A/N: So, I'm really sorry this took so long! Updates should be much more regular now. I was suffering writer's block. You guys are the greatest, thank you for the wonder reviews (keep them coming). And as a gift for being so patient I've made this one extra long and I promise to have another chapter up by tomorrow night.

Disclaimer: I own them. I really do. They are all mine. Oh, no- no, wait, they're not. I was confusing them with the many other television characters I do own. Oh, no- no, wait; no I wasn't. I don't own them either. Damn. That's okay, I spend most of my life in a different universe anyway.

We were met at the door by a pretty woman in her mid-thirties with chin-length black hair and blue eyes- the same piercing blue as those on the man I had seen in Sara's photo. She smiled grimly at Sara and pulled her into a hug.

"Hey, Sticks," she whispered. There was that nickname again. She kissed the side of Sara's face. It was a familial peck, nothing more. Still, the jealousy was tangible as it rolled down my spine. Not the time; don't think about it, not happening. Mentally, I stuck my fingers in my ears, shut my eyes tightly, and sang la-la-las at the top of my lungs, telling the that part my brain very firmly; I can't hear you!!!

When they pulled apart the woman looked to me.

Sara took my wrist in her hand, "Cath, this is Molly Winger, Matt's sister. Molly, this is my friend and colleague, Catherine Willows."

I tried to nod encouragingly and keep my face straight, but inside I was glowing. She called me her friend! I mean, I knew we were friends before but now it's like…official.

Molly smiled awkwardly. I knew how she felt. What was the right protocol for this situation? 'Hi, I don't know you and I've never met your family, but my friend was best friends with your dead brother and his lover. Mind if I come in and whip up some dinner?' See? It just doesn't sound right.

I also didn't want to say something like, 'I'm sorry for your loss.' That's what we say to victim's families. It's so impersonal and cheap. You're not sorry, not in the way they need you to be. You feel bad about it, but in the end it's no skin off your back. You didn't know the person. And I didn't know Matt or Warren. But this is different. This is Sara and her family. I will be here, as long she needs me.

"Why don't we go inside?" Molly finally suggests. "I know Mom and Dad will be glad to see you, Sara. And Ayla's been asking for you since…" she trailed off with sad eyes. Without finishing her sentence, she turned around and went in.

Sara looked at me and she had this fearful expression that twisted in my heart.

She still had a hold on my wrist, so I wiggled my hand into hers and squeezed. "No worries, right?" I smiled reassuringly.

That seemed to relax her again. "Right."

Inside was your standard one story condo- the kind all retired people seem to flock to. I walked in hesitantly, feeling exactly like the intruder I was. I wasn't just walking into these people's house for the first time; I was walking into their lives on the worst day possible. But I stood tall, determined to see this through and keep my promise to the woman holding tight to my arm. I looked around as Sara led me through to the kitchen.

Tony and Marie Winger were probably very interesting, exciting people. On their walls I saw photographs of them scuba diving and bungee jumping when they were younger. Photos of them skiing just recently as well as posing in front of Niagara Falls with their two grown children. It seemed Tony had flown planes for the US during WWII and their were many pictures of Marie, a camera around her neck, surrounded by and playing with half naked and woefully thin smiling African children.

They were probably fascinating people. On any day but today. Today they were a broken old man and woman who had lost their only son. When they greeted Sara they swept her up in their arms as if she was one of their own. And when Molly introduced me, they were equally kind. They spoke to us for several minutes. They tried, politely, to include me in their conversation, but it quickly devolved into things that either I couldn't understand, had no right to know, or didn't want to intrude in.

I felt it the second Sara released her grip on my arm. She seemed to be doing fine on her own, now that she was actually here. I figured that they all had a lot to talk about, and that none of it concerned me. So, on a hunch, I followed my curiosity and the quiet sounds of a TV into another room, leaving Sara to fend for herself.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

In front of the TV, on the floor, sat a little girl with chin-length hair that, in the stark light of the television, appeared black. She was watching Muppet Treasure Island, one of Lindsey's favorite kid's movies, and laughing at a dancing Tim Curry. She wore a pink, floral dress with a white sweater and a matching white headband; though what it was meant to do to her thick, unruly hair, I have no idea. This had to be Maggie.

