AN: Hello everyone! Hope everyone is doing well.

Due to people stating that they would be interested in a sequel to Foxholes/Tempered, I have decided to continue the series with another story. THANK YOU all for your interest, it really means a lot. My brain is constantly running with thoughts, and I end up writing whether I want to or not just to get those thoughts out of my head and escape the world for awhile. It's still amazing to me to think that anyone has any interest in what comes out as a result. Hopefully I do not disappoint you guys as we continue along this next part of the journey.

Word of warning to all – much like my other stories, this one will have lots of ups and downs to it. I will tell you upfront that parts of it will get very dark. As always, the characters are in good hands, and hopefully you are willing to stick out the rough with the good right along with them.

Also, Lindsey is not in this story. You can picture her off doing whatever you wish – away at school, studying abroad, etc. Wherever you want her to be, that is where she can be for the sake of this story. I had thought about including her in the series, but after the first story I have felt that it wasn't going to work out well in this particular series. If she was in it, she would likely have ended up being there merely as a plot device, and didn't want to cheapen her character that way. I felt that if I wasn't planning to give her the attention she deserved, then it was better not to include her at all. Perhaps if I write future stories I will revisit her character.

Chapters in this story will be of varying length – they will be sized according to the flow of the story more than the number of words they possess.

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or the characters. This story is written for entertainment and creative purposes only, and is not used for monetary gain of any sort.

Take care and enjoy.


CHAPTER 1

"Are there, infinitely varying with each individual, inbred forces of Good and Evil in all of us, deep down below the reach of mortal encouragement and mortal repression - hidden Good and hidden Evil, both alike at the mercy of the liberating opportunity and the sufficient temptation?"

W. Collins


CATHERINE POV

"'Moby Dick.' A poetry anthology. 'To Kill a Mockingbird.'"

"Really?" I question in surprise. "Those would be your three choices?"

Nodding, Sara remains completely confident in her decision, eyes scanning the length of metal and crushed stone at our feet, following their path toward the horizon.

"Alright," I give in. "I think it's a bit odd, though."

Furrowing her brows in thought, Sara raises her eyes to mine. "Why?"

"Because you've already read those," I answer her. "And, knowing you, I'm guessing you've already read them more than once."

I look at her and she doesn't disagree with my statement, her gaze simply moving back to our path.

"My answers were at least novel to me, no pun intended," I tell her.

Sara shrugs, hands tucked into her pockets against the cool breeze.

"If I'm going to be stranded on a deserted island, I think I would have enough 'novel' things to keep me occupied," she reasons. "I'd appreciate having something that feels familiar to me."

Raising a brow, I sip my tea, walking slowly alongside her as I mull over her answer.

"That actually makes some sense," I concede after a couple minutes.

A smile pulls at Sara's lips, her gaze still on the dark horizon.

Pulling a hand from her pocket, she reaches over to take hold of mine.

Walking step in step, neither one of us speaks, our companionable silence only interrupted by the sounds of the creatures also awake at this hour of the night.

Continuing further, we both slow our pace as we reach our destination, our feet quietly crossing the rusted iron platform.

Coming to a stop, Sara lets go of my hand and pulls herself up to sit on the old railing, reaching out to help me as I climb up to sit next to her.

I place my hand on her leg, using her to help me keep my balance as I continue to sip my tea and watch the darkness below.

"You know, this thing's going to collapse someday," I tell her.

Sara smiles, "Hopefully not with us on it."

Sara and I found this old train trestle during one of our walks together, and we have been coming here quite often ever since. The small bridge we are sitting on spans the length of a narrow wash below, built many years ago to siphon water away from our neighborhood when the rains of monsoon season hit the desert.

The tracks are no longer in use, and in some parts, particularly closer to our neighborhood, the old iron rails have been removed altogether.

The bridge isn't high, since the wash below isn't very deep, but in the dark of night all you see below you is blackness, giving it the illusion of a height it does not actually possess.

Still, it would be a hell of a nasty fall down onto solid concrete if one were to lose their balance.

Feeling Sara shift slightly under my hand, I watch as she blows into her fists, trying to warm her hands before pushing them back down into her pockets.

"Here," I offer her, holding out my still steaming tea.

Looking at me, Sara hesitates a moment before taking the offered item.

Swallowing a small sip, she hands it back to me.

"Thanks."

I nod, scooting closer to her for the sake of my own warmth just as much as hers.

"I think this winter's going to be nasty," I predict, noting how the nighttime temperatures have dropped both lower and earlier than they have in previous years.

I get the feeling that this winter is going to be anything but gentle, and that idea holds a certain ominous feeling all its own.

Sara nods, her dark hair shifting lightly in the breeze, her hazel eyes looking me over.

Wordlessly, Sara turns slightly away to pull her fleece over her head.

Reaching over, she places the item across my shoulders, tucking the sleeves around my neck to act as a scarf.

"Sara…" I protest, noting her bare arms and the thin material of her t-shirt.

"It's fine," she says simply, her attention already back on the moonlit desert around us.

Shaking my head at my stubborn, but thoughtful, lover, I move my hand from her leg to wrap it around her waist instead.

Pulling her body into mine, I try to share as much of my warmth with her as the laws of thermodynamics will allow.

I can't help but be reminded by her gesture of the first time that Sara performed a similar act for me. At that scene, what seems like so many lifetimes ago, processing that bat-riddled cave in the middle of the desert when she offered me her sweatshirt.

The same night that we stood together under the stars, and she explained to me the meaning of her unusual middle name. The same night that we held hands for the first time.

Smiling, my head comes to rest against her shoulder as I take a long deep breath, feeling my body relax and my eyes shift closed as I listen to the sounds of the night around us.

"If I fall asleep, please don't let me plummet to my death," I request in what sounds more like a mumble than a coherent statement.

Sara laughs quietly, her arm working its way around my side, mirroring my own hold on her.

"Never," she promises.

I wish that Sara and I could stay like this forever, held securely in one another's arms under the watchful gaze of the galaxy.

But, I know that any moment now, Sara's pager will go off as she is the CSI on call tonight. Murder yields to no one, and we have been lucky to have had this much uninterrupted time together this evening already.

Sure enough, just as I am almost completely asleep, a shrill beeping pulls me awake.

Taking a deep breath, Sara keeps a protective grip on me with her right arm as she shifts herself to pull the flashing item from her waist with her left.

Glancing at the screen, Sara silences the pager before clipping it back onto her belt.

"You have a scene?" I ask, not knowing why I am phrasing it as a question.

Sara nods, sending me an apologetic look before placing a soft kiss into my hair.

"I'm sorry," she offers quietly, her voice carrying along the breeze.

"Not your fault," I tell her sincerely in response.

Holding each other a few moments more, we finally break apart, stepping down carefully from the railing to begin our journey back towards our house.

As Sara threads her fingers through mine, I can't help but feel just the slightest bit torn about IA's decision to give Sara back her job after her involvement in the shooting of Christian Dane.

But, I remind myself, tightening my hold on her hand, her getting her job back may mean some interrupted nights for the two of us, but it also means a whole mess of days we get to resume working together side by side.

And, in the end, nothing beats working in a profession that you love with a person that you love even more.


AN: Excited to start on another journey with you guys :) As always, I hope you continue to share your thoughts and comments with me. Thanks for reading.