AN: Thank you all for your continued support, means a lot.

Hope everyone is doing well.

Take care and enjoy.


CHAPTER 33


CATHERINE POV

"I'm sorry."

Raising a brow, Sara furrows her eyes.

"Why?"

"I obliterated our coffee pot."

A ghost of a smile plays at Sara's lips as her eyes roam over the floor we're currently sitting on, shards of glass and streaks of coffee scattered around us from our position against the cupboards.

"Yes you did."

I reach over, taking Sara's hand in mine. I'm not exactly sure when she replaced Nancy during my breakdown of sorts, but I'm beyond thrilled to find her by my side.

It's been a long night to say the least, and we've been separated for most of it, and not by choice.

"You want to talk about it?" she asks me quietly.

"I think you, not to mention most of our neighbors, already heard what I had to say," I tell her honestly.

Nodding slowly, Sara tightens her grip slightly on my hand.

She remains quiet, and I can't help but wonder what's going through her head. I know she likely wants to apologize for the situation, but knows I won't let her. Knows I will only immediately correct her and tell her none of this is her fault.

Not my breakdown, not Colb's actions, not the cut on my lip from a stray elbow I caught while trying to break them apart.

One look at her expression, though, tells me she's already traveling that dark road in her mind.

"Did Nancy leave?" I ask.

"Went out for some air."

Nodding, I take a couple deep breaths, still trying to steady myself from all the emotions that literally ripped through me minutes before.

"How's your arm?" I ask her, trying to get her eyes to meet mine.

"It's alright," she answers, tone distracted.

Closing my eyes briefly, I lace my fingers through hers.

"Sara," I gently call after a moment, tugging slightly on her good hand.

Eyes finally shifting to mine, Sara seems to shake herself from her thoughts.

"Sorry," she offers quietly.

"Want to talk about it?" I offer, repeating her own words back to her.

So far tonight I feel like I've been dancing along a thin line between wanting to force her to talk to me and trying to give her space.

At the station, she immediately questioned me as to whether I was alright the moment we were allowed to see each other. But, following that, she's barely said a word. She was quiet the whole way home, only once breaking her silence to apologize to Nancy for getting blood on her car's interior.

I'm desperate to get her to open up, to get even the vaguest insight into what she's thinking or feeling right now, but I fear the risk it poses of causing her to pull away.

"I don't know what to say," she eventually gets out, eyes focused on a jagged shard of glass near her right foot. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Sara," I state softly, "There's nothing you're supposed to do. There's no rule book or instruction manual for something like this."

She doesn't comment, eyes still focused ahead of her, body tense under my fingers.

"There are things, though," I offer quietly, "that I hope you don't do."

Again, I'm met with silence, but the tight set to her jaw lets me know she heard me, that she's listening.

"I hope you don't pull away from me," I tell her. "I hope you don't pull away from Nancy. I hope you don't continue to try to go through all of this alone."

She swallows tightly, her eyes unreadable as they remain fixed on the glass surrounding us.

Minutes of tense silence pass, neither one of us speaking, neither one of us moving.

Hearing footsteps fall along the porch, I close my eyes briefly before opening them again.

"We should clean this up," Sara says, voice quiet, strained.

Taking a breath, I nod, watching her profile.

"Yes we should."

Sara helps me to my feet. Before she can turn away, I take hold of her by the hip and turn her to face me.

"I love you," I tell her in a whisper, my voice not strong enough for anything more.

Sara forces her eyes to meet my own, her gaze guarded and unreadable as she nods slowly.

"I love you, too," she replies.

Hearing the front door open, she swallows tightly, her eyes glancing one last time at mine before she pulls away, stepping out of reach.


3:41am.

Glimpsing at the clock, I rub my forehead, letting my hand rest in my hair as I stare up at the ceiling.

As I watch the shadows dance across the surface, a long breath escapes from my lips.

My fingers tighten around the bed sheet gathered at my waist as I turn my head to look back over at the other side of the mattress.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that Sara's body is no longer lying next to mine. When we went to bed this evening, she put up a gallant effort of trying to appear asleep, even if she wasn't quite convincing enough to have me fooled. As I watched her in the darkness, however, my own exhaustion finally won out and forced me into my own, actual sleep.

Now, finding myself laying here alone, I remind myself that I shouldn't be surprised.

After the events of the last day, not to mention the last month or year, I have a feeling the brunette's mind is anything but quiet when she lays her head down on her pillow at night.

Glancing over at the clock, I shake my head.

3:43

Listening to the night around me, the rest of the house is completely silent. No lights flicker under our bedroom door to suggest she is up watching tv.

Deciding that my own mind is much too cluttered for any peaceful slumber either, I swing my feet over the side of the bed.

Cold floorboards meet my bare skin, back cracking as I stand and adjust my nightshirt.

Walking quietly to our door, I step out into the rest of the house.

