Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…

Sara had just finished toweling her hair dry when she heard the first noise. Although her first instinct was to grab her pistol and seek out the noise, she stilled her movements waiting for it to be repeated so she could figure out exactly where it was coming from.

When she heard it again, she pulled her jeans over her naked hips and slipped a black wife beater over her shoulders. As she slipped her feet into waiting sneakers, she grabbed her gun and checked that the magazine was fully loaded.

She eased the door open and slipped into the hallway. Her back flush against the wall, she moved stealthily down the stairs. She checked each room on the main floor and was in the kitchen when she heard a shrill scream.

She bounded up the stairs two at a time and ran the short distance down the second floor hallway to Catherine's bedroom. Before she could open the door, the sharp crack of leather breaking first in the air and then against flesh met her ears.

Without hesitation, she tried the door to Catherine's office. It swung open slowly, but with ease. As it did so, she stood with her gun at the ready, her safety off. A multitude of emotions swept over her as she took in the sight before her. There, clad in shiny, black leather was Catherine—a dominatrix if ever there was one. Standing with his arms suspended and chained above his head and his legs spread with a bar between his ankles was an older man. Though she didn't know who he was, she was fairly certain he must be someone important to have come in under the
cover of night.

She saw Catherine's blue eyes flame and turned to leave, realizing that she was merely working. Embarrassment and something else filled her being. No sooner had she lowered her gun and switched the safety back on and turned to leave than she heard the crack of the whip and felt it stinging against her back.

She turned just as Catherine leveled the whip in her direction once again. Only this time, Sara caught the thin piece of cowhide from midair and yanked it hard toward her, pulling Catherine off-balance if only for a moment. The former agent pulled harshly once more and took it from Catherine's grasp.

She didn't utter a syllable as she turned and shut the door, returning to her room in possession of Catherine's whip. She briefly considered locking the door but decided against it because Catherine would undoubtedly have a key to any door with a lock since it was her home.

She sat down on the bed and waited in stilted anticipation. When would the blonde decide to crash through the door and throttle her? How should she react if—and when—she did?

Every sinewy fiber of her body vibrated as she tensed waiting for the door to fly open. It would come. She knew it. There was no possibly way a woman like Catherine Flynn would let this trespass against her go without some sort of reckoning.

Sara could stare down the muzzle of a gun without flinching and could take two bullets to the chest without thinking for the sake of the job. But the blonde scared her. It wasn't the sort of scared she got as a child at the thought of things that went bump in the night. It was a different kind of scared. And the fact that she couldn't put words to it scared her even more.

She sat there even after she heard two pairs of footsteps on the stairs. She sat there even after she heard the front door shut and a car drive off. She sat there even after she heard Catherine climbing the stairs yet again. She sat there even as she heard the footsteps stop just outside her door. She finally took a deep breath when she noticed the shadow cast by those feet disappear from outside her door. Another hour passed before she felt a semblance of safety. Still clothed, she tucked herself in the fetal position and held tightly to the whip in her hands.

She wasn't quite sure why she was clinging so tightly to the whip. Though she had only a fleeting glance at Catherine's office, she had a sneaking suspicion that of all the accoutrements in her possession, this whip might do the least damage to her body. She closed her eyes tightly, willing the scene from a few hours ago to pass out of her mind. She was unsuccessful.

Throughout the night images of Catherine sometimes dressed in black leather, sometimes dressed in nothing, danced through her head. She saw herself bound in the same position as the nameless man she had seen earlier in the evening. Each time, Catherine managed to do something different to her. And each time, she woke with a start. First, she had used the whip on her. Then she alternated between dripping hot candle wax on her and using ice on the most sensitive parts of her body. Sara had never been a passive lover, but she had never strayed very far from vanilla sex with the partners she had. Now, images fluttered through her mind that she couldn't even put words to.

XXXXX

Before the sun had broken the horizon, Sara had awakened from her fitful sleep. She tossed the whip across the room as she eased herself into a seated position on the bed. She ran her fingers wearily over her face and then through her hair. Her dreams, still very fresh in her memory, sprang forth and she jumped from the bed and pulled her tank off long enough to slip into a sports bra. She rolled the waistband of her pants down to her hips and pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

She slipped quietly down the stairs and out the back door. A quick run would exorcise the images from her head—so she thought. She stepped into the cool early morning air and goose bumps quickly popped up on her exposed flesh. She performed a series of stretches, readying her muscles for the three mile run she'd put them through.

