Interlude

He's a weird one, she gives him that; she just listens as he plays the case out, like she wasn't there too, and she only pipes up to remind him he's talking like he's the perp, not the investigator, not the victim. It's creepy, she admits, but it's been a long day and he's cute for all his weird creepiness. He's bashful around her as well, and it's a welcome change from the cocky, entirely-too-full-of-themselves guys she's met and dated lately. She flashes him a smile and he blushes and looks down at the table and she suddenly realizes who he reminds her of: Sara. Drive, intelligence, modesty, and crap for social graces. Sara who she left sitting alone at the lab, Sara who will never forgive her for a million sins, real or imagined. To distract herself from thoughts of Sara, she leans forward, giving him a clear view, and before he can even lift his eyes from her chest, she's kissing him, losing herself in the sensation, in the vain hope that it will quiet her restless thoughts.

Part 2

The music is loud and distracting; it seems everything around her needs to function as a distraction. She deliberately avoids thinking about charcoal brown eyes and words of accusation, and instead sings along to some song Lindsey likes. At least until she pulls into her driveway, stopping her SUV beside an identical dark-blue company truck.

"What are you doing here?" she asks as she gets out of her car, addressing the figure sitting on her stoop.

"I figured out what I wanted to say." There's a quiet tone of resignation to the brunette's voice, like she's been waiting a while, like she knows what's coming. "Where have you been?" she asks.

"Dinner."

"Dinner? With…?"

"Keppler."

"For five hours?" It is not a question, not really. She's an investigator, not an idiot. She's already connected the dots, long before now. Now she's just looking for confirmation. "You slept with him, didn't you?"

Catherine doesn't answer the question posed; instead, she asks a question of her own. "What was in the box from Grissom?" Sara at least has the decency to look embarrassed, and glance away from Catherine's eyes, but she doesn't say anything. After the pause, Catherine continues the conversation since Sara isn't volunteering anything, "You broke up with me, remember?"

"It was a mutual decision." The party line, the one they both adopt, the one they both know is a line, and a lie, the one Catherine is no longer willing to pretend to accept.

"Bullshit." Her single word is eloquent, for it addresses all manner of lies and illusions they've built up, agreed to, in the interests of peace. The peace is, apparently, over.

"It wasn't working out. You knew it, I knew it."

Catherine grants her that, but nothing else. "I was willing to work on it." She states the simple truth they both know, the simple, excruciatingly painful truth that she never really recovered from. Sara had walked away from her outstretched hand, and for what? It hurts her, physically hurts her, to even speak his name. "But you, you ran after the dream of a relationship with Grissom. How's that working out for you?" That last question is barbed, as harsh as Catherine had intended it, and she feels just a small thrill when she sees Sara wince.

"Fuck you."

She expects Sara's hostility, so she meets it with a deliberately blasé tone. "Sorry, I'm all done for the night."

Sara's lips contract into a hard line, and she shakes her head, eyes closed and hands clenched into fists. Catherine can't tell if she's angry or hurt, but she knows she crossed a line. Sara lets out a long, shaky breath and opens her eyes, now shaking her head sadly, in resignation. She brushes past Catherine roughly as she heads to her car, and Catherine feels a sliver of remorse. "Wait, what did you want to tell me?"

"It doesn't matter."