AN: Hope everyone is doing well. Sorry for the delay in update - hectic week. Thank you to the reviewers, your guys' support astounds me every time.

Take care and enjoy.

CHAPTER 6

"All progress is precarious, and the solution of one problem brings us face to face with another problem."

Martin Luther King Jr.

CATHERINE POV

"Do you ever sleep?"

Sara glances up before returning her gaze to the papers in her hands.

"Wasn't tired."

I move closer, reaching out to hand her a beer.

Looking up again, Sara accepts the offered item, taking a hesitant sip.

"Thanks."

"So," I question tentatively. "What is it you're working on at this hour?"

She hesitates, increasing my anxiety.

Letting out a sigh, she puts the papers down on her knees, holding her beer with both hands.

"Just going over stuff from the case."

"Stuff?" Her answer was evasive, and she knows I'm not going to let it stay that way.

"I'm trying to figure out the connection."

"To…"

"You."

"Ah," I breathe out, setting myself down next to her on the back step. "Why he's sending me the packages."

Sara nods, "Unless of course you already know and just aren't telling me."

I let her comment hang silently between us, not dignifying it with an answer.

"I'm sorry," Sara offers quietly after a few moments, rubbing her temples. "I'm just…"

"Exhausted?" I offer when she trails off, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and the paleness to her complexion.

"Look," I glance down at the papers in her lap. "Why don't you let it go for tonight, get some decent rest?"

"I think I'm going to go through things just a little while longer."

I know Sara, and I know 'a little while longer' means as much time as it takes to get to the answer she seeks. I'm torn, really. Part of me wants her to keep working if it gets us one step closer to who this monster is and why he picked me as his play toy. But, the other part of me cares enough about Sara to hate seeing her working herself down like this.

"Sar-"

My argument is cut off by the sounds of a vibrating phone.

Both of us look to her jeans pocket, knowing exactly whose it is.

Pulling out her phone, Sara turns it off.

The silence now between us is palpable.

Clearing her throat, Sara pushes herself to a stand, awkwardly holding the papers and her beer in one hand.

"I think I'm going to take your suggestion and get some rest."

Without waiting for a response, she is through the door and out of sight mere seconds later.

"Bullshit," I curse under my breath. "What the hell is going on with you, Sidle…"

Running my fingers down the side of the shelf, I let my eyes continue to roam over the sights before me. The pictures, the statues, the books.

The sides to Sara that I've never before had the opportunity to see.

It's clear that she has a passion for the arts, for poetry and music. Her displayed pieces and the titles of the works gracing the shelves is evidence enough. She has a glass box that inside holds innumerable tickets to the orchestra.

I feel like I'm snooping, but I can't stop myself. The brunette gives so little about herself away that I feel if I don't cheat and learn about her this way, I'll continue to go another 10 years without knowing much more about her than her name and profession.

"Careful," a voice cautions from behind me, startling me. "Some of those boxes don't hold such benign things."

I shake my head, hand over my racing heart.

"I'm sorry."

Sara smiles slightly, moving away.

"Don't be, you're an investigator. You can't help it."

"Still," I turn around. "It's not you I'm investigating."

Sara raises a brow, eyes moving between me and her bookshelf.

Seeing her standing there, cleanly dressed in a black long sleeve shirt and jeans, pleasant expression holding no hint of the exhaustion I know she's feeling after last night, something in me shifts.

"If I were investigating you, I'd know by now who the hell's calls you keep avoiding. What the hell it is you're hiding."

Sara's expression stiffens, the younger woman meeting my gaze before turning to head to the kitchen.

"Well, you're not investigating me, Catherine."

"No," I shrug. "I'm just here to work this case with you. Wouldn't want to get bogged down in the distraction of getting to know you or developing any sort of commodore. No, wouldn't want that."

"We worked cases together for ten years," Sara gets out, moving to get a knife from the drawer. "You know me."

"I know your working style, the car you drive, the lab you prefer to work in." I shake my head. "That's not knowing someone, Sara."

"Where is this coming from, Catherine? Like I said," Sara grabs an apple from her counter. "You're not investigating me."

"No, but I'm depending on you."

Sara stops her slice in the apple midway, eyes moving up to mine. "Don't even…"

"What?" I cut her off. "Don't suggest that I'm worried about your behavior? Your secrets and your avoidance?"

