AN: Hope everyone is well. This chapter is a bit longer than the others - decided not to split it into separate chapters, especially since there was a bit of a delay in posts.

Take care and enjoy.

CHAPTER 11

"If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand

on my hip,

And in due time you shall repay the same service to me,

For after we start we never lie by again."

-Walt Whitman

CATHERINE POV

"Good morning."

My words travel through the stillness, the early morning sun creating patterns across Sara's dark hair as she looks up at me.

Glancing from me, to the window, to me again, she narrows her eyes slightly.

"Morning."

Clearing her throat, she tries to sound less haggard than she clearly is.

"What time is it?"

"Quarter past seven."

Sara jerks her gaze to mine, pushing herself up and off the bed.

"What?" she questions, glancing around the room in confusion. "We need to be at work…we're late…"

"We're taking the day off."

Sara's eyes narrow even further, the younger woman clearly off kilter.

"What're you talking about?" she questions slowly, hesitantly.

"You heard me," I lean back in my chair near the small desk in our hotel room. "We're taking a break today."

"We can't," she argues, expression shocked. "We've got our first lead in days, we can't just sit on our asses now-"

"They found Charles Buford and Paul Kenner," I cut her off. "Charles was on a business trip in Europe. Paul was shacking up with his girlfriend in some small town in Kentucky. They're both being ordered back to Vegas for questioning, but won't get here until tomorrow."

Sara shakes her head.

"So we should be preparing for the interrogations, planning our approaches, our questions-"

"We both know how to interview suspects," I again cut her off. "We don't need practice, Sara. We've both been living and breathing this case. We need to go in there just like we always do on every other case and solve this nightmare."

"Catherine…"

It's clear that the brunette is uncomfortable with my plan, the obsessive woman feeling like she needs to be planning and figuring out everything down to the millisecond. But, I've found in my own experience as a CSI, that sometimes thinking too hard about something can be a detriment rather than an advantage.

"We know this case," I state sternly. "We're more than ready for the interviews."

Sara looks like she wants to argue, jaw clenched tightly.

"You're the boss," she settles on stating, tone tense.

"Yes I am," I push myself to a stand. "Now, go take a shower and let's get some breakfast."

Sara for the first time registers her appearance, glancing down at her clothing, realizing she's still wearing her same clothing from last night, right down to the shoes still on her feet.

Clearing her throat again, she avoids eye contact as she grabs her bag and heads towards the bathroom.

"I think it's hot enough already."

Sara glances up.

"Huh?"

"Your coffee," I gesture with my fork. "It's hot enough without you trying to set it ablaze with your eyes."

Sara shakes her head, pushing the said coffee slightly away.

"Sorry."

"Don't be," I answer easily. "Don't be sorry. Just tell me what's going on in that head of yours."

Sara's hazel gaze is directed out the window of the restaurant, eyes as unreadable as the brunette herself.

"Just thinking about the case, the interviews tomorrow. Whether this can all end."

"No."

Sara furrows her brows, looking at me.

"No, that's not what you were thinking."

Sara continues to look at me, her perceptive nature giving me the sense she's searching through every thought I've ever had.

"Look, Sara," I breathe out, pushing my plate away. "We can sit here and dance around the issues we're ignoring. Or," I fold my hands on the table, "we can address them like adults."

Sara's expression is dark.

"To what issues are you referring, exactly?"

I take a deep breath, knowing now is a good a time as ever.

"I answered your phone last night."

Sara's confused, mind running through different thoughts, different scenarios.

"My phone?"

"Yes," I confirm. "When you came back to the hotel room last night."

Sara's expression darkens further.

"Why?" she breathes out, instinctively leaning back away from me, putting as much distance between us as the booth allows. "You had no right…"

"You were passed out drunk," I state sternly. "I didn't know whether it had something to do with the case."

"Bullshit."

Sara's tone is harsh. Shaking her head, she starts to push away from the table.

Reaching out, I grab her wrist tightly.

"Oh no you don't."

"Catherine," Sara warns, voice low so to not draw attention, but her tone ringing loud and clear.

"You need to stop avoiding these issues, Sara…"

"You need to take your hands off me, Catherine…"

I shake my head, gazing at the younger woman with a mix of sorrow and frustration.

"Why are you always pushing me away?" I question, voice nearly a whisper. "Trying to keep yourself as far away as possible from anyone who may actually be able to help you."

"I don't need your help," she grinds out.

"No?" I question. "You want to tell me you're doing fine? That you haven't been hiding your problems behind alcohol?"