When she saw me, she immediately stopped bouncing along and turned on her knees to face me. She cocked her head to one side and furrowed her brow like I was a mystery. "Who are you?"

I smiled at her and bent to my knees. "I'm Catherine. And I bet you're Maggie, right?"

She beamed at me, her cherub face the definition of merriment. She was a sly one. "Uh-huh."

"And I bet you're…five years old, right?"

My words did what they were supposed to. She scrunched her nose and giggled, falling back on her butt. She delighted in being confused for an older child. "No!" Sara was right- she did scrunch her nose the exact same way.

"No?" I smiled and reached out to tickle her stomach. "How old are you?"

She held up three fingers. "This many!"

"That many? Wow! And how many will you be next year?"

She held up four fingers proudly.

"That's right."

"Where's Gram?" Her eyes were a stormy blue-green-grey that held a twinkle that seemed familiar. But it wasn't Sara's. Hmm.

"She's in the kitchen talking with Sara." I sat down cross-legged on the carpet.

"Sara's here?" This came from an altogether different voice. A throatier voice. I turned towards its source.

Curled into the corner of the sofa, her legs tucked up under her body, dressed in a grey three-quarter length top and denim overalls, and sporting round rimless glasses, sat Sara. Or what Sara would look like if you threw her in the drier on too hot a cycle. This Sara was only four and a half feet tall. Ayla. How had I not noticed her there reading her book?

When I met her eyes I was unprepared for what I saw. Suddenly, I was transported back to the lab and I was watching from behind the door as Sara cried her eyes out in the back of the locker room. We had had a case with another dead child or raped and murdered woman and she just couldn't take it anymore. The door creaked loudly and her head whipped around. Freeze. That right there. It was the exact same piercing look. She was deeply sad, very frightened, and ready to deny it with everything she had.

I had spent the last six months working my way through Sara's walls. Now, it seemed, I would have to get through Ayla's. Something told me that today was not the day for that. I sighed.

"Yes, she's here but she's talking in the kitchen for a few minutes; I'm sure she'll come in soon. I'm her friend. My name is Catherine."

The seven year-old didn't say anything; she just narrowed her eyes at me. Damn. This girl had just about mastered the famous Sidle death glare. But she was only seven, so I could easily see past it to the frightened and confused little girl beneath.

There was a tap on my shoulder and I turned back to see a curious Maggie tugging at my earrings. "You have two!"

I quickly took her hands away before I spent the rest of the night in the emergency room. "That's right. I have two earrings in that ear. I have three in the other."

She looked at me confusedly and I realized that until yesterday this little girl had been raised by two men. Earrings could very well be alien to her. "How?"

I smiled, grateful for the distraction from the 'Ayla dilemma.' I removed the two posts from my ear and spent the next few minutes explaining as best I could in simple language how you went about getting two holes. From the corner of my I could see Ayla peaking over her book, hanging on my every word. I knew better than to ask her to come over.

"How come?" Maggie had none of the uncertainty of her older sister. She seemed to trust me immediately. But she was also only three and too young to understand fully what it meant that her dads had died.

"Well," I said, as I put the earrings back in. "I got these first ones when I was a tiny baby- no choice in the matter. And then when I was twenty I had rebellious streak and decided to get the second ones." Among other things. "And I got the third one a few years ago." I didn't feel the need to mention that the third hole was my 'good job on leaving your husband' present to myself.

"I want them, too." Oh, my god. She had the cutest pouty face in the whole world. Still does. She could sweet talk an ATM.

"Well, kiddo, I'm not in charge of that. But we'll see." I touched the side of her face. She was so sweet. I'd known her for fifteen minutes and I was already in love with her.

"Knock, knock."

I turned around to see a softly smiling Molly Winger. I returned the smile.

