The glare of the sun was intensified as it reflected off the fresh snow, bouncing off the walls of my empty white room then back again, giving the place an oddly ethereal glow. Sleep no longer being an option as the light burned its way through my heavy lids, I rolled myself off the full sized mattress on the floor that I was still calling my bed. After some effort I freed myself from the sheets, toddling my way into the living area in pursuit of coffee.

The angelic quality evaporated at the door, giving way to a wasteland of boxes and their half forgotten contents radiating across the floor. I'd only gotten as far as arranging the some of the items into semi-organized piles before my anger wore off and I realized I really didn't care, submitting myself to several hours of mindless crap on the television before I finally went to bed. It's not like I ever had company over; even Matt had never been privy to knowing where I lived during our brief liaison. Unpacking was just too final, despite my determination to remain here.

I unearthed my cell phone from beneath the wreckage, momentarily perplexed by the flashing light that told me I had a voice mail. More curious as to who would be calling than what they had to say, I dialed into my message box.

"Hey, Sara! Matt calling. Haven't heard from you in a while, I thought we were really hitting it off and I'd love to see you again. Give me a call. I know you're busy, I'll try you again if I don't hear from you."

I groaned out loud. Looks like I wasn't rid of him yet. Not only that, he was going to call back, forcing me to talk to him eventually. I thought I'd gotten off easy when he hadn't call for so long, saving me the ordeal of breaking up. The only reason he was going to call back was because he thought I might be too busy to remember to return his call. I was never busy, unless chain smoking and day dreaming qualified. I just told him that from time to time, to keep some distance.

The hunk of plastic in my hand began vibrating almost instantly. "Speak of the fucking devil," I muttered to myself, debating whether or not to answer. Matt was a good guy though, he deserved to at least hear it from me that our fling had come to an end.

"Hey Sara! Did you get my message?" he asked before I'd barely said "Hello."

"Yeah, just now. Look Matt-"

"There's a great local band playing downtown tonight," he interrupted. "I wanted to see if you'd like to check it out? My treat."

I felt bad, I didn't want to hurt his feelings. I figured it would hurt less if he didn't see it coming, like snapping a dislocated bone back into place. "Matt that's really nice, but I can't."

"What about tomorrow night?" He pushed. "They're playing through the weekend."

"No Matt. You're not listening. I can't… I can't be in a relationship right now."

Shocked silence took over briefly. "You're ending this?" He sounded genuinely dumbfounded.

"I'm sorry, really I am. I'm just…" I grasped for a word, settling for my usual fallback. "I'm really busy."

"That's not the real reason," he accused.

"I've got to go. Bye Matt." I quickly hung up the phone, feeling he was on the verge of begging, saving him the humiliation of doing so and myself the agony of hearing it. My phone began to vibrate again. "Jesus Christ!" I yelled before flipping it open. "What?"

"Sara?" I froze, my heart dropping down to my gut. The voice was definitely not Matt's. It couldn't be her though, could it? It simply didn't make sense, it had to be my imagination. "Hello? Sara is that you?" I snapped the phone shut as I became sure who the speaker was. How had Catherine gotten my number? Why was she calling? Hanging up on her suddenly seemed like it hadn't been the best plan, but when the phone started ringing again, this time seeing her name on the screen as I actually bothered to look, I couldn't bring myself to answer it. I was embarrassed by my spastic response to hearing her voice, but even more so something inside me was terrified at the thought of speaking with her. Catherine really wasn't a frightening person to those that knew her, but still she scared me.

The message alert light began taunting me again. I needed coffee, and a cigarette. Breakfast, in other words, at least these days. I would listen to the message later, with a straighter head on my shoulders.

I grabbed my coat, coffee and smokes and headed out to the tiny shelf I dared to call my balcony. It was warmer out today, sunny even; the snow already beginning to melt as it dripped off the awnings like an assembly of leaky faucets. It would probably be gone by tomorrow, leaving behind only slushy piles of dirt that clung to your shoes and the carriages of cars. After smoking my cigarette practically through the butt, the visible signs of my nervousness had passed, and the mug in my hand finally stopped shaking. My thoughts, however, were far from still.

What was with the sudden foray of Catherine? Sneaking up on me in my own mind, being forced to confront her in therapy, and now this phone call. Again, I began to wonder why she had called. The more I wondered, the more I began to worry. What if something was wrong? What if someone else had died? The more I worried, the less I wanted to hear the message. If it was bad news, I wasn't sure I could take it.

I knew I was probably working myself up for nothing. If something was really wrong, wouldn't Nick have called me? Or Greg? Unless something happened to them… I had to stop thinking, I was never going to know until I listened to the message.

I stubbed out my cigarette and went back inside, setting my coffee on the floor by the lonely futon while I discarded my jacket, thinking a table or chair might be a good investment in the near future. Making myself as comfortable as I could on the lumpy seat, I tucked my knees up under my chin, starring at the phone in my hand, willing it to make the decision for me. At last, I gave in, dialing my voicemail for the second time that morning, a rare event indeed. I wished the automated voice were a living being, wanting to tell her to shut up and get on with it as she guided me painfully slowly through the steps I already knew to my inbox. "You have… one… unheard message…" I couldn't tell if I was more afraid of my internal ramblings being right, or a simple greeting from Catherine. I took a breath, finding it trapped in my lungs while I waited for the message to start.