"Last night was one time-"

"You want to tell me that when I pulled your phone from your pocket that I didn't notice you had to make a new hole in your belt because you've lost so much weight even the smallest size no longer fits you?" I continue, not letting up.

Sara looks at me like I slapped her, eyes furious.

"Stop pushing me away, Sara," I all but beg. "You can't fool me like you've fooled the guys."

"I'm not fooling anyone about anything," Sara expresses, eyes narrowed and dark.

"No?" I shake my head. "Cause if you really believe that I think you're doing a damn fine job of fooling yourself."

Shoving away, Sara finally frees herself, tossing some money on the table before exiting the restaurant. Not missing a beat, I follow after her.

"You can't keep running, Sara," I call out, catching up to her despite her longer legs.

Reaching her, I turn her around, hands firm on her shoulders.

"Sara," I breathe out, taking in her averted gaze, her completely exhausted features. "Honey, please, stop doing this to yourself."

"What do you know?" she asks, voice matching her features in its exhaustion.

When I'm quiet, she swallows.

"The phone call…what do you know?"

"I know you should never have let me ask you to take this case," I state sadly. "I know that you're dealing with some major things right now in your personal life, and that you shouldn't have to deal with any of this on top of that."

"Sweetheart," I shake my head, trying desperately to get her to meet my eyes. "You should have said something."

"It's not a big deal," Sara states, voice so quiet I barely hear her.

"Sara, your mother is being released from her treatment facility, her sentence ending in a week." I breathe out, still trying to get the younger woman to look at me. "For the first time since you were a child, she's going to be free. And, not only that, you granted that she be released into your custody. That, honey, is a huge deal."

Sara swallows tightly, "You shouldn't have known," she gets out, voice harboring so much emotion it's hard to discern what she's feeling. "It's not relevant…not your business…"

"Sara," I call softly, removing one of my hands from her shoulder to gently turn her head towards me. "I'm sorry that I violated your privacy, I really am. But I'm not sorry that I know."

Sara's eyes shift away.

"You've always worked so hard to keep me, keep everyone on the team, at a distance. Sure, you're close with the guys, but you never let any of us really see you. Know what's going on in your life."

I feel her unsteady breathing under my hands.

"You're part of this dysfunctional Vegas family that we built," I tell her. "Always were, always will be. So, you Sara Sidle, are my business."

Her head lowers, her hair brushing against my hand.

"I can't…"

Sara swallows tightly.

"I can't do this, Catherine…not now…"

"What you can't do, Sara," I counter quietly. "Is keep avoiding the treatment center's phone calls, keep drinking yourself to sleep, and keep avoiding the issues threatening to destroy you."

I sigh.

"You've always been the strongest person on this team, Sara," I confess to her. "One of the strongest people I've ever met, really. But even you have your limits."

The world continues on around us as the two of us remain frozen in this parking lot, neither one moving or speaking.

Finally, I feel Sara move her head slightly, eyes tentatively reaching mine.

"I need to work this case," she states, voice driven. "Please don't take me off."

Searching my eyes, Sara's jaw is tight.

"Catherine, please…" she says. "Work is the only thing right now keeping me sane…without that…"

"There are other cases…"

"Not like this one," her eyes are dark. "Working this case, trying to nail this bastard, it gives me something to focus my energy on…keep me grounded."

I know I should say no, should tell Russell my concerns and get Sara pulled from not only this case, but all others until she's had a chance to truly slow down and deal with her issues. Force the headstrong woman to take a break and get herself together before she self-destructs.

But, it's Sara. And, despite all our tribulations in the past, there's something about Sara Sidle stepping out of her comfort zone and sincerely asking me for something that has me hesitant to deny her wish.

Sara Sidle doesn't ask anyone for anything. Especially not me.

"You promise me you'll stop running from the situation with your mom, and you promise me I won't hear you stumbling into bed drunk ever again."

Sara's eyes remain on mine.

"You have my word."

We remain in silence for a bit, both watching the other.

Then, I finally sigh and nod.

"Fine, but know I have the right to change my mind at any time."

Sara nods.

The taller woman turning to head back to the car, I reach out and take hold of her, much gentler this time. Carefully taking her still injured hand in my own, I turn her to face me.

"You know I care about you, Sara, right?" I ask, voice barely a whisper. "That I'm hard on you because I care? Please tell me somewhere deep down you know that."

She searches my expression.

I don't know what she finds there, but she eventually carefully steps out of my hold.

Without a word, she makes her way silently back to the car.