Satisfied that she was warm enough, she jogged around the house and to the front yard. In her walk around the property the previous evening, she had discovered that it was roughly three acres. By her quick estimation, three trips around the 'estate' would come close to a mile. She'd run it ten times to get in three.

Around lap three, it was becoming apparent why her doctor had warned her against overexertion. It had been four months since she had really gone for a run. And the first time out of the gate, she was aiming for three miles. It started as a slow burn, barely noticeable. By lap seven it was a throbbing ache. When she had finished lap ten, she was in so much pain that she fell to her knees on the carpet of grass just beyond the patio.

The sky was shimmering with the early morning rays of the sun as it stretched its red tendrils of light over the horizon. Catherine stood at her kitchen window and watched as the woman charged with protecting her fell to her knees. She had been watching, in fact, as Sara ran around the property. Ten times Catherine had seen her pass along the fence at the far end of her property. Each time, she had noticed her running form becoming more labored and that it took longer for her to complete a circuit around the property.

Now she stood in the kitchen window and watched as the younger woman was on her knees, heaving and trying to catch her breath. A few minutes passed before Sara fell forward onto her stomach and then rolled to her back. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly. Catherine walked outside, turned on the water and grabbed hose and squeezed the trigger, directing the spray of water at Sara.

One hand on her hip and the other directing the cold spray of water at the object of her loathing, Catherine couldn't hide the smirk that formed on her face. She watched in amusement as the exhausted woman in front of her tried fruitlessly to get to her feet. Slippery grass and weary muscles were the recipe for keeping her on her ass. She attempted to defend herself by putting her hands up to stop the spray of water from pelting her face.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Sara asked breathlessly.

Catherine released her grip on the hose, letting it fall to the ground. "My problem is that you're supposed to be able to protect me and you can barely run around my damn house a few times. When push comes to shove, if someone really does make an attempt on my life, how the hell are you going to protect me? Are you going to pant on them? 'Cause I gotta be honest with you, you're not really striking fear into my heart or inspiring trust here."

As Catherine looked down at Sara, she couldn't help but take notice of the scarred patch of skin that stuck out from under her sports bra. She couldn't take her eyes off of it. Slightly to the left, near Sara's armpit, she noticed a second, similar scar. "What happened to you?" she asked as she knelt down in front of Sara, fingers reaching out cautiously to touch the purplish skin. Sara jerked her shoulder away in anticipation of Catherine's touch and flinched in pain at the sharp movement.

Sara didn't answer as pushed herself to her feet. She glared icily at Catherine before giving her a wide berth and walking the short distance to the house. Without being told to do so, she pulled her shoes off and left them by the back door. She wasn't about to track mud into Catherine's flawlessy kept home.

Catherine picked herself up and walked back into her kitchen. Leaning heavily on the kitchen counter, she could hear the shower running upstairs. She picked up the phone from its receiver and dialed the familiar number.

"Mugs, what's so important that you need to call me at six in the morning?" the raspy voice of Sam Braun echoed.

"Sam, this isn't going to work."

He groaned into the phone, "Sidle is the best person to protect you—and the only one I trust to do it. I suggest whatever issue you have with her gets worked out soon because she's not going anywhere."

"But," she attempts to argue but it's only in vain as a dial-tone is the only noise on the other end of the phone. She slammed the phone back down on the cradle and walked tensely to the refrigerator.

She pulled out eggs and cheese and proceeded to make omelets. She had long ago heard the shower upstairs quit running. Catherine had hoped the smell of food would entreat Sara to come downstairs. She pecked at her own food waiting for the brooding brunette to come down. When she had finished her food and Sara still hadn't made an appearance, she poured a glass of juice and set it and the plate on a tray and quietly climbed the stairs.

She stood outside the door for a moment before knocking softly. The door was jerked open harshly and the look on Sara's face softened when she saw the tray of food. She turned her gaze back to Catherine but didn't invite her in or say anything. After a moment, her stomach began to growl and Catherine couldn't help but laugh, breaking the tension between the two women.

