Even the McDonald's was crowded. Catherine eyed the line of cars circling the building and thought longingly of her bed. This had been a bad idea. Unfortunately, the continued rumbling in her stomach meant changing her mind about lunch was out.
"You think the Sheriff will do anything once he reads the reports?" Sara asked as she used the Tahoe's size to force her way into the drive thru line.
Catherine looked at her in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? He's been after Sam for years. Remember that conversation on career-building cases? I bet the DA adds attempted tampering with evidence and bribery of a public official to the charges before tonight." And maybe Sam would finally understand that she wasn't going to give in to his intimidation like Lily.
The car grew silent for a few minutes. Sara appeared to study the McDonald's menu as they waited to order.
To Catherine, it was a clear indication the other woman was worried about something. Thanks to Lindsay, they were at this restaurant (or one like it) at least three times a week. Sara should be able to recite the entire breakfast and lunch menu from memory. "Sar?"
"I don't…" Slumping over the wheel, Sara rubbed at her eyes. "Damn it, Cath, I know I pushed you to take the information to Grissom. Now that you have, though, I wonder. How is Sam going to respond when he realizes you and I were the ones who turned him in?"
Leaving Catherine to grapple with that question, Sara moved the Tahoe forward another few feet and began to speak with the disembodied voice of their waitress.
How would Sam respond? That was no secret. Sara had pegged his reaction the day they'd met at the Bellagio. He expected immediate results, results that fit perfectly with his master plan. Catherine had already disappointed him. Not only had she turned him down in person, she had no intention of being wooed by a bouquet of flowers. Turning Sam in to the Sheriff was one more black mark in Sam's book. It was war.
"You still with me?" Catherine jumped at Sara's question. "Cath?" One of Sara's hands left the steering wheel and lightly touched Catherine's knee.
"Sorry." Covering Sara's hand with her own, Catherine grimaced. "I was just thinking about your question." One of Sara's eyebrows quirked. "Sam's response," she clarified as they approached the last of the drive thru windows. "We don't have to hire bodyguards, if that's what you were worried about. He isn't like that." Then Catherine reconsidered. "Well, if we had tried to cheat at one of his tables, I'm sure there would be fists and pain involved. We're in a different category."
Sara gave her a long look. "Why don't I feel reassured?"
"Because you have a brain." The words were dry – and still serious. "We're in a special Hell as far as Sam's concerned. Think mind games and hidden danger. And pain. That's a given." Lily had been through years of that as she languished alone, living in the house Sam had bought her and surrounded by the mementos of his "love." "He's creative and ruthless."
Their conversation paused again as Sara accepted the bag of food and their drinks from a thin kid in a bright red baseball hat. When they pulled back into traffic, it was clear Sara was still thinking about their problem as she chewed on her lip and scowled at the cars in front of them.
"Sar, there's nothing else we can do," Catherine warned. "We've done everything possible. I talked to Gil; we filed those reports; and I'll let Nance know to be on the lookout." That would be a fun phone call. Nancy hated Sam even more than she did. Determined to change the subject and stop thinking of Sam, Catherine made sure her next question had nothing to do with their current situation. "Did you call the storage place today?"
They weren't through talking about Sam. Sara ground her teeth and promised herself they'd come back to the topic. "Yeah; they're threatening to auction my stuff if I don't come pick it up by the end of the month." When did she have time for that? The moving company had suggested this particular storage facility. Too bad they hadn't told her it was only for storing shipments temporarily. Of course, she acknowledged grudgingly, it had been nearly two months since they'd called the first time.
"You know, Gil will give you a day off if you tell him." Catherine reached across the console and jabbed a finger into Sara's side. "The lab can survive without you for twenty-four hours."
That wasn't the problem; although, Sara didn't say that. "Mmm." The real issue was Sara, herself. Moving in with Catherine had been a stopgap measure. A place to stay until her clothes and journals arrived from San Francisco. Unfortunately, she was comfortable with the way things were now. If she got the rest of her things, that would change.
Catherine proved (yet again) how hard it was to hide information from a trained investigator. "What's wrong?"
Biting back a curse, Sara shrugged. "Nothing." She grimaced when Catherine turned in her seat and raised an imperious eyebrow. "Really, Cath; it's nothing," she insisted. It was just something she'd have to get over. "I'll call them first thing tomorrow, I promise."
"And Gil?" Tilting her head, Catherine regarded Sara so intently that she squirmed in her seat.
"And I'll let Gil know I need a day off." The words came out in a sulky mumble. Sara dug into the bag of food, looking for a way to hold off more of Catherine's questions.
Apparently, Catherine recognized the delaying tactic. She gently took the bag out of Sara's hands and held it on her lap. "We can eat when we get home. Even fast food is better if you take it out of the paper wrappers and put it on a plate." Meeting Sara's disgruntled glare with a cheery smile, Catherine continued. "Besides, I'm sure it all needs to be warmed up."
Sara didn't have a response for that. Turning back to the road, she gripped the steering wheel tightly.
Maybe if she'd been paying attention, Catherine's next question wouldn't have shocked her so much. "Sara? What aren't you telling me? Do you… do you want to move out?"
"What?" The Tahoe jerked to the right as Sara's body spun in Catherine's direction. Horns blared around them for a second until Sara managed to reorient the SUV – and herself. Heart pounding, she demanded, "Why would you think that?"
"Because you get weird every time we talk about getting the last of your things moved into the house." It sounded so logical when Catherine said it. So logical, in fact, that it was clear she thought Sara was a head case.