Heading back to the hotel room, Sara and I relax for a bit, both of us using the rare down time to our advantage.

I'm replying to some emails from work colleagues back in Washington when my phone's ringtone pierces through the silence.

"Willows."

Eyes furrowing, I continue typing.

"Hello?" I question, hearing only silence on the line.

Sending my email, I pull my phone from my ear to hang up when a piercing screeching noise comes from the earpiece.

"Jesus," I curse, jerking my head away.

I'm about to hang up out of instinct when I feel Sara take gentle hold of my arm.

Eyes meeting hers, she shakes her head silently.

Getting her point, I cringe as the piercing sound continues. Then, the constant shriek cuts away into rapid, piercing pulses.

The noise is so grating, so loud, that my heart finds itself hammering rapidly in rhythm to the noise.

Then, just when I think I'm going to go deaf, the phone goes silent.

Both Sara and I look at one another, then down at the phone still in my hand.

"Hello?" I tentatively call out into the silence, not sure whether I'm more terrified about the idea of someone actually answering me.

The phone remains silent.

But, as I glance down at the display, seeing the seconds ticking by, I know the call is still open.

"Hello?" I repeat. "Who is this?"

There is a click, and the call ends.

Pulling my phone down, I realize my hands are shaking.

"What the hell does this guy want from me?" I question darkly, voice as shaky as my hands. "And why doesn't he just say it!"

Sara's eyes move to mine, her expression sympathetic.

"He wants you to stop."

I do a double take at her unexpected response.

"What?"

"He wants you to stop," Sara repeats, letting out a breath.

"Sara…"

"The series of tones," Sara explains. "It's an old emergency response code that was used to indicate impeding danger. It was used to instruct those listening that the surroundings were unsafe and that they should hold their position."

"How…"

Sara shrugs, "I have a lot of weird hobbies."

I smile slightly, but the bile churning in my stomach quickly forces me to get serious again.

"You think it's in reference to the upcoming interviews? That we may be on the right track with our findings?"

Sara takes in a breath. "I don't know, but it seems odd though, too obvious. Someone worried we've caught onto them isn't likely to send out a warning to that fact to try to send us off their scent."

"Agreed."

I pinch my temples.

"But what, then?" I question. "I feel like I'm at a complete loss with this guy and whatever the hell he's trying to tell me."

"I think he's getting frustrated."

I watch Sara as she runs a hand through her hair.

"I think he's desperately trying to tell us something, but not with these messages," Sara's eyes meet mine. "He's trying to tell us something with the killings."

"What's your theory?"

All I have to do is look in her eyes to know she has one.

She hesitates, her expression, though guarded, revealing enough to let me know she isn't keen on sharing her present thoughts.

"Sara," I ask sincerely. "Please."

Swallowing, she keeps her gaze on mine.

"I think he's telling us to stop with the interviews."

"But you said-"

"I think he's telling us to stop with the interviews because we're wrong, not because we're right."

Sara's words hang in the air, neither one of us moving.

"You're suggesting…"

"This guy wants us to catch him," Sara confirms. "He's sick of working so hard to try to convey a message no one is getting."

"So what happens next?"

Sara hesitates again, this time her eyes leaving mine.

"I think," Sara breathes out. "I think he changes tactics. I think very soon he's going to push this into its final act."

"Which is?"

"I don't know."

"But…" I plead with her to finish her thoughts, heart continuing to hammer in my chest as I watch her.

"But," Sara forces out, words now nothing more than a regretful whisper. "I think, in the final act, you've been cast as the starring role."

"You ever going to trust me to be alone?"

"Nope."

"Sara…"

"No."

I roll my eyes, but deep inside I'm grateful for the brunette's diligent eye on me. She literally hasn't left my side since that phone call in the hotel room yeasterday.

I think we both know things are evolving quickly, and I have to admit I agree with her gut feeling that the end game is looming around the corner.

I do hope she's wrong, however, regarding my role in it.

Namely, I don't want to have any role in it at all.

Watching Sara as she smokes another cigarette, I pick up her pack of Marlboro Lights from the picnic table.

"You mind if I borrow one?"

Looking over, Sara breathes out smoke to the side away from us, reaching over to snatch the pack from my hands.

"Yes, I mind."

"Alright then," I raise my hands. "Apparently someone doesn't share well."

"Smoking's horrible for you."

My eyes widen. "You do realize this conversation is deemed idiotic by the fact you currently have a cigarette in your hand."

"Doesn't mean you have to be idiotic as well."