"Sara, it's Catherine. I haven't… we haven't heard from you in a while here. I've talked to Grissom, I know about… you know. It's not the same here without you… all of you. Grissom and Warrick, too. I just needed… never mind. I'd rather talk to you than your voice mail. Give me a call when you can, let me know your okay. Bye."

A lump was forming in the back of my throat, realizing that message was the first contact I'd had with anyone in my Vegas family since I'd left Grissom. She'd sounded… Sad? Worried? Something. She didn't sound like Catherine. Did she miss me? It almost sounded like she did. A part of me wanted to reach out to her so badly, but I wasn't ready. She would have so many questions, and I so few answers.

"To delete this message, press seven," the automated voice instructed. "To save it in the archives, press nine." My finger moved to the seven, but in the end landed on the nine. It was probably a mistake, saving this piece of Catherine to carry with me wherever I went. I was giving her permission to haunt me, letting the ghosts back into my soul. I couldn't delete it though, not yet. I just needed a little something to hold on to- just for now.

The hour or so since I'd woken up had already been far more eventful than most of my entire days here. It made me want to go back to bed; I'd had my fill of excitement for the day. That wasn't a routine I wanted to allow myself to fall into though: wasting days away with sleep in order to make it to night, hoping that maybe tomorrow would be a good day. So I forced myself to remain planted on my uneven futon, sipping my coffee as slowly as I could in the hopes that when the contents were drained, I might have some idea what to do with myself the rest of the day.

I could swear that I'd forgotten how to have fun. The notion seemed ridiculous, but I just couldn't fathom the idea of fun anymore. What had I done for fun in Vegas? I knew I could remember good times there, but I didn't know how to translate them to here. I feared that even if I were to return to Vegas, I wouldn't be able to learn again. I wondered what the team was doing these days, what we might be doing together now if I had stayed.

The singular container that remained untouched from the previous night's onslaught caught my eye, the urge to take a peek inside swiftly taking me over. The more I thought I shouldn't, the stronger the desire became. I was Pandora and it my forbidden box, though I doubt Pandora would have been so tempted to open her own had she known its contents the way I did mine. I knew the consequences, but Pandora and I shared in a lack of prolonged self restraint.

I set my half empty mug on the carpet, hesitantly gravitating towards the brown cube. Eve had eventually eaten the apple, too. I was simply the most recent in a long line of women that had succumbed to temptation. Though, I was only being disloyal to myself, and my defiance wouldn't unleash unknown evil or original sin upon the world. In the end, the only one I could hurt was me.

I unfolded the lid, an invisible layer of dust wafting up to my nose from the long untouched flaps. There on top, as though patiently awaiting retrieval all these months, was a framed photo of the team, my family. The same picture Greg and I had found proudly displayed on Warrick's dresser after having learned of his death. The thought of Warrick drew my eyes to his image, a hint of sadness touching me. At least he had been happy here; this picture had captured a good day for all of us. Next I found Grissom, still feeling guilt but knowing I had made the right choice as I looked upon his face and felt only a platonic love. Then Nick and Greg; my guys, my partners in crime, so to speak. I'd always been one of the boys. I could talk cars, sports, and carry on with the best of them. Not to say they saw me as a 'boy' per se, but Catherine was the lady of the group. She was the sexy one, the seductress, the mother; all rolled into one.

Catherine. I allowed my eyes to settle on her form: hip jutting out to one side, a full, inviting smile on her mouth. Classically Catherine. I felt my chest begin to tighten, the way I'd always figured positional asphyxia might feel, on a lesser scale. I had forgotten just how beautiful she really is. That didn't seem possible to forget, I knew she was beautiful, and her face haunted me both day and night. Yet, somehow still as I looked at her photo, she took my breath away. I'm sure Catherine has always had that effect on people. I just never realized I was one of them.

There's an old quote about love: "You can close your eyes to the things you do not want to see, but you cannot close your heart to the things you do not want to feel." Though, I would hesitate to describe what I was feeling as love – at least not in the almighty sense of the word – I realized that tucking my feelings away in a cardboard box had been a useless endeavor. Out of sight had never been out of mind.

I found looking at the picture really wasn't so painful at all, save for the slight sting of longing. Mostly, though, I felt comfort in their smiling faces, remembering that once upon a time I had known how to have fun. That no amount of time or distance had changed what these people meant to me. I picked myself up off the floor, propping the photo on top of my television. They may not be here, but they were with me. The picture would remind me of that.

As for Catherine, I would just have to figure that out as I went. I still wasn't sure what it was I was feeling for her, I only knew that I missed her, and I was afraid. The combination pointed in an obvious direction, but I had never looked at her in a romantic light. Perhaps my heart had indeed seen something I had shut my eyes to. I needed time to figure it out. I would call her, but not today.