"I see you've met the girls."

I nodded.

Maggie put her arms around my neck. "Aunt Mawee, this is Catrin. She has two holes in her ear! And earrings too! I love her! Can I have earrings too?"

I smiled and pulled her into my lap.

"Someday you can probably have earrings Maggie, but not today." Molly looked over to the silent girl on the sofa who was carefully ignoring our conversation. "Ayla, there's somebody here who really wants to see you…"

The brown-haired girl looked expectantly at the door, even putting down her book.

I looked at the door too, just as Sara came through it. Wow. From down on the floor she seemed very tall. Her legs were really long. Those jeans just made her frame look amazing. Focus, Cath! Her eyes are puffy from crying and you're what? Ogling her? Get it together.

"Sara?" The name was spoken in a disbelieving whisper from across the room.

My head was turning back and forth watching the exchange. Sara just nodded her head and, momentarily ignoring both Maggie and me, made her way the botanical print sofa and the little girl on it.

The long-legged brunette sat beside her smaller counterpoint, oddly enough curling her own striped-socked feet beneath her in the same fashion as the girl. Side by side, the resemblance was almost scary. The only difference that I could see was that Ayla's hair was long and in two thick braids down her back. She was also wearing glasses, but those came off when she stopped reading.

"Hey, sweetie." Sara was whispering too, now. Cautiously, she put her palm on Ayla's cheek and then moved it two the back of her neck and tugged lightly. It was all the invitation Ayla needed to launch herself into Sara's lap and break down into drawn-out, painful sobs. Tears came to my eyes just to hear her in such pain.

Sara looked at me and I could tell she was about to panic. I shook my head at her and then took Maggie in my arms and nodded for her to do the same to Ayla. She looked hesitant, like she thought something horrible would happen if she did what I was suggesting. I nodded again, trying to reassure her.

Again, cautiously, she wrapped the wailing girl up in her embrace. Ayla only held on tighter and cried more. After a minute, I could visibly see Sara relax into the position. She began to rock Ayla gently and to kiss her forehead repeatedly. She didn't tell her to stop crying, she didn't promise everything was going to be all right. In fact, she began to cry again herself. I'm sure she had imagined herself to be all cried out.

"Maggie," I whispered to the tiny girl in my arms, "Would you like to help me cook dinner for everybody?"

The little girl nodded, "Can we have macaroni?"

I stood and took her hand, "Well, you can have macaroni, but I think we'll make something else for the grown-ups, okay?"

"Okay."

So Maggie sat on the counter as I cooked. Molly helped me to find everything and then she set the table. Marie came in to thank me several times and to apologize for the inconvenience. I felt like such an outsider intruding on their privacy and here she was apologizing.

Maggie was wonderful. She was so sweet and funny. I could tell that she didn't really understand what had happened to her dads. She was just three years old, though the long term memory becomes fixed at age one, most studies have shown that children under the age of four rarely retain concrete memories. My heart broke when I thought that. She wasn't going to remember her parents. Losing Eddie had been awful on Linds, but at least she wasn't an orphan, and at least she would always remember the fun she had with her dad.

Dinner was a quiet affair. I kept it simple; grilled chicken, broccoli, and rice for the adults and macaroni and cheese and broccoli for the girls. Sara had seitan instead of chicken. I'd never actually cooked it before, but it turned out to be fine.

There wasn't much talking. Ayla clung to Sara like a shadow and kept one hand on her arm for the entire meal. The Wingers just looked lost. Occasionally, Maggie, who was next to me, would try to liven up the conversation, but after receiving half-hearted replies the first few times, she began to grow restless and sulky.

Poor girl. Here she was, just trying to make everyone feel better, she didn't understand entirely why they were sad, and no one seemed to appreciate her efforts. To top it all off, she was tired and cranky and no one was paying any attention to her. Her expression was pouty and distraught; her lip began to quiver. Sensing a tantrum, I pulled her out of her seat and into my lap.

