Chapter 2.

I notice Catherine's Denali between a cherry red convertible and a sweet looking Harley Davidson. Three days had pass since we buried the hatchet and I gave her my phone numbers. She hadn't called me once during that time and while I'm loathed to seem as if I am rushing her, I heard through the grapevine what her case was. A baby, dead and abandoned was found in a dumpster. One does't need to be a mother to be disturbed by a case like this and yet I know from working in the past with other CSIs that are parents, that a case like this, hits them 10 times harder. Worst, Catherine had to work the case alone. With that thought, it takes less than two seconds for me to make my decision.

Before I lose my nerve, I park my truck next to the Harley and quickly make my way inside the diner. Bells jingle to announce my entrance and I immediately look to the corner booth, knowing full well that's where she'll be. And I'm right. She has her back to me, but I would recognize her anywhere. I can tell her head is bent and that by sitting as close to the wall as she can, she is trying to make herself seem as small as possible. After getting myself a cup of coffee I slowly walk to her booth.

"Hey, Catherine."

For a quick second she looks at me in shock, before turning her attention back to her half empty coffee mug. Her knuckles are white from clutching it so tightly.

"Mind if I take as seat?"

"If I said yes, I do mind. What would you do?"

"I'd go home."

Catherine looks up me with a disbelieving expression. "Just like that. You wouldn't force me to talk about the case? You wouldn't tell me it'd make me feel better? You wouldn't ask why I haven't called?"

"No, no and no. I don't force people into doing things they are uncomfortable with. I find that if someone comes to you it's . . . more satisfying for both parties. So, if you want to talk, then talk."

I practically see the wheels in her head turn as she processes this bit of information, most likely debating whether or not to take me up on my offer – whether or not she believes me. She stares at me for nearly a minute before she points to the seat across from her. "You might as well sit and finish your coffee."

"Thank you," I reply as I take my seat. "I heard bits and pieces from the lab techies . . . "

"I thought you weren't going to make me talk about it?"

"I'm not. I'm just making conversation. You know, you could have called me to come in early. It's not like I have a life outside the lab."

Catherine gives a bitter laugh before lifting her face to meet mines. She looks tired and worn with red-rimed, haunted eyes and bags that are visible even through her make-up, but she's still beautiful to me.

"I just want to go home and crawl into bed, forget this whole case – this whole day."

"Then why aren't you at home?"

"I can't – I know I won't be able to sleep. I keep seeing that little body, looking like a broken doll – not even one day old . . . I . . . just . . . " Tears gather at the corners of her eyes but they refuse to fall, afraid perhaps, of making their mistress seem weak and inferior? "I'm sorry," she mumbles. Getting up she fumbles for a few singles and hurriedly leaves the diner. It doesn't take me long to recover from her abrupt leave-taking and follow suit. I catch up with her just outside her truck, her hand is shaking as she tries to get the door open.

"Catherine," I call out. She looks up at me for a second and then quickly turns her back to me. One second is all I need to see the anguish and sadness in her eyes. I go to her and stand as close as I can, I resist with all my might the desire to take her in my arms and hold her. I'm in a bit of a dilemma, I said I wouldn't force her into talking and I don't want to, but I'm finding it harder and harder to keep my word. It quite obvious that she needs to get this case off her chest before it eats her alive. "Catherine . . . ?" I repeat lamely, unsure of how to proceed.

"Not here." Her tone is terse, her posture rigid, as if she is using every bit of her strength to hold back the floodgates – and it's just a matter of time before they burst.

"Okay, where?"

"Your place."

I nod my head and lead her to my truck. The ride to my place is quiet, but tense. I spare several glances at her to make sure she is okay and my heart breaks to see her like this, like she's ready to break in two. Whatever happened to that baby must have been horrible to reduce a veteran CSI to such a state.

We reach my condo quickly enough and several minutes later finds us sitting on my couch, each of us with a drink in our hand as I wait patiently for her to start her story. And oh, what a story it is; rape, incest and plenty of abuse, both mental and physical. Everything you would expect from a movie airing on Lifetime, save for the happy ending. There's not going to be a happily ever after for the young woman who left her baby to die, thinking she was saving her daughter from a fate far, far worse and the sad thing is, she probably was.

Her story ends, our drinks finished, and silence descends on us. Catherine's face is a picture of twisted anguish. It has taken her nearly 10 minutes to get her twisted tale out, several times she had to stop to collect herself before she could continue. By the end her tears were wetting my blouse and I was holding her tightly, glad of the privacy my home offered, but at the same time not caring how it may look for two women to be hugging.

Several minutes pass in this fashion – her head on my shoulder and me rubbing her back gently. Soft snoring breaks the quiet, indicating that Catherine has fallen asleep. I stifle a laugh at how cute she sounds and carefully, slowly rearrange our bodies so that we'll be comfortable and put my feet up on the coffee table. In deep slumber her subconscious takes over as she seeks out the nearest warm body and snuggles close enough that not one centimeter of space separates us. I resign myself to the fact that I'll be stuck here in this position for at least a couple of hours and that most likely I'll end up with a wicked kink in my neck. But I don't mind, not one bit.