The living room is empty, my eyes scanning the empty kitchen as well before I make my way to the front door. Shifting the curtain beside the door, I glance out the window, eyes scanning the dark porch for any sign of Sara.

Again, nothing.

I check the driveway, noting her Tahoe still parked next to mine.

Next, I check the counter.

Moonlight glints off the silver of her house keys, the items letting me know she didn't go for a run. Sara wouldn't leave without her keys, wouldn't leave the house unlocked in her absence.

Furrowing my brows, my eyes come to rest on the last place to check.

Slowly approaching the back door, I stay in the shadows and peer out into the night.

Catching a hint of movement, I spot Mesa first, his body lying near the bottom of the back porch steps, head resting on his paws. Sitting next to him, body situated along the second step is Sara, her head angled away and out towards the night beyond our property.

I have my hand outstretched and ready to open the door to join her when the moonlight catches on something in Sara's hand.

Narrowing my eyes, I strain to see through the glass.

My breath hitches when I realize what it is she's holding.

No more than a moment later, Sara lifts the bottle awkwardly with her uninjured, left arm towards her mouth.

Taking a long drink of something that appears to be much stronger than beer or wine, she rests the bottle back in her lap, her gaze not moving from the night beyond.

Swallowing, I shake my head, debating my next move.

Sara has been so good these past weeks, completely cutting out alcohol from her life in an attempt at a new start after her relapse into drug use.

Seeing her now, drinking alone at three in the morning, I worry for her state of mind.

Alternately, though, I've been worried about her state of mind for a lot of other reasons. And perhaps, as I watch her lean her head back against the porch rail and shut her eyes, this is the only way she can find some semblance of peace right now. The only way she can escape from the hell that has become her reality as of late.

"But this isn't the answer, honey," I whisper, my nearly voiceless words sending thin plumes of steam against the glass.

Resting my head against the glass, I decide, for tonight, to only watch her.

To watch over the woman who has always been there watching over me.


CATHERINE POV

Sipping on my coffee, I try to keep my eyes focused on the sheriff. Something tells me though, judging by the faces around me that range from blank to openly bored, that I'm not the only one having a hard time focusing at this particular morning briefing.

Glancing over at Sara for what has to be the twentieth time, her expression remains neutral as she watches the sheriff from her place against the counter across the room from me.

I note that a couple other people are curiously glancing over at the brunette from time to time, their eyes moving from the deep gash along her temple to the hints of bruising traveling down her cheekbone.

Inwardly, I sigh, knowing their eyes can't even see the worst of Sara's injuries. She's wearing a black sweater, the sleeves pulled low so that only the hint of a bandage can be seen covering her right hand. Her arm is held casually at her side, and I have no doubt most of the onlookers would never suspect her shoulder was dislocated or that she has multiple broken bones in her hand.

And, that's not even addressing the other injuries I know for a fact lay unseen beneath her clothing.

Swallowing another sip of coffee, the warm liquid burns against the gash in my lip that has earned its own quota of stares this morning.

Eyes shifting back towards the sheriff, my gaze stops at one particular individual assessing Sara with an expression quite different than the others. The expression is dark, concerned instead of curious.

No doubt feeling my eyes on her, Sofia shifts her gaze from Sara to me.

Our eyes meet across the room, neither one of us needing to do more than that. The silent communication shared in this moment is more than enough.

Shoulders rising in a silent breath, Sofia offers me a supportive nod, her eyes moving back to Sara briefly before focusing on the sheriff.

"How are you?"

Startled by the whispered words spoken near my shoulder, my gaze shifts to Brass, standing slightly behind me.

"Been better," I respond, the drone of the sheriff's report blocking our words from the rest of the gathered crowd.

"How is she?"

Images from last night, Sara drinking alone in the darkness replay through my mind. The bottle of what I later determined to be vodka clenched tightly in her hand, the liquid consumed slowly but steadily by a person appearing desperate to forget, to escape.

The same person who I watched refill the empty bottle with water and replace it back in the liquor cabinet before all but collapsing onto the couch. The same person who greeted me this morning as if nothing had happened, as if nothing was different or the least bit wrong.

"Been better," I eventually settle on, my eyes trying to communicate to him things my words cannot.

I don't know if it's some attempt at loyalty or protection, but I can't find the ability to tell Brass anything more right now.

Nodding, his eyes hold understanding and acknowledgement of the fact that there's more that I'm not saying, expression letting me know he'll still be there when I'm ready.

Reaching over, I squeeze his hand tightly before turning my attention back to the meeting, to the sheriff who is listing off fiscal and departmental concerns that are nowhere near the caliber of my own.


"Twenty two," Sara answers Nick's question, eyes roaming over the picture before passing it across the table to him.

"Seriously?" he questions in disbelief. "That's crazy."

"Apparently not when you're using a semi-automatic."