"Sweetie, what do you say we go watch the rest of Muppet Treasure Island, okay? And then we can get ready for bed?"

Solemnly, the little dark head nodded.

I looked out at the rest of the group, "Don't worry about the dishes, I'll come out and get them in a little while." I hesitated before asking, "Ayla, would you like to come with us?"

The girl scowled and shook her head vehemently. I was sure she saw me as some kind of impostor, and I didn't blame her.

Standing and hoisting Maggie, who was now clinging to me like a monkey, onto my hip, I simply said, "Okay, well, you know where we'll be."

"Don't worry about the dishes, Cath," Sara smiled weakly at me. It was the first time I'd heard her voice in a couple hours, it sounded weightier than normal, "I'll take care of them." Ayla tugged on her arm and Sara bent down, she smiled again and corrected, "Ayla and I will take care of them."

I nodded and went off to the TV room.

A half and hour later, I found myself lying on the sofa with my arms wrapped around a drowsy, dozing, drooping three year-old. I missed this. I missed Lindsey when she was this small. Don't get me wrong, sassy, pre-teen, 'don't touch me in front of my friends,' 'you don't need to kiss me goodnight anymore,' Lindsey was great; barrel of fun. But there's just something about having that little body next to you, so trusting and innocent, that just makes my heart swell with maternal warmth and contentment. It's as if being able to instill that sense of security and love in another human being gives you the ability to do anything at all.

Suddenly, I was knocked from my thoughts by a loud crash; the sound of something shattering. The noise startled Maggie as well, and she sat up from her stupor, managing to ram her head into my jaw before she burst into tears. Her little coughing sobs were heartbreaking; I never could stand to hear Lindsey cry.

"Shush, shush," I wrapped Maggie up in my arms, "It's okay, shh."

For the second time, I heard something break and then a yell. Lifting Maggie up and swaying her back and forth, I carried her with me into the other room to see what was going on. When I entered the kitchen, I found Sara alone and sweeping what appeared to be the remains of two plates into a dustpan.

I bounced Maggie on my hip and kissed her forehead when she leaned into me. Never stopping my rocking motion I asked, "What happened?"

Sara shook her head, "Ayla and I were doing the dishes. I passed her one to put in the dishwasher and she accidentally dropped it." Sara looked at me with a bewildered but tired expression, "You should have seen her face, like she had just committed a mortal sin or something. I tried to tell her it was okay, that it was just a plate, but…I don't know what happened, but the next thing I knew, she picked up another plate off the counter and threw it against the cabinet. Then she screamed and ran out." A stormy expression crossed her features, "Molly went after her."

Sara stood up and tossed the porcelain fragments in the trash. She shrugged and ran a tired hand through her hair. She shrugged wearily, "Everything seemed to be going so well."

I felt Maggie's head begin to droop against my shoulder just as my arm began to ache with the weight of her. I switched her to the other hip where she settled in just as well. I touched Sara's arm, "She needs time, just like you. She'll have her good moments and she'll have her not so good ones. Right now, she's tired, she's overwhelmed, she's put off by my presence and relieved by yours. The emotions running through her would be enough to confuse any adult- they're just too much for her. You'll see, all she needs is time, and you. She loves you and trusts you. She needs your love and support."

Sara nodded, but instead of looking relieved, she looked even more troubled. I frowned. Was there something she wasn't telling me? At that moment, Molly appeared in the doorway looking just as tired as everyone else.

"Well, she's asleep. Granted, she cried herself there, but at least she's asleep. She wouldn't say a word to me. She's barely strung two words together the last few day, except to ask when Sara was coming." Molly looked at Sara and a silent communication I could not identify passed between them.

"Molly," I asked, interrupting their little staring contest, "could you show me where the girls are sleeping? I think Maggie is out for the count and I'd like to get her down. I promised my daughter I'd call to say goodnight."

Molly nodded and took me down the hall to a guest room.

Tiptoeing inside, I gently lay the little girl on the bed and went through the drawers to pick out some pajamas. As I was pulling on the pj pants, Maggie stirred.

