Sara
Having her tell me to the face that she doesn't love me hurts. But it isn't unexpected.
Begging her to try despite of that is stupid and being rejected hurts even more.
But loving her and restricting myself from any contact, avoiding her and being avoided, that is what is unbearable.
Now that is where I am, in the midst of my dilemma. Offering her my heart and what's left of my dignity. And she tells me I deserve better. The thing is, who could be better than the person I love? Irritatedly I shake my head. I'm nuts.
However, staring at her hands, while she is sorting out the pictures we've laid out on the table I find myself mesmerized.
We haven't talked for a while, both preoccupied with the details of our case, or at least she is. My own thoughts occasionally wander off to her. Especially in the past couple of minutes when she didn't ask questions to direct me back to the evidence. Silence really isn't good for my concentration. It never has been, I always found it easier to focus when I had something -or someone- to keep my mind from drifting. Hence, when I'm alone I start humming in order to stay focused. Only in this case I am not alone. So my thoughts do drift. And again I find myself wondering why I am putting myself in this position.
Catherine made it more than clear that she doesn't want me the way I want her. I should just accept it and move on. I've done that before, many times, just not with someone I worked with. Not with someone I felt so strongly about. Not with her.
"Hey, see that?" Catherine asks, abruptly bringing me back to the present. She points to the clothes she's examining. Taking a closer look I discover dark fibers on the knee of the woman's pants, most likely belonging to our killer.
"She might have kicked him in defense." I muse. We smile at each other when we realize we have the same thoughts about our evidence, a first possible clue. "Yeah, hopefully somewhere painful." Catherine adds making me smirk at the remark.
We work through the rest of the items more enthusiatically from there on, mostly in comfortable semi-silence. I realize how much I've missed working with her. Unaffected by the personal differences that often times cause us to clash we are a great team when it comes to solving murders and mysteries. I just love the way her brain works. And I love that she understands mine.
So why is it that we don't relate emotionally? It's a question I have asked myself a lot, especially over the last couple of weeks. And I haven't come up with a suitable answer so far.
I'm once again interrupted when I hear a distinct growl next to me. "Hungry?" I smirk as Catherine's cheeks turn a cute shade of red. "A little" she admits.
"You should go grab a bite then" I advise her, while I write down notes on the bags we've been sorting through. She doesn't make a move to leave, instead grabs the pen from my hand.
"You haven't eaten in at least as long as I haven't." she states, leaving no room for me to argue -not that it stops me from trying. "I'm not hungry, I'll just finish this." My hand is already midway to hers, attempting to get back the pen she took. Then, for the briefest of moments our fingers touch and I feel a shiver run through me at the contact. Holy hell, I'm in trouble.
Catherine looks up at me, surprised, challenging, I can't really place her expression but I do detect the dangerous gleam in her eyes. God, her gaze is intense. Her lips are so very inviting, parting, moving. Shit, she's talking to me.
Her eyebrow is raised. I bet she just asked me something.
"Come on." She says, already dragging me along with her. What the fuck? On reflex I pull my arm from her grasp. Still, I follow her out. Damn, that ass of hers works like a magnet.
She throws a glance back over her shoulder and asks where I'd like to go for food. Your bedroom. Lucky for me I can suppress those words from escaping my mouth. I quickly clear my throat and force out "Wherever you want to go." My mind is already on overdrive again.
What is she after now? Does she think dragging me to a lunch break in the middle of a case is the right occasion for a talk? Or is she really just doing this for the food? If not, what the hell do I tell her without making a further fool of myself?
I sigh and jog along after her, catching up in time to hold the door open for her. I'm an idiot, I know. But I can't help it, she just brings out the worst in me.