AN: Hope everyone is doing well and your weeks are starting off okay. Thanks, as always, to those who take the time to review, it is much much much appreciated.

And, katvrah, your answer comes next chapter :)

Take care and enjoy.

CHAPTER 10

"I told him I was going to betray you, and betray Lyra, and he believed me because I was corrupt and full of wickedness; he looked so deep I felt sure he'd see the truth. But I lied too well. I was lying with every nerve and fiber and everything I'd ever done...I wanted him to find no good in me, and he didn't. There is none."

-Philip Pullman - "The Amber Spyglass"

CATHERINE POV

Yawning, I can't believe how tired I am.

Sara and I spent all day tracking down Paul Kenner and Charles Buford, gathering as much information as we could about their lives, their families, their pasts.

We each took one person, focusing all our attention, all our energy on dissecting every last bit of his life. No stone was left unturned, no finding overlooked.

Then, a good two hours past shift, we spent another solid hour combining our findings, sharing everything we learned with the other.

By the time we finished, the lab was deserted, everyone from night shift having gone home long ago.

Knowing we had only a couple hours before the start of next shift, we debated not going home at all. But, in the end, our exhaustion won out, and we decided to at least try to catch a quick nap.

Looking over, Sara is still passed out on the window seat, her tall frame hanging over the sides awkwardly.

Shaking my head, I swing my legs out of Sara's guest bed, trying to straighten out my hair.

Exiting the room, I stifle yet another yawn, wishing like hell we didn't have to head back into work in about thirty minutes.

Pinching my temples, I open my eyes.

And, I nearly shit myself.

"What-"

I startle, grabbing towards my hip out of habit, but, I grab only my pajama pants.

"Hi, darling!"

"Mother!" I yell, looking around. "What in the hell are you doing here, and how the hell did you get in?!"

My mother looks at me like I've lost my marbles.

"I just told the cops out front I was your mother, they let me in."

I remind myself to have a stern talk with Brass' officers.

"You can't just walk in here," I exclaim. "This is Sara's home!"

"So," my mother shrugs. "This is where you're staying, so this is also your home for the time being."

She looks me over. "I wanted to visit my daughter."

"We have to get to work," I shake my head. "This isn't a good time."

She looks at me sternly, "Don't be disrespectful, Cathy."

Hearing a shuffling, I see Sara enter the kitchen, hair disheveled and a confused expression on her face.

Hazel eyes glancing at us, she shifts her gaze between me and my mother.

"Ms. Flynn?" she questions, trying to straighten her hair.

Her attempts prove to be about as hopeless as my own.

"Hello, Sara."

The mood is tense. No, it's beyond tense.

"I was just telling my mother that we unfortunately don't have a lot of time for a visit."

"Right," Sara offers awkwardly, clearly letting me take the lead.

She's wise enough to stay out of my mother's way.

"Want some breakfast?" my mother offers, gesturing to a bag near her on the counter. "My visit does have a benefit - I didn't just come to annoy you, like you apparently think."

Sara looks like she wants to disappear into the carpet.

"I, uh, think I'm going to grab a shower…" she eventually states when the silence between my mother and I stretches on.

"I was talking to you, too, Sara," my mother states tersely. "You look like you could stand to eat something."

"Mother!"

Sara tenses as she tugs at the hem of her boxers.

"I'm sorry if I've offended you, Sara," my mother offers with a tight smile. "I'm simply concerned."

Sara's expression remains guarded. "Right. Thanks"

"We'll grab some coffee and take the food on the road with us," I intercede, trying to end this terrifically awkward encounter. "Thanks for bringing it."

"Yo-"

My mother's words are cut off as the sound of shattering glass rips through the room.

I hear cursing, and I'm not sure who of us is yelling.

Grabbing for my mother, I feel both of us shoved to the ground.

Head covered, more glass shatters and I register a weight on my back.

When the chaos ends, an eerie silence replaces it.

"Mother?" I question, trying to look up. "Mother?!"

"Cathy…" my mom's shaky voice comes from somewhere next to me.

Feeling the weight push off my back, I glance above me to see Sara cautiously lifting herself off my mother and I, moving into a crouch.

My mother and I look upward, slowly following her actions.

"Cathy…?" my mother demands more sternly now, terror evident in her tone. Her eyes are glued to mine.

Sara moves slightly away and I grab her by her t-shirt.