"Don't you dare," she tells me, jaw tight. "Don't come here, asking for my help, and then think it's appropriate for you to pick apart my life while you're here."

She fixes me with her piercing gaze.

"Are you upset with any of my performance on this case?" she questions.

When I don't answer, she continues.

"Has my behavior impacted my ability to work this case to your satisfaction? Work it to your standards?"

"Your performance has been impeccable," I answer honestly. "Just like it always is. But, Sara-"

"No," Sara stops me. "We're here to work the case. So, if you don't mind, I simply don't feel the need to listen to you critique my life while we do it."

"Fuck you, Sara," I get out, feeling my own temper simmering deep inside.

I don't know how she does it, but Sara has such an innate ability to frustrate the hell out of me. She's so damn stubborn, guarded. It drives someone like me, who lives their life relatively openly, absolutely nuts. What's the big deal about letting people get to know you?

Sara fixes me with one last look before she resumes her slicing.

I watch her in anger, before giving up and turning to head back to the guest room and get changed for the day. We still have about an hour before shift, but something tells me despite Sara's late night, the workaholic is going to want to head in early. And, if there's one thing she's right about, we need to get this damn case solved.

My retreat, however, is cut short when I hear a soft curse and the slicing sounds come to a quick halt.

I wait a moment, not hearing anything more.

"Sara?" I question.

Hearing nothing, I turn around and make my way back to the kitchen.

Sara is standing at the sink, her back to me as she holds something in the sink.

Stepping closer, I realize what she's holding is her own hand.

Her own bloody hand.

"Jesus, Sara," I get out. "What did you do?"

She shoots me a look that infers she is questioning my mental acuity.

"It was rhetorical," I mutter, stepping closer to get a better look. "Let me see."

Sara doesn't move.

"Let me see."

Nothing.

"So help me God," I get out. "Not everything has to be a battle, Sara. Just let me see."

I take a long, deep breath.

"Please."

Closing her eyes and appearing to gather her own dark emotions, Sara finally moves her hand away.

Taking her injured hand, I gently open her fingers, revealing a decent gash down her palm.

Angling it toward the light, I get a better view.

"This looks deep, Sara."

"It'll be fine," she states, pulling back her hand and grabbing a dish towel.

"No, stop," I counter in horror, all but ripping the towel from her fingers.

At her questioning gaze, I wave the towel between us.

"You have no idea what's on this," I tell her. "You could've used this to wipe of the dirty counter or clean the stove."

She raises a brow.

"You want your hand to get infected and fall off?"

Sara's other brow now joins her first.

"God damn it, Sidle," I all but seethe through my teeth. "Humor me? Please? For once?"

She looks less than convinced.

"You stop behaving like a five year old and let me take care of your hand, and I'll…." I hesitate, thinking. "I'll treat you to coffee."

She looks at me like I'm crazy.

"Real coffee," I continue. "From that whole bean hippie plant eater place you like."

Sara stares at me, working very hard to keep her face neutral at my description. "Well, when you put it that way…"

"Keep laughing, Sidle," I shrug. "Offer expires in fifteen seconds."

She sobers, eyes narrowing as she contemplates her options.

"Coffee…" she thinks aloud. "And the doughnut of my choice."

She meets my questioning gaze.

"Pieces of my flesh are likely lodged somewhere in my breakfast apple," she offers.

"What is wrong with you…" I breathe out, shaking my head. "Yes, Sara, fine. Any doughnut of your choice."

She ponders this.

"Five seconds."

Sara nods.

"Deal."

"What the hell happened to you?"

We both turn as we enter the lab, my eyes falling on Finn who's walking through the hall with Morgan.

"Catherine stabbed me," Sara answers deadpan. "But then she gave me a doughnut, so all's forgiven."

Finn raises her brows while Morgan snorts.

"Reconsidering your housing situation?" the youngest CSI asks.

"You have no idea," Sara and I both answer in unison.

And so we continue to joke, doing what we always do. Ignoring the fight we had, moving out of a place of anger to one of neutrality.

Always moving past. But never resolving.

It is what it is, and for now I think I need to accept that and move forward.

Sara's right, I didn't come here to try to change her or critique her life. It's not fair of me to ask the things of her that I'm already asking, and then on top of it expect her to become a different person just for me.

But, I think what's affecting me the most is realizing just how distant Sara has become towards me. There was a time, close to when I left, that she had slowly opened up to me. Granted, she was still overall a closed book, but there was more…trust…between us.

