallowness.
Yes, his features were at his best that day. His darker skin looked warm that day, smooth like chocolate, and she wondered how he tasted. Yet she couldn't think of these things. She wasn't allowed to. His turbulent, expressive eyes washed over her, bathing her in his concern. But she couldn't stop him from being concerned. She had to accept the fact that no matter what had been between them, it was all in the past. It was history. She couldn't do anything. Any steps that either of them took in their relationship that went past friendly was definitely unacceptable. He was married, now. That wedding band, which now adorned his slender finger, reminded her that he was no longer available. That band was a contract, pure and simple. A civil contract between two people that stated that they were bound to each as long as they lived, and any adultery would violate that contract. Her legal mind left it at that. Her emotions…went further.
Despite the mental barriers she attempted to establish, images and scenarios still appeared in her mind. Warrick reading to Lindsey. Warrick attempting to teach her how to cook, his lithe body pressed against hers, his mouth whispering directions to her ears, which focused more on his voice than anything else. Warrick and she, sleeping, legs intertwined, naked bodies pressed up against each other, warming with the morning sun. Warrick pushing, and she replying in earnest, shuddering through ecstasy. Now none of these were going to happen. Ever. Before, she had at least a slim chance of it happening. Now there was none.
He called her name, and she snapped at him. "What?" Her voice was on edge, thin and grating, angry. He acknowledged the symbols she was sending, and received the pheromones she was emitting, and kept his space. Something had gotten her upset, and he didn't need to mess with her while she was angry about it. He'd do what he'd always do. He'd talk to her until she'd mellowed a bit and gotten off edge, and then, whatever it was, they'd try and work through it together. But something within him said, as he glanced at her pose, spine arched to peer over the evidence, torrential anger flowing from her in waves, that this time was different. This couldn't just be solved with the regular procedure. Something else was bothering Catherine other than the usual stuff, and he wanted to know what it was.
He greeted her when she was in the lab, draping an arm over her shoulder. At first, she leaned into his embrace. Then, she stiffened and pulled away. His arm ungracefully fell to his side. She spoke to him in loud, brash tones, as a mother would to a disciplined child, and asked for his professional opinion on things. Never his personal opinion. She was treating him as if he were a stranger, and it wounded him. He sat down next to her, pushed the evidence beyond her sight, and grasped her hands. "Cath, what's wrong?" She responded with silence. "Is it about my marriage?" She responded with more than he expected her to.
"Warrick," she whispered, her voice slightly gravelly with emotion. "The best part of a fantasy…is the possibility that it might come true…" He didn't know where she was going with this. "And…when that possibility disappears, it kind of…sucks." He took her words and digested them slowly, allowing them to process. But when his mind had formulated a response, his ears caught the sounds of a gentle rippling of air, and he knew that she had left. He cradled his head in his hands and sighed.
He found her later in the locker room, enveloped by the seclusion and silence. Their relationship, long tried by the strands of sexual tension, was beginning to tear, each strand breaking from the force of the pressure. It was almost like basic physics. She turned to face him, head lowered in ignominy, her usual smile missing. "Warrick," she began, her hesitation placing them both on the precipice. "I just…want to say that I'm sorry." She shook her head, strawberry blonde strands falling from their comfortable place behind her ear. She forced a smile. "I'm happy for you." But he could see that she wasn't.
His finger slid beneath the strands, silky as they glided over as fingers, when he tucked her hair back into its rightful place. Her barely glossed lips shined slightly, and his eyes immediately fell to them. She pursed her lips, and they fell into a position similar to her pout. He leaned forward, attempting to stop himself, but he found himself restricted. She leaned forward, and closed the gap between them. He captured her lips between his own, stealing her breath away when his tongue swept her mouth roughly. She replied in earnest, before pulling away abruptly. He took shallow, rushed breaths, and wiped away the smudged gloss smeared across his mouth. She cast him a glance. "You're married." He sighed, tried to ignore the way his pulse beat fiercely beneath him, and focused on the sound of the door swishing again, focused on the pain he felt when she left. He replaced his things, and left. The Nevada sky was a glistening violet, and he stared at it, observing his own thoughts more than the scenery. This was the life he had chosen for himself. No one had forced his hand. He could have no better or no worse.