She rubbed her eye, "Cafrin?" she whispered.

"Shh, little one. It's time for bed." For some reason, this seemed to upset her.

"No!" she whined, tearily fighting sleep.

"Yes, sweetheart, time to go to sleep."

She sobbed squeakily, "No! I want Daddy and Papa!"

My heart broke. Trying not to wake the slumbering girl on the other side of the bed, I climbed up and held Maggie tightly. "I know, baby, I know you do."

"Nana says," she choked, "Nana says that they're not coming back."

I hugged her tighter and shook my head, "No, sweetheart, they're not."

She sobbed again, "Why?"

I felt tears fill my own eyes, "They can't, honey. They would if they could, but they can't. Do you remember when your car got hit the other day?"

Wordlessly, she nodded.

"Well, Daddy and Papa got hurt really bad and they died. And when you die, you don't get to come back, you have to go somewhere else."

"Where?"

"Nobody knows, honey, nobody knows."

"I wanna go." She sniffed and the tears poured down, "I wanna go and see Papa. He has to sing me my song so I can go to sleep. He has to sing me my Maggie song." Her little voice was so heart-wrenching.

"I'm sorry sweet one, but you can't go just yet. You have to grow-up first and do all sorts of things. It's hard to understand now, but Daddy and Papa would want you to stay here." I had been so absorbed in rocking Maggie that I had failed to notice a second set of ears.

I did notice when Ayla turned over and looked at me with sad eyes. "Did somebody you know ever go there? To that place for the people who die?"

I nodded cautiously, I needed to be careful about how I moved around this girl.

"Who? Did your Moms or Dads die?"

It seemed a funny way to ask that question. Did your Moms or Dads die. As if it was just as likely you would have two parents of the same gender as it was you would have one of each. Things had definitely changed since I was a kid in rural Montana. I guess for these girls, it was just the normal way of things. For me, even if I was totally accepting of any kind of life and love, I still needed to get used to it.

I shook my head, "No, not my Mom and Dad. But my grandparents, and best friend, and my husband, and my brother." I had been nine when Peter died; he had been only seven. He was the kid between me and Nancy and he had flown out of the flatbed of my cousin's truck when we were off-roading on the ranch, he'd hit his head on rock and it crushed his skull on impact. Blunt force trauma to the back of the head, I thought dimly.

Ayla nodded, "Do you ever miss them? Do you ever want them to come back?"

I tried to reach out and touch her but she pulled back. I settled for running my hand through Maggie's hair. "Everyday. I wish everyday that I could talk to them and play with them. I want to show them the things I have done, I want them to be proud of me. I want my little girl to get to be with her Daddy again. Mostly I wish for them to come back just for a minute, just so I can say goodbye."

"Yeah." Ayla's voice is tight. After a while she whispers, "It's not fair."

I can feel Maggie's even breathing and I know that she's fallen asleep. "No, no, it's not."

For a long while, we sit in silence. I watch Ayla through the dark and wish I could take her in my arms like Maggie and just make everything okay. Eventually, Ayla's eyelids droop and her body goes limp. Carefully, I extract myself from Maggie's clutches, tuck her under the covers, and quietly leave the room.

When I get out into the hall, I can hear Sara and Molly's hushed voices deep in conversation. Not wanting to disturb, I take the opportunity to go outside and call Lindsey and Nancy. I end up on the phone for much longer than I had anticipated; I relayed the night's events to my sister who sympathized but did say that I was putting myself through an awful lot of stress just for a friend, even a good friend, and she had never heard me talk of Sara as anything other than a work friend. Hmm.

By the time I had reentered the house, Molly and Sara had finished talking and were standing by the door, clearly saying their goodbyes.

"So, I'll talk to you tomorrow then?:

"Yeah, and I'll take care of the calls and arrangements for friends around here."

"And I'll call family. Okay, great. Thanks for coming tonight, Sar." She drew me into a hug. "It was nice meeting you, Catherine, I wish…" she trailed off and shook her head, "well, I hope we can get to know each other better when things aren't quite so complicated. Thank you for dinner."