Catherine might be right. With a sigh, Sara decided it was time for a little truth. "It's not that, Cath. Not at all. In fact, just the opposite." Traffic cleared ahead of them, and Sara paused to take advantage of the extra space. They'd be home soon, thankfully. Home. She glanced at Catherine and tried to explain her feelings. "I love living with you and Linds."
"Then what's going on?" Catherine was never content with the basics.
"I…" Sara hunted for words. "I guess I thought you'd want me to move now. I mean, I have a lot of crap in boxes. Journals, books, clothes. If I bring them home…" Damn it. Sara floundered. She hadn't wanted to let Catherine know that's how she thought of the house. "If I bring them to your place," she corrected quickly, "I'm going to have to spread out to more than the one room."
Laughter filled the Tahoe. "Really? You've been acting like a lunatic for weeks because you need an extra bookcase or two?"
When Catherine put it like that, Sara's cheeks burned. "Uh, yeah." Her lips twitched reluctantly as the laughter started up again. "OK. I'm an idiot. I admit it." Sara chuckled when Catherine nodded in agreement with her statement.
"Admitting you have a problem is the first step," Catherine advised with mock solemnity.
"Then I'm good to go. What's next? Twelve steps?" Sara turned onto West Lone Mountain, fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel the closer they got to home. "I'm really bad at sticking with long and involved programs."
The house came into view as Catherine snorted. "Well, I'll have to find a way to keep you focused on the goal then. I'd hate it if you checked yourself out before you were a hundred percent."
"Great." Pulling into the drive, Sara put the Tahoe into park and turned off the engine. "Rewards for good behavior might work. Think you have what it takes to motivate me?" she asked in the sudden silence – and then shoved open the door darted for the front of the house. If she could make it inside…
Unlocking the door proved to be Sara's downfall. As she jammed the key into the lock, Catherine strolled up. "Honey, I'm sure I can find a way to keep you focused." Her smile was sensuous, and she pressed into Sara's back.
Sara was suddenly focused, alright. It wasn't on maintaining emotional stability, however. The only thing she could see, smell, or hear was Catherine. Her hand fell away from the key. "Cath." Dear God. Nearly shuddering from a completely inappropriate surge of desire, Sara swallowed audibly.
"I never said what you'd be focusing on…" Not moving an inch, Catherine reached around Sara, hand wrapping around Sara's and the key still hanging from the lock.
The normal light and heat of the Las Vegas day was eclipsed by the volcano coming to life inside Sara. Sweat drenched her clothes and trickled down the small of her back. "Cath," she managed to choke out a second time. Silently cursing, Sara knew she had to pull herself together. This was simply a continuation of their playful teasing. Catherine wasn't serious, no matter how much Sara (and her body) wished she was. "Open the door. Cold Big Macs taste vile." The tone was too breathless and shaky, but Sara felt proud of herself anyway.
The key turned, the door opened, and Catherine's hand slipped away. "Like I've said before, Sara, you think with your stomach." The suggestive edge was missing from the comment, and Catherine steered them into the house as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.
"And I'm not denying it," Sara answered. Grabbing the bag from Catherine, she deliberately picked up her pace. She needed some room, a chance to regain her tattered composure and forget the feel of Catherine pressed against her. "If you aren't careful, I'll eat my lunch and yours. It would serve you right." A raspberry blew behind her. "Please, Cath. You're too old for that. Hell, Linds is too old." That didn't keep her from chuckling as they finally entered the kitchen.
"You're never too old," Catherine disagreed. "Age is a mental state."
Sara glanced over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows. "Really? Is it listed in the DSM-IV? I don't remember seeing it."
Catherine stuck her tongue out.
"I'll have to look it up tonight. I can definitely see how that 'state' is affecting you. You've shed years in only a few minutes. What are you? Four? Five?" Grinning at the narrowed-eyed glare she received, Sara put the bag of food on the table and strode to the refrigerator. "Be careful or I'll give you Kool-Aid."
The teasing disappeared once they started eating, replaced by aborted yawns and silence. Sara munched on lukewarm fries and stared mindlessly at the grease collecting on the waxed-paper wrapping of her burger.
"You asleep over there?" Catherine interrupted softly.
It took a second for Sara to formulate an answer. Her brain felt fuzzy. "Fine." The reply was garbled by another yawn. "We stopped moving and I suddenly remembered how long it's been since I got any sleep." In fact, reaching for the rest of her lunch seemed almost too much work. She forced herself, though. Long hours meant poor eating habits. Burgers and fries didn't rank high on Lindsey's food pyramid, but they were better than the candy bars and day-old coffee Sara had been living on.
"Amen." Mimicking Sara's yawn, Catherine tossed the remains of her fish sandwich onto the table. "I could sleep for a week. I'll settle for a few hours." She reached down to her belt. "Your pager…"
"Will go into the drawer, minus the batteries," Sara answered without making Catherine finish the question. By this time, it was second nature to make sure Grissom couldn't summon her on a whim. She took one last bite of her sandwich and levered herself upright. "I'll get the trash."
Catherine stood, too. "I've got lights and locks."
With the ease of familiarity, they completed their self-assigned tasks. Sara met Catherine at the bottom of the stairs. "Good night, Cath," she said, enjoying the relaxed, sleepy smile she received in return. "Don't let the Lindsey-bug bite."
"I'm too tired to care." Catherine put one foot on the lowest step and paused. "Sleep tight, Sar." She lightly brushed a hand over Sara's cheek before turning away.