Sara held out her hand and took the tray from Catherine. "You didn't have to make me breakfast, but thank you."

Catherine couldn't hold her intense gaze and suddenly found her bare feet very interesting. "Look, Sara, about what I sa…"

"Don't, okay? I don't want your sympathy or you feeling sorry for me. You don't have to like me and you don't have to be nice to me. But what you do have to do," she sat the tray down on the foot of the bed, "is respect the fact that I'm willing to risk my life to make sure someone doesn't take yours. And the sooner you realize that, the easier this will all get."

Catherine was a bit taken aback by the way she was being spoken to. No one—absolutely no one—ever spoke to her like that. As she was readying a nasty retort, Sara continued to speak.

"Thank you, again, for the breakfast."

Catherine was totally disarmed. How could this woman reduce her to shreds and seconds later make her feel like she had done something wonderful?

The anxiety both women were feeling in each other's presence was interrupted by the buzzer signaling that someone was at the gate.

Catherine's expression was one of sheer surprise. She hadn't been expecting anyone—especially at this early hour.

Sara snorted and added, "Don't worry. It's not one of your client's coming in for an early morning spanking. That's most likely the A/V and security guys I called last night to set up cameras around the property."

Catherine's eyes, once a peaceful blue, turned into a stormy shade of sapphire before she slammed the door to Sara's room and stomped down the stairs to buzz the men in through the gate.

XXXXX

Sara spent nearly three hours with the AV and security guys that had shown up much to Catherine's disgust. The grounds had been mapped out and decisions had been made as to where cameras and various other surveillance devices would be placed to ensure Catherine's safety. She had just walked back in from seeing the men off when she found Catherine sitting in the den, reading a book.

Sara went and sat down on the table in front of her. Catherine raised her eyes from the book and just glared at her and down at the table she was perched upon. Sara grimaced and stood before she sat down on the couch beside Catherine, leaving more than enough space between the two of them to make them both comfortable with the fact that they were in such close proximity to one another.

"You could give me some warning before you invite men into my home to start making changes," Catherine said without even looking up.

"Funny, I thought you'd be accustomed to having men in and out of your home," Sara snapped as she awaited the wrath that was sure to be turned on her.

"Well, since you brought it up," Catherine sat her book down on the table and turned to face Sara. "I was working. And you barged into the room—the room I told you that under no circumstance were you to enter."

Sara stood and began to pace back and forth. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that work for you included leather and a whip. I thought you fucked your clients, not dominated them."

She knew that comment was out of line and as she turned to apologize, Catherine was standing in her space. She took a step backwards to put distance between them.

"You think you know me? You don't know a fucking thing about me, you pretentious butch bitch," Catherine growled through clenched teeth.

Sara had never been comfortable with direct verbal confrontations. She wanted to turn and run, instead, she decided to engage in a verbal tête à tête with the busty blonde.

"What's not to know?" she said as she stood her ground. "You do nothing but further the stereotype of the Vegas prostitute. You're a walking fucking cliché. Then again, there's nothing really too common about all that leather you drape over yourself when you're playing mean mommy to whatever bad boy is paying you for the night."

Catherine stepped closer and poked her finger in Sara's chest, "You wanna talk clichés. I have one for you. It goes a little something like tall, dark and gorgeous woman carries a gun. Oh yeah, she's a carpet muncher. Kinda goes without saying, doesn't it?"

Sara looked down at the finger still pressed into her chest before taking her hand and brushing it away from her. She studied Catherine for a moment and finally exhaled the breath she'd been holding. "You're right. I am a cliché. But at least no one is paying me to give away what self-worth and self-respect I have every time I show up for work."

Catherine winced as the words hit home. This woman…this pariah in her home…didn't mince words. On one hand, she hated that. On the other, she respected her because no one had ever stood up to her. As her brooding protector backed out of the room, she realized that no one had ever quite challenged her on the way Sara Sidle did. Something else was there, too. Something unfamiliar that she couldn't quite put her finger on. And that was the salt in the wound that made all of this so much more unbearable.