Now, it's like she trusts me as much as she'd trust any FBI suit coming in to work a case with her.

And, that reality is painful to to see.

My thoughts are interrupted as we reach the layout room and the sound of a phone ringing cuts through the silence.

This time, it's mine.

"Willows."

Going pale, I listen to the call.

Sara glances at me in question, eyes concerned as she looks at my reaction to the call.

Listening, I pull the phone from my ear when the call disconnects.

"Catherine?" Sara asks.

"I thought it was a wrong number."

"What?"

"This call," I get out, still stunned. "I got the same call at the beginning of the case. I thought it was a wrong number. Now…"

"Who was it?"

"No one," I answer, shaking my head to clear my thoughts. "It's just this weird clicking noise in the background."

Sara watches me, the concern on her face clear to read.

"Do you remember what the clicks sounded like? Or how many?"

"Better."

Moving up to the computer, I disconnect the speaker jack and plug it into my phone.

"All calls received on our department phones are automatically recorded."

Sara raises her brows. "I'll have to remember that."

I shoot her a look. Getting to my recorded calls, I select the most recent one and press play.

The sound of the eerie clicking now fills the room.

Sara narrows her eyes, concentrating.

The clicks are in a pattern that keep repeating over and over again.

"Do you still have the first call?" Sara questions over the clicking.

"No," I shake my head. "The calls are only kept for thirty days before the phone deletes the ones you haven't saved. I didn't think at the time…"

"Of course not," Sara answers, trying to make me feel better.

The call ends, silence now filling the room.

"Play it again?" Sara requests quietly.

Doing so, we both listen to it in its entirety.

"We need to get this to Archie," she states when it finishes. "It could be nothing, unrelated…"

"Or," I finish for her. "It could be yet another message from my secret admirer."

Sara takes a deep breath, reaching out and squeezing my shoulder.

It's in moments like this, seeing her concern for me and her determined features, that I'm glad, despite all our issues, that Sara is here, working this case beside me. I know she cares, and Sara is beyond loyal. I know she'd do anything for a member of the team, and thankfully that still includes me.

This is the exact reason I chose her. Because, despite her feelings towards me, I still wholeheartedly trust her.

"One last time," she requests.

Hitting play, we both listen.

"What're you thinking?" I ask, recognizing the look on her face that means she's working her way through a theory.

"Clicking noises as messages always make me think Morse Code."

"And?"

She shrugs, "If it's meant to be Morse Code, it's the letter B. Repeated over and over again."

"Meaning?"

Sara continues to think.

"Could mean a million things…" she says, eyes narrowed in thought.

I wait her out, knowing she's considering multiple options, running them all through her mind.

"And," she says slowly, thinking aloud. "Since it's an audio message, it could mean that it's the B side."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning we need to listen to the A side. Since it's not a cassette or something we physically flip, I think we need to listen to it backwards."

"Can we do that?" I ask, staring at my phone.

"We can if we invert the file."

Shaking my head, I hold out my phone to her. "Please. Before I try something and the whole thing bursts into flames."

Smiling slightly, Sara takes my phone, taking a few moments to figure it out.

Then, she looks over at me. "Ready?"

I nod, and she plays the file.

When I hear the clicks in reverse, the blood drains from my body so quickly that I grab the table before I pass out.

Reaching over, Sara grabs me tightly as well, looking at me in concern as the file finishes.

Helping me to a chair, she waits.

"It's so stupid, and maybe not even what it's meant to be…"

"Catherine…"

"When I worked here, at my old house, I had this awful alarm clock in my bedroom. It wouldn't beep evenly like a normal clock, it had this awkward pattern to it that drove me nuts in the mornings."

"That's the pattern?" Sara asks, eyebrows raised.

"That's the exact pattern," I confirm. "I woke up to that damn thing every day for years. I'd recognize it anywhere."

Sara nods, clenching her good hand into a fist.

"He was in my house," I choke out. "He was in my bedroom, and I never knew."

Sara's jaw is tight, her furious expression letting me know she had already come to that realization.

"What the hell is he trying to say?" I ask, voice tight and, despite my best efforts, holding an edge of fear.

Sara lets out a deep breath, own features stark.

"He's telling you to wake up, to open your eyes and look around you."

"And see what?"

Sara shakes her head darkly.

"I have no idea."

AN: Thanks for reading.