Before anyone starts to worry, this isn't going to turn into a GSR fic!
x X x
"It's nothing in particular." Sara shrugged. "I just needed a bit of ... support."
The remains of their pizza sat on the coffee table, discarded in its box, while they lounged on opposite sides of the couch, their legs intertwined lazily in the middle.
"And what, you forgot my number?" Cath challenged half-seriously.
"No, but you were busy dealing with your own things." Sara explained. "I didn't want to burden you with my issues, when it really wasn't anything specific anyway."
Cath sat forward, taking hold of her hands.
"Honey, it doesn't need to be anything specific." She chastised. "When my best friend starts taking anti-depressants, I want to know about it."
"Duly noted." Sara pursed her lips playfully.
Catherine had been stroking her knuckles with the pad of her thumb, when she suddenly turned Sara's left hand over.
"You know what I was thinking about earlier," she said, peeling the girl's fingers back and caressing the faded scar in the middle of her palm. "The night after this happened. You remember?"
"I try not to." Sara noted dryly, drawing a small laugh from Catherine.
"Yeah, that wasn't your finest hour." She conceded wistfully.
x X x
Flashback: Play with fire
Catherine lifted her head at the noise. She had no idea how long she'd been sat there anymore and felt her neck crack at the sudden movement.
"Hey." She greeted, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"Same thing as you, I guess." Sara said, letting the door swing shut behind her with a gentle click. She cast a lingering look over Greg's sleeping form with an affectionate smile. "How is he?"
"Tired." Catherine stood up stiffly and stretched. "But he'll be okay. They've dosed him up with painkillers, so he's pretty comfortable for now."
Sara nodded, a sad look crossing her face at the glaring omission in Catherine's answer.
"He's going to need skin grafts." She guessed, causing Cath to purse her lips and offer a reluctant nod.
"Yeah. I spoke to his parents on the phone a little while ago; they're going to get in touch with some plastic surgeons."
The blonde walked slowly around the bottom of the bed, until she was stood directly in front of Sara and reached one hand up to graze the cut on her friend's forehead.
"I'm sorry." She said genuinely.
Sara frowned, leaning away from her touch.
"Don't. It's not your fault." She retorted. "Any one of us could have left that hotplate on."
Catherine dropped her hand, but the remorseful expression remained in place.
After seeming to deliberate over what to say next for a moment, Catherine finally released a sigh and snatched up her bag from where she had hung it on the bed rail.
"Come on, I'll take you home. You shouldn't be driving with your hand like that anyway."
"It's fine." Sara answered instinctively.
"No, it's not." Cath draped an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple as she guided her out of the room, leaving Greg to sleep in peace. "You had a bad shock, you shouldn't have been working."
A gentle blush crept up Sara's cheeks and she shot a sideways glance at her colleague.
"You, uh, talked to Brass?"
"Nope." Cath answered, leading them through the corridor. It was nearly time for shift change, so the hallways were blissfully quiet as the current staff on duty were busy preparing their escape. "But I did speak to Grissom."
Sara stopped abruptly, pulling out of Catherine's loose hold on her.
"You did?" She cleared her throat, visibly unnerved by this prospect. "Did ... did he tell you what happened?"
"That you nearly got yourself shot?" Cath suggested dryly. "Yes, it might have come up."
"Is that all he said?"
The tentative way that Sara posed the question, along with her sheepish expression, caused Catherine to pause and appraise her properly.
"Why, what else have you done?" She asked knowingly, narrowing her eyes.
Sara, realising that she was giving herself away needlessly, straightened up and set off walking again.
"Nothing, never mind."
"Sara?" Catherine scowled, scampering after her. "What have you done?"
"Nothing, forget it."
"Tell me." She persisted, stalking the brunette through the main doors into the parking lot. "Is it about Grissom?"
"It's really not important." Sara tried again, determined to keep her back to her friend. She knew all too well that Catherine Willows could read her like a book, especially when she was lying.
Cath stopped and watched her walk away for a moment, before shaking her head in a mix of frustration and amusement at this obvious show of avoidance. Whatever Sara had done, it was clearly something she wasn't about to admit to in a hurry.
"What makes you think that's going to stop me?" She hollered at her retreating form, jogging to catch her up.
x X x
Present:
"Forty minutes it took for you to crack." Cath waved a finger at her accusingly. "I'd have gotten it out of Grissom quicker."
"Yeah, well." Sara shrugged, not sure what else to offer. "I wasn't exactly proud of myself."
"You know, you'd have never ended up in that situation if you'd listened to me in the first place." Catherine continued as if she hadn't spoken. "How many times did I warn you not to make a move on him?"
"Oh good, is it time for one of these lectures again?" Sara asked teasingly, rolling her eyes and earning herself a light kick for her troubles.
"Hey, you know I love Gil." Cath smiled, echoing the same sentiments she had offered that night after the explosion, and several times before. "But he's just not that kind of person – he can't give you what you need. And I'd hate to see you throw your life away on someone who won't treat you right."
"I guess." Sara shrugged. "It doesn't matter now anyway. Since what happened after that ... well, I guess you were right. I needed a break from men – all of them."
Her voice had softened, like it always did on the rare occasion that she brought up the rape. Normally, Catherine would simply give her a hug at this point and they'd move on. She had long since learned that it was futile trying to delve any deeper into the subject matter; Sara would simply clam up.
But this time, she shuffled upright on the couch, disentangling herself, and cleared her throat.
"Yeah, about that." She began tentatively. "There's something I need to talk to you about, actually."
x X x
He checked over his shoulder a final time, before creaking the door open and slipping inside.
He placed the folder he was carrying – a decoy, in case anyone asked what he was doing in here – on the desk, and surreptitiously slid the top drawer open.
It had occurred to him that she may have it saved on her computer, or stashed away in her locker and that he could be wasting his time here; but he tried to push those thoughts aside and remain optimistic.
However, that quickly began to fade when he found nothing of any interest in her drawer.
Sinking heavily into the desk chair, he released a despondent sigh.
There was nothing particularly of note on the desk, either. No post-it notes or scraps of paper. Nothing indicative at all. Just a few case files, a digital clock, a phone and a photo of Lindsey...
And just like that, a light bulb went off in his head. Snatching up the picture frame, he turned it over in his hands and popped the back out.
And sure enough, tucked protectively behind the photo, was a small piece of paper.
"Greg?"
He started at the noise, dropping the picture into his lap in surprise.
Nick ambled into the room, quirking a suspicious eyebrow at the dismantled frame.
"What are you doing?" He asked, resting his hands on the opposite side of the desk in a mildly threatening pose.
Still trying to find his tongue from his shock at being caught snooping, Greg wordlessly held up the piece of paper he had found. Nick took it from him, his narrowed eyes scanning over the digits. He didn't need to ask what it was; he would know that format of code anywhere.
It was a case reference number.