I smiled and nodded. "Not a problem."

Molly turned her hug on Sara, "Goodnight, Birdie, I'll see you soon, I'm sure." She pulled back and looked at Sara meaningfully, "And you'll think about what I said, right?"

Sara nodded but looked away, "Definitely."

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

With a few more nods and smiles, we were out the door. As soon as we were on our way down the path, I put a hand on Sara's lower back, trying to comfort her. But for some reason, she stiffened and stepped away from the contact. I was surprised at how hurt I was by her blatant refusal, how accustomed I had become to being able to touch her in the last few days.

"Sara?" I questioned, coming to a halt.

She turned. Even in the darkness I could tell she chose to look at a point just over my shoulder. "Hmm?"

"What's wrong?"

"What?" She poorly feigned ignorance. "Why would you think something was wrong? Nothing's wrong."

"Then why are you avoiding touching me?"

"Avoiding? I'm not avoiding anything. I'm just not the touchy feely type, Cath. Everybody knows that." Her voice was getting increasingly irritated. "I'm not good with people or kids, and I definitely don't do hugs and frivolous touches. That's just not who I am."

I felt a fire begin to burn in me, the kind of fire that always stirred during one of our fights. I tried to suppress it. It didn't work, entirely, "Bullshit, Sara." I pulled her arm towards me to keep her from getting in the car. "You and I both know that is complete bullshit."

"Really?" Her tone was sarcastic as she gave me a half-hearted glare.

I took a step closer to her and my voice softened. "Yeah, really." I touched her hip and heard her gasp at the touch. "So why don't you just drop the tough girl act you've been pulling all night and tell me what's going on?"

I was so close to her that to look in her eyes, I had to crane my head back and wait for her to move hers down. For a few resonating seconds, I was staring up into her eyes and I could feel myself melt into the pavement. Big, sad, brown eyes that could pick me up off my feet and take me just about anywhere. But then she blinked and stepped away. She jutted her jaw foreword in a stubborn expression and shook her head.

"Besides my two best friends being dead? Nothing's the matter, Cath. Don't be stupid." She turned and got into the car.

Fire shot through my veins and right on it's tail, ice flashed through to extinguish it. I stood still and fought tears. Did she just…? Did she just call me stupid? I took deep breaths and tried not to blow it out of proportion. It just slipped out, she didn't mean it like that, there was no way she…But my little insecurities began to sneak into my thoughts. What if she did think I was stupid? Was that why we hadn't been friends all these years? Because she didn't deem me worthy of her time? How dare she! I knew it was too good to be true. I finally meet somebody who's attractive, talented, funny, great with Lindsey, gainfully employed, and amazingly intelligent- someone who could really be a great friend, a best friend, and she…she's just like everybody else.

Seething, I wordlessly got in the car. I stare out the window as Sara sets on the path to Tim and Larry's. In the darkness, the sea was just as powerful and glorious as it was during the day. The moonlight swathed the deep cobalt ocean in silver light, and painted the jagged cliffs black. There was something so calming about it, I began to feel my anger slip away and all that was left was the dull ache of hurt. As I began to speak, my eyes stayed riveted to the sea.

"You know, a lot of people have insulted my intelligence over the years, Sara. I heard it a lot growing up- better stay skinny and pretty, 'cause there ain't a whole lot going on upstairs. Eddie's favorite thing to say was 'the light's on, but there's nobody home.' All my life. All through school, waitressing, dancing, my marriage- even my ten year-old daughter seems to think I'm an idiot sometimes. I know most of the lab thinks that I slept my way from lab intern to CSI 3. Practically everyone I meet automatically assumes at least one of two things. Number one, they assume I'm stupid, number two, they assume I'm easy.