She sends me a look.

"You quit, Catherine. Don't waste all that hard work."

"You quit, too."

"But then I quit at quitting. You're better than that. You're a non-quitter quitter."

"You realize this conversation is rapidly declining in its maturity."

"I was aware."

"When was the last time we truly slept?"

Sara shrugs.

"Don't remember."

"You think that's a problem?"

"I think whether it's a problem or not is irrelevant as it's self-limiting in the absence of a resolution."

"How is it that when you're exhausted you seem to get even nerdier, and your sentences sound like an excerpt from a textbook on quantum mechanics?" I question. "Especially when mine become the opposite and revert to the level of a five year old?"

Sara shrugs again.

"I think our true colors tend to reveal themselves in our moments of exhaustion."

I snort, "Bitch…"

Sara smiles at our banter, the sight something I've missed seeing lately.

"But," I tell her, "I do agree. I think people reveal who they are when they're tired."

She takes another deep inhalation of her cigarette, blowing the smoke out into the evening air.

"I mean, to start with, your Californian accent gets thicker when you're tired…"

Sara immediately shoots me a look.

"For the millionth time, I don't have an accent."

"Right."

"I'm serious."

"I heard you. In your accent."

Sara puts out her cigarette.

"I'm going inside."

I smile at my rare victory over her.

"That means you're going to leave me here alone finally?"

"No," Sara states, pulling me to my feet. "That means you're coming inside, too."

Apparently my victories when it comes to Sara Sidle are destined to be short lived.

"That guy's an ass."

I laugh, shaking my head at Brass.

"You know, Sara said the exact same thing when we left the interrogation room."

"Sara has good instincts."

"That she does," I agree. "Though I don't think it takes much instinct to discern Mr. Kenner's personality traits."

"No," Brass agrees. "I think his request for you and Sara to undress for him to 'make his return trip to Vegas worthwhile' was the first indicator."

"And it was only downhill from there," I agree.

Though, there was something entertaining about watching Sara's reactions during it all. The stoic brunette gets so intense during interrogations, but this time even she was having a hard time not rolling her eyes.

Speaking of the brunette, I check my watch.

"Sara had to pick up something from Doc Robbins, but then I think we're headed out," I tell Brass, the only person Sara trusts to leave me with. "We have our interview with Charles tomorrow, but I'm not really hopeful it's going to go much better. I'm starting to think we're running off track here."

Brass nods. "Unfortunately, there've been so many murders that these guys only need a couple good alibies during a few of them to rule them out."

"Well, if it means I won't have to see this jackass ever again, he's one suspect I'm happy to rule out."

Brass smiles, "There's an upside to everything, I guess."

"Beautiful optimism," Sara smiles at Brass as she reenters the room. "Looks good on you, Jim."

Brass hits Sara playfully on the arm, unable to keep the smile off his face.

"Alright kids," he says. "You guys go home, get some rest. We'll pick things up in the morning."

We nod, each thanking Brass and wishing him a goodnight on our way out.

"You alright?" I question, watching Sara squint through the windshield as we pass through the streets towards the hotel.

"Yeah," she answers. "Just getting a lot of glare off the wet road with all this rain."

I nod, watching the wipers run back and forth, pushing a considerable amount of rainfall with them on each swipe.

"It's really coming down out there," I offer quietly, careful not to distract her. The roads to the hotel are dark, and it's made worse by the complete lack of moonlight due to the stormy skies.

We continue on in silence, Sara carefully guiding us through the streets.

Knowing we're only a couple miles away, I start to relax and think about the warm shower waiting for me upon our return.

"You-"

My words are instantly cut off by a streak of metal coming from our left.

Then, without so much as a millisecond to scream out any sort of warning, our Tahoe is hit violently out of nowhere, metal crashing into metal as an SUV runs the red light to broadside us.

Trying to control the resulting skid, Sara pulls hard on the wheel.

But, with the slick roads, there's no hope for correcting the skid in time to keep us from sliding right to the edge of the road. Then, almost as if in a nightmare, I feel the car pitch an instant before it crashes off the edge.

Pulling up on the emergency brake, Sara somehow keeps us from rolling over as we skid down the side of the ditch sideways.

Before I can contemplate anything further, we come to a violent halt when our Tahoe crashes into something hard behind us.

Now, the vehicle rendered completely still, the sound of our heavy breathing mixes with the rain relentlessly hammering on the roof.

"Sara…"

Turning to me, the brunette's features are pale in the reflected light from our headlights.