"Sara…" I warn.

"Our guys are out there," she says, trying to keep her voice low for my mother's sake. "My gun is in our room."

My mom raises her brows, terrified, but apparently not enough to fail to notice Sara's use of the word 'our.'

But, now so clearly isn't the time.

"Get behind the counter," Sara instructs, eyes now also addressing my mother. "There's no direct angle from the windows there."

"Sara…"

"Now," Sara states tersely, all but shoving my mother and I further into her kitchen.

Glancing around the shattered glass scattering her living room, Sara quickly assesses the scene before making a break for the bedroom.

Hearing a sudden explosion of more shattering glass, I cover my head.

"Sara!"

No answer.

"Sara! Answer me!"

Hearing the skittering and crunching of class, Sara skids back alongside us.

"Are you alright?!" I demand, looking her over.

"I'm fine," she assures me, voice distracted as she ushers us further into the corner of the counter.

Reaching out, she hands me her spare weapon, her own clutched tightly in her right hand.

"It's loaded," she tells me. "Safety's already off."

I nod, feeling my mother gasp beside me at the sight of a gun in her daughter's hand.

"What the hell is happening?" my mother demands. "Guns?! What is this?!"

"Bet you're regretting visiting now," I mumble, focusing on Sara.

"We need to contact Brass, find out what the hell's going on."

Sara nods, pulling out her phone which she must have also grabbed.

Our heads immediately lift when we hear the crunching of glass.

The crunching we both know exactly the source of.

Footsteps.

Sara pushes her phone towards me.

"Call Brass," she orders.

"Don't you dare."

Fixing me with a look, she shakes her head.

"We don't have time to debate this, Catherine. Keep your mother safe."

Without further comment, she checks her weapon for a quick second before taking a deep breath.

"Sara, don't…"

Shooting to her feet, Sara extends her weapon.

"Freeze!"

Her command is followed almost immediately by a gun shot.

"Sara!"

Jerking sidewise, Sara almost loses her balance before again extending her weapon.

Then, nothing.

Silence.

Confused as to why the hell she's just standing there, I check to be sure my mother is secure before standing as well, my own weapon outstretched and my breathing rapid.

Seeing the scene before me, the person pointing their gun at Sara, I curse.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

The rookie cop is so nervous the gun in his hand is shaking.

"Put it down!" I yell, eyes wide, wondering why the hell he's just standing there frozen.

Stunned, he jerks his arm away from Sara.

"Sorry," he gets out. "I'm so sorry…"

Sara removes her own weapon, moving to run her piercing gaze around the room.

"Are you alright?" the cop questions in terror. "Did I…did I hit you?"

Sara's barely paying attention at this point, dark eyes scanning the surroundings, noting the other cops now circling the house.

"Sara!" I yell to get her attention, reaching out towards her. "Are you hit?"

She shakes her head.

"No, missed me by a mile," she mumbles, eyes moving back to check on my mother.

Then, she turns to glance at me.

Looking me over, she curses.

"You're bleeding," she states, eyes on my feet.

Sure enough, there're small streaks of blood gathered near my feet, no doubt from the glass we're all standing in.

Looking over, I note her own feet and legs.

"So are you."

She doesn't seem to care, still on guard as she keeps glancing around.

"Officer," she addresses the still trembling cop. "Please take Ms. Willows outside to get her feet looked at. Avoid the glass."

He nods, eager to get out of her presence.

"Ma'am…" he gestures, giving me his arm so that I can step around the glass easier.

Sara sees the look I'm giving her.

"I'll be out in a second," she says. "I just want to check a couple things."

Shaking my head at the stubborn brunette, I watch another officer help my mother to her feet.

Both stepping outside, the cops are now surrounding the house, each working to clear the scene and comparing notes with one another.

"Catherine?"

Brass' voice draws my attention.

"Are you alright?" he questions anxiously, waving a paramedic over. "We just got here."

"Just some cuts on my feet from the glass," I look back towards my mother. "Not sure about my mom."

"We'll take care of her," Jim assures me.

Furrowing his brows, he looks around. "Where's Sara?"

"You know her," I roll my eyes. "Wanted to play cop for a while before heading out."

"Damn it, Sidle," Brass mutters.

Squeezing my shoulder, he lets the paramedic lead me towards the ambulance.

Looking around, he wastes no time heading inside, and I smile, knowing exactly who he's going in there after.

