disclaimer: don't own squat of CBS nor CSI:VEGAS. just love the show to pieces.

p.s: thank you for all your reviews.

Catherine smiles mischeviously and whispers, "what the hell is wrong with you, Sidle?"

Now that question is making me think. But it is so hard to try and concentrate when someone beautiful is inches away cupping my face in her palms. All I can do is stare at her deep sea blue eyes and watch the movement of her lucious lips, lips so close to mine. My instincts tells me to close the gap and kiss her. But this is Catherine Willows were talking about. And if Catherine claims to know me, how much more of me knowing her? I've been watching her for more than six years and yes, I do know the woman. And this woman does not play around.

So what the hell is wrong with me?

Ah, hell.

"Catherine..."

"...that's me, baby."

"Catherine, I..."

"...do ya know how beautiful you..."

"I need to talk to you, Catherine."

"I said do you know...hmmm...what was I saying?"

"You're drunk."

"Am I that obvious? Ha! Ha! Ha!"

"Uh, come on, we got to go..."

"Sidle, you gotta nice soft face. Nice and soft. What's soap do you use?"

"Catherine, you're drunk. Let go of me first."

"Not till you me what's your soap is."

"What?"

"You're soft, Sara. Very soft. What do you use? Did I ask you that already? Can't remember..."

"Catherine, you're drunk. We have to..."

"...better yet, lemme guess..."

"What are you...?"

"Shhh... lemme guess."

She leans foreward, my face still cupped in her hands. She brushes her cheek against mine as she nuzzles her nose near my neck. She takes a deep breath. Oh, lord all mighty...

Now tell me something, my brain is telling me to stop her. But my body tells me to let her. Which should I obey?

You got it. The mind is willing but the flesh is weak. Yup, there are truths in these old sayings.

Who is their right mind would want to stop Catherine from doing that?

So if anyone does come close to us while she is busy figuring what soap I use, I will kill them. I really, really mean it.

Dead serious about. It's not everyday that I get a drunk Catherine sniffing me.

"You smell good, Sara."

"Uh...thanks. Catherine, we need to go. And I need to talk to you."

"Did I tell you, you smell good?"

"Yes, you have. As much as I like what you're doing, you have to let go."

"Oh? You like this...?"

"Oh, lord, please stop that, Catherine..."

"...mmm. And this, Sara?"

"Oh, god, Catherine..."

Officially? Everything is now darkening around me. I know it's not the lights, but it's the lack of oxygen. I'm slowly forgetting how to breath.

Who wouldn't? Catherine is actually breathing slowly across my neck! Her lips actually brushing against my ears.

Do you know what that feels like? Talk about being turned on! Talk about the tingly feeling running up and down my spine! Talk about starting to sweat in so many places you normally don't! Talk about my knees feeling weak! Talk about getting aroused by the second! Talk about unable to think straight!

Oh, lord...I so much want to pin her down right here, right now, rip her clothes off and make mad love to her!

Reality check: We're still in the bar.

But it's Catherine!

Reality check: People around are starting to notice us.

But it's Catherine!

Reality check: She's drunk.

But it's Catherine!

Reality check: She most likely she doesn't even know what she's doing.

But it's...

Damn! Why does that little voice in your head always win?

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I slowly put the empty bottle down on the floor. And with all the strength that I could muster in me, I slowly reach out for her hands and pull them gently away from my face. I back down from the table and look at her.

Why in the world do we have to listen to the little inner voice telling us what's the right thing to do?

Damn conscience...

let's hear it...