"Are you alright?" she questions anxiously.

Taking stock of my body, I register soreness in my neck from the whiplash of the impact. My shoulder also feels like it's seen its better days from the collision of my body against the door.

"I think I'm just sore," I eventually sum up, feeling pretty confident that everything is still movable.

Sara looks me over.

"You sure?" she questions in concern. "I think you're bleeding…"

I reach up, registering the warm moisture on my head.

"From the window," I tell her. "But just a scrape as far as I can tell."

Sara watches me a moment more before turning to look around us.

"Sara," I call as she does so, noting the large amount of crimson traveling down her own face.

"It's just…scratch…"

She swallows tightly, clenching her eyes together before forcing them open again.

"Just a scratch," she repeats, working hard to get out the words.

Too hard.

"Sara…"

My own words trail off as I look her over. It's hard to see her in the darkness, but I can tell that her side of the car is definitely where the brunt of the impact occurred. Her window is completely shattered, the metal of her door caved in towards her.

"Get my…gun."

"Sara?" I question, even more concerned now at her words that not only sound slurred, but are making no sense.

"Catherine," she forces out desperately. "Get my gun."

Doing as she asks, I reach over and feel around her hip until my hand falls on her weapon. Working it around the seatbelt, I pull it loose.

Looking up, I see her gaze focused intently into the dark night.

"Sara?" I question tightly.

"There's…up top…"

I follow her gaze, my heart slamming in my chest as I notice a figure standing along the top of the ridgeline.

I don't know how to explain it, after all they could be a witness or the other driver looking down to see if we're okay.

But, like Sara, I suddenly have a very bad feeling about this.

A very bad feeling about our 'accident.'

"Take my gun…get into the back of the car…"

"Sara, no-"

"I can't get my leg out," Sara confesses quietly, hand pulling roughly on her seatbelt, which also appears to be jammed.

"No, I'm not leaving you-"

"Now, Catherine," Sara growls out, seeing the figure dropping down onto the hillside, working his way toward us.

Debating my options I curse, quickly extracting myself from my seat and forcing my way through the Tahoe until I reach the back.

Pulling the safety off Sara's gun, I crouch low, hiding myself from view.

"Hold on tight," Sara warns.

I have no time to do anything other than what she asked, grabbing onto the door handle as I feel the car shift into gear.

Her intentions become clear when suddenly the sound of gunfire hits the side of the car.

Wasting no time, Sara fires the car to life, using everything it has left to accelerate as quickly as it will go.

The combination of the rain and mud, however, make it a nearly impossible feat, the engine straining as we fight for traction on the slick hillside.

Hearing more gun shots, Sara curses.

Then, my blood runs cold as I hear the shattering of glass and Sara lets out a strangled cry.

Shifting over, I see a gloved hand reaching in and grabbing Sara through the already broken window.

Sara struggles against him, but is clearly at a disadvantage as she is still trapped in place by the car door and her seatbelt.

"Hey!" I yell, swinging around to point my gun directly in his face.

Before I can complete my threat however, the side door is ripped open and I'm grabbed swiftly from behind by a second person I never even saw coming.

"Catherine!" Sara yells, fighting desperately against her own suspect.

Feeling myself dragged from the car, the pouring rain comes crashing down on me. Trying to swing the gun around, my captor is too quick, his arm reaching out and slamming my own harshly against the Tahoe until I hear a sickening snap and the gun is forced from my hand.

"Leave her alone!" Sara screams, her own word cut short by a loud crash.

Hearing her labored moan of pain that follows, my heart sinks to my gut.

Holding me tightly, the man fighting me drags me almost effortlessly towards the hill.

Seeing the other suspect pulling Sara's cuffs from her waist and cuffing her to the steering wheel, I watch her head lift weakly.

Somehow, her eyes find mine.

Our gazes remain locked, her eyes desperately trying to say to me what her body cannot.

Feeling the man pulling me further upwards, the other suspect retreats back up the hill as well.

Sara tugs as hard as she can against the cuffs, body still trapped in the mangled vehicle.

Her efforts are clumsy, her eyes working desperately to stay on mine even as they start to roll back.

"Cath…" she gets out, her tormented voice somehow reaching me through the driving rain.

Still trying to free herself to reach me, to protect me, my last glimpses of Sara's desperate and tortured gaze are cut off as we reach the top of the hill and I'm dragged towards the waiting car.

Dragged towards a future I'm certain holds a darkness and malevolence like nothing I've ever seen.

AN: Uh oh. Thanks for reading.