Sure enough, about two minutes later, Sara is being all but dragged from the house.

"Stop fighting me," I hear Brass order. "Or I'm going to fireman carry you to the ambulance."

Sara considers his threat before becoming slightly more compliant.

Moving her up alongside me, Brass sends me a look.

"Look who I found."

I shake my head at Sara as the paramedic cleaning the cuts on my feet gestures for Sara to have a seat.

The brunette remains standing.

Reaching out, I grab her by the waistband of her boxers. Shoving her next to me, I force her to sit at my side.

"What-"

"Don't even start," I warn her, pointing a threatening finger in her face.

Another paramedic steps up, starting to work on Sara's legs.

"What's the story?" I ask her.

"Gun shots," she says. "Front and side windows. Likely used the distraction of your mother's request for entrance to get within proximity of the house. From then really just a matter of creating havoc and getting out of dodge while everyone's still ducking for cover."

"Our guy?"

Sara hesitates, eyes leaving mine.

"I don't know."

I angle my head around towards hers.

"Who else would it be?"

Silence.

"Sara."

"I don't know," she says.

I don't believe her for a second.

"We're done with this," I tell her. "Your evasion of whatever the hell is going on with you ends here."

She looks away.

I grab her face roughly, turning her around to face me.

"Someone just shot your house to hell," I grind out. "With me inside. We're done playing games."

Sara shoves away, knocking the paramedic working on her off balance.

"Hey," the paramedic calls, grabbing at the brunette.

That, however, only makes the situation worse, Sara shocking even me when she roughly pushes the paramedic off her.

"Hey!" I hear my paramedic yell, jumping in to help his partner. Grabbing at Sara, the brunette continues her struggles, shoving angrily at the newcomer.

"Get off me," she threatens, her tone menacing and firm.

The former something I rarely hear in the brunette's tone.

"What's going on here?!" Jim yells, stepping in and placing himself between Sara and the paramedics.

No one moves.

"Someone start talking. Now!"

Sara's jaw is tight. "Misunderstanding."

"Like hell," Brass grinds out. "You're going to sit there and behave yourself while they take care of you."

"I'm fine."

"Now, Sara."

Moving her, he directs her back towards the ambulance, getting her seated back down.

Sara remains in stoic silence, barely reacting as her feet are tended to, glass being removed piece by piece.

When my paramedic finishes with my own feet, he hands me a pair of thick socks.

Putting them on, I wince at the sting in my feet.

"Thanks."

I move to stand alongside the ambulance, ignoring the pain of the cuts.

Sara looks over at me.

She gestures towards the scene.

"You should go…check on your mother."

"I'm not leaving until I make sure you're taken care of."

"I'm not a child."

"No?" I scoff. "Well you damn well act like one."

Sara narrows her eyes.

"I need to cut your shirt."

Both our eyes shift to the paramedic.

"You're bleeding," he explains, pointing towards Sara's upper arm.

Sara tightens her jaw, looking back towards me.

"Please, go check on your mom."

"You were hit," I ignore her. "You lied. That mother fucking idiot cop shot you!"

She glances around tensely, making sure we don't have an audience.

"Stop," she grinds out. "He didn't hit me."

"Cut her shirt," I command.

The paramedic now glances nervously between Sara and I, scissors held anxiously in his fingers.

"Miss Sidle?" he questions.

"No," I command. "I'm her superior, I outrank her. So when I tell you you can cut her shirt, you cut her damn shirt. Understood?"

Now avoiding my eyes, the paramedic glances down at his scissors.

"I'm sorry…" he hesitates, barely able to meet Sara's eyes.

The brunette herself looks livid.

But, I don't give a shit.

I've had it with Sara and her games.

Reaching out, the paramedic carefully cuts the sleeve of Sara's shirt. Cutting it up to the collar, he hesitates.

"It's going to be easier if I remove this…"

"We're all professionals," I state. "Do what you need to do."

Sara's jaw is so tight I'm sure she's about ready to draw her gun all over again.

Removing her black t-shirt, Sara is left sitting there in her boxers and a black bra.

The paramedic discards her shirt, assisting Sara as she pushes herself to a stand.

I move, blocking any path she could conceive of escaping through.

Looking her over, the paramedic notes a gash across her upper arm, and one across her torso as well.

"This one looks like a bullet graze," he offers, cleaning out the cut on her arm, confirming my accusation.