Nick nods slowly, wide eyes taking in the scene in the photo.

"Crazy," he mutters again in wonder.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he gestures to the remainder of the evidence spread out on the table before us.

"And there was no blood, no transfer, on any of this?"

"None," I confirm, glancing over the report in my hands. "Negative for blood, GSR."

"Crazy," he adds for the third time.

Smiling slightly, Sara shakes her head.

"Crazy or not, we have a killer with a homemade machine gun and absolutely no trace evidence to go off of."

"What about the victim?" I question, not finding the autopsy report in my file. "How many bullet wounds?"

"Two," Nick answers, glancing at his own report.

"That's it?" I ask, raising a brow. "Twenty two in the wall, and only two in him?"

"Only takes one," Sara shrugs.

Smirking, I send her a look.

"Yes, thanks."

"Sure," she offers, a slight smile playing at her lips.

"I don't know," Nick sighs, bringing our gazes back to him. "I think the scene deserves a second visit."

"Agreed," I tell him. "Take Greg, Sara's on desk duty for awhile."

Ignoring the less-than-pleased glance she sends my way, Nick smiles at her expression.

"Cheer up," he tells her. "I'll bring you back tons of likely useless prints and carpet fibers to keep you occupied."

"Oh, be still my beating heart," Sara mutters, rolling her eyes.

Nick winks at her, giving me a smile as he makes his way out of the room.

Sara shakes her head, letting out a breath once he's out of sight, her eyes focused on the doorway he disappeared through.

"You okay?" I ask her when she doesn't break her silence for a few minutes, eyes still looking at the spot he disappeared from.

Somehow I sense there's more to this moment than meets the eye.

"Yeah," she says, pulled from her thoughts as she moves to gather up the evidence splayed around us with her good arm.

Reaching over, I still her motions.

"You okay?" I ask her again, tone gentle but deliberate.

Searching my expression, Sara eventually swallows, gaze shifting down towards the vic's clothing.

"It's like nothing happened," she gets out. "With Nick."

Nodding slowly in understanding, I remove my grip on her.

"You expected him to treat you differently now that he knows what was in that article?" I ask.

She watches the evidence, expression hard to read.

"I guess," she shrugs. "I don't know, I just expected it to feel different between me and the others after…everything."

She shrugs again, eyes glancing back up towards mine.

"He's acting like it didn't change anything."

I nod, matching her gaze.

"Maybe it didn't," I tell her honestly.

She takes in my words, her eyes filled with thoughts that I could only guess at.

"Maybe."


Stepping into my office near the end of the day, I nearly drop the paperwork in my hands when I notice someone sitting in my chair.

"Jesus," I mutter, placing my hand over my chest.

"Sorry," Sofia offers, standing and moving around the mahogany desk towards the bookshelf instead.

"What can I do for you?" I ask curiously, able to count the number of times Sofia's been to my office on one hand.

My eyebrows only raise further when she reaches over and shuts the door.

"This came in the department mail today."

Reaching over, she hands me an envelope.

I note the address, and the fact that it's open.

"Sometimes I open the mail when the sheriff or Brass are out on scenes," she shrugs in explanation.

"Okay," I tell her with a raised brow.

Taking a breath, I reach inside, trying to keep my heart rate steady. Nothing good has seemed to come from these sorts of envelopes lately for me.

Pulling out the papers, I note the seal of the state of Nevada placed in the corner, the official letterhead of the state attorney's office.

Glancing over the words, my earlier concern regarding my heart rate is all but forgotten as the organ nearly stutters to a stop in my chest.

"How…," I get out, looking up at Sofia numbly. "What?"

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Sofia shakes her head darkly.

"They're requesting a new trial," she supplies for me, reiterating the words I just read. "Claiming bias."

"This…" I take a deep breath. "This was a rapist she took three years to put behind bars."

Clenching my teeth, I try to keep from crushing the papers in my tightly clenched hands.

"He raped fourteen women, Sofia." My voice is nearly shaking with rage. "They can't do this."

"They can," she whispers. "The bastards can use what they've recently learned to argue against the mindset of the lead CSI. Claim that she was biased against their client due to her personal background."

"It's bullshit," I grind out. "No one even knew about that part of Sara's past, not even me for Christ's sake, because she was so damn good at not letting it impact her job, her actions."

"It's grounds for appeal," Sofia gets out, her own expression dour, furious. "And they can potentially win."

Standing there almost numbly, I push the papers back towards her, not wanting to even touch the offending items.

"Does she know?" I get out.

"No," Sofia shakes her head, taking the papers from my hands. "She'll be notified next. Probably later today or tomorrow."

I close my eyes, the world literally tipping off its axis around me.

"Catherine," Sofia states, voice tight and pained.

Forcing my eyes open, she waits until my gaze is on hers.

"This letter isn't the only one."


AN: Thanks for reading.