"A lot, a lot of people have called me stupid." I paused and shut my eyes, allowing myself a deep breath. "But for some reason I never thought, never thought, not for one minute, not even when we weren't friends; not with your fancy Harvard degree, not with your shiny new forensic textbooks, not with your ability to keep intellectual pace with Gil or your genius way of seeing through crime scenes. Not with any of that, did I ever imagine you calling me stupid. I thought you were different. I never thought I'd hear it from you." I continued to watch the water and we sat for several minutes in silence.

"Cath, I…" I heard her sigh as we turned onto the road that led to the house. "Cath, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, I…" She trailed off and was quiet until we were parked in the driveway. She opened her door. Without looking at me, she began again, "Molly wants custody; she wants to take the girls."

"What?!" I looked at her, stunned. I sensed there was more. "And?"

Sara took a deep breath, putting one leg out of the car, "And I think…I think I'm going to let her. It's probably for the best." Not waiting for a reply, she quickly escaped the car and headed into the house.

I stayed where I was for a few minutes, just staring out into the darkness. What the hell? She wants to what? Is she crazy? What the fuck was going on in her brain? At that moment, I felt something shift inside me, something that had been silent and dormant since Sara had walked into the lab last night, and to some extent, for the last six months. The fire that Sara's stinging remark had snuffed out began to rekindle.

I hadn't exploded at Sara since Eddie's murder, but she was really starting to piss me off. With her little attitude, her mixed signals, one minute she was sobbing into my shoulder and the next…Did she really think I would put up with that? Had her nearly four years experience with me taught her that I was the kind of woman to lie down and take it? Well, she had another thing coming. The kid gloves I had worn during the last thirty-six hours were about to come off.

When I came in I found Larry lounging on a chaise, nursing a highball, and immersing himself in the Wall Street Journal, some classical music playing softly in the background. He seemed to be deliberately avoiding my gaze. I had the feeling Sara may have asked not to talk to me. I looked around for her but instead my eyes were drawn towards Tim. Stretched out on the counter of the kitchen bar, he appeared to be working on his laptop and sipping at some sort of cocktail.

When he met my gaze, he sat up, raised his eyebrows expressively and, taking his tiny green cocktail umbrella from between his teeth, pointed none too subtly towards the deck. He gave me meaningful nodded and gestured in that direction with his head as well. Getting his drift, I smiled my thanks and headed for the door.

Larry must have seen me because I heard him say, "Oh, really, please. Five minutes, five minutes! Is that so much to ask? You just can't help yourself, can you?"

To which Tim replied indignantly, "I'm insulted. I didn't say a word! She must have smelled Sara out there."

Pause. "Of course she did. You know…" Their conversation was lost when I closed the door behind me and turned my focus on Sara.

Dressed in black and silhouetted against the dusky blue of the horizon, the lines of her were so graceful. The few errant hairs that had escaped her elastic were luffing freely in the breeze. Her arms were set wide and supporting her weight against the railing. She was so beautiful. I felt my chest fill with a warm giddy feeling and I smiled.

On some level, this was not a new feeling. One part of my brain was saying that I had first felt it on the plane yesterday, but another part said I'd been sensing it coming on for several months now. Still another part of my brain, and this was the confusing one, was insisting that I had felt this way since the day she had walked into my lab in that sexy green sweater and that cute nervous grin asking where she could find Catherine Willows.

These thoughts were exciting, exhilarating, and very disturbing. They were also not thoughts to ponder right now, I remembered, because I was very, very upset with her. She'd been jerking my chain all day, she had called me stupid- I don't care how stressed out she was, and she was being a complete imbecile with regards to her major life choices. Right. I was mad at her. And I wasn't going to take any shit.

I walked up behind her and crossed my arms over my chest. I coughed conspicuously and waited until she turned around. I raised an eyebrow and put my tongue in my cheek, giving her my best 'what the hell are you thinking' expression.

"What the hell are you thinking?" Original.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

So? What did you think? Are you so impressed that you've decided to give me the seven hundred million dollars it would take for me to by the show and turn it into a ten o'clock Saturday night Showtime special? No? Well, I'd settle for a review…