"That fucker…" I breathe out. "He could have killed you…"

Wrapping her arm securely, he moves down to her torso.

"This one looks like a cut from the glass."

Cleaning it as well, he asks her to turn so he can reach the part that stretches around to her back.

Sara doesn't move.

Taking her by the shoulders, I turn her roughly around for him.

Then, I immediately wish I hadn't.

The cut itself isn't extremely deep, but both the paramedic and I stop in our tracks as we take in the sight of her back.

There're two tattoos located along her skin, one at the base of her neck, and one down low near her left hip.

But, it's not the tattoos that have our attention.

"I, uh, I'm just going to finish cleaning this," the paramedic states, trying to keep his voice neutral and professional.

As he works silently, I try to stop from staring.

But, seeing the extent of the scars, the past injuries displayed across her back, I can't look away.

"I'm finished," the paramedic whispers. "It should stay open to the air, you can dress it with gauze in a couple hours or if it rubs against your clothing."

Sara nods, her expression dark.

Turning, she moves to step past me.

"Sara…"

"Don't," she warns, tone matching her dark features.

"Stop, Sara," I plead, taking gentle hold of her arm.

Pulling herself from my grip, she pushes violently away, "Don't. I mean it."

Raising my hands, I watch her with a mixture of guilt and dismay.

"I didn't know," I whisper.

She meets my eyes with her dark gaze.

"Now you do."

Sara and I haven't spoken since the scene at the ambulance, both of us carefully avoiding one another.

My feet ache and my head feels like it's banging out of my skull. The combination of stress and lack of sleep is having its effect on me, and the twinges of pain I feel from the cuts on my feet every time I take a step certainly don't help.

Brass decided it was safest to put us up at a private hotel for the remainder of the investigation, keeping two cops permanently posted outside our door, in addition to ones stationed outside the elevators and stairwells.

None of them rookies.

I headed back to the lab after giving my statements, working on things there for a while before deciding to make it an early night. We're at a bit of a standstill with the case, having put out alerts for our two suspects. But, until they're located and brought in, we have nowhere further to go.

Staring up at the ceiling from the crisp sheets of the hotel bed, I look over at the empty bed beside me. Brass decided it would be safer to keep us in the same room.

But, my brunette companion has been nowhere to be seen all evening.

Sighing, I turn back over, trying again to fall asleep.

I last about ten minutes when I hear a keycard slipping into the lock.

Reaching over, I place my hand over my gun, keeping it hidden under the pillow.

Door opening, it shuts quietly a moment later.

Then, a thud and a quiet curse pierce the room and I relax, recognizing that husky voice anywhere.

Sara shuffles around a bit more before dropping herself down onto her bed.

Complete silence follows.

Waiting several minutes, Sara's absolutely silent. No sound of her changing, no sound of her getting under the covers, no sound of her readjusting the pillows.

No sound of her moving at all.

"Sara?"

Nothing.

Taking a chance, I turn on the bedside light, casting the room in a light orange glow.

The brunette is passed out on her bed, lying with all her clothing still on atop the covers, head turned away from me.

Moving my own covers off, I swing my legs over the side of my bed, grimacing as my abused feet make contact with the carpeted floor.

Circling around Sara, I see her eyes are closed and her breathing even.

Leaning down, I jerk back up when the heavy scent of alcohol reaches my nose.

Rubbing my temples I don't know how I should be feeling about the younger woman's actions, her decision to use her night to drown herself in a bottle of what smells like whiskey.

Sighing, I decide it doesn't matter what I feel about it, it's happened and there's nothing I can do about it. She's an adult, as she pointedly reminded me herself earlier today. She can make her own decisions.

Turning to head back to my bed, I draw up short when a vibrating sound cuts through the silence.

My eyes quickly trace the source to Sara's jeans pocket.

Sara doesn't move at all, clearly blacked out from the alcohol.

Despite my regretful actions earlier at the ambulance, I debate for only a second before I waste no time approaching her and lifting her hip slightly.

Gaining access to her pocket, I pull out her phone, finger sliding across the screen to answer it before I give myself a chance to change my mind.

It may be harsh, it may be out of line.

But, it also may be my only shot.

"Hello?"

AN: Thanks for reading. Who's on the other end of the line? What are they calling about? What do you want to be the reason behind the phone calls? Always love hearing your guys' thoughts.