Sofia

I'm jolted awake by the sound of my phone, buzzing incessantly against the bedside table. Grappling blindly for it, I squint at the screen before answering.

"Good morning" I breathe, laying back against the pillows.

"You, sleeping? I didn't think you were ever off the clock" Nick teases, voice too loud.

"I'm not" I mutter in amusement, blinking tiredly up at the ceiling.

"Greg told me you and Sara are down in Phoenix following a lead with the brother. How's that going?"

"We're… working on it"

"Yeah, we're at a dead end over here too" he tells me. "Traffic cam footage was a bust"

"Just getting off?" I ask, pulling the phone away from my ear to check the time- 7:00.

"Yeah, heading out to meet Warrick for breakfast, thought I would call and see how you are"

I smile, threading fingers through my hair.

"You know you I appreciate it, but you don't have to keep checking up on me. I'm fine"

"I know tough guy, but I'm going to keep asking anyway"

"I was shot last year and no one paid me this much mind" I remind him, half teasing. It was a graze to my hip and we were critically understaffed, but the point remains.

"Yeah well, I wasn't there to see the aftermath of that"

I remember him clearly that night, months ago- his thinly veiled rage, the anxiety radiating from him as he stood nearby, waiting for the paramedics to assess the damage. The sight of him when I woke up in a hospital bed, a bouquet of white lilies looking worse for wear in the vice grip of his fist. Brass should have called Catherine that night, not Nick. She knows how to remain clear, how to put these things down. Nick is all emotion. He's like me, we carry it.

"You refused to let anyone in on this, so you're going to have to let me check up on you until you're 100%, alright?"

I sigh, staring up at the ceiling, unease still lingering at the memory. I slide my hand beneath the thin fabric of my tank top, fingertips absently brushing over the rough, scarred flesh just beneath my ribs.

"I'm okay. Sleeping poorly, but otherwise fine. Ribs are healed, I've got a badass scar. In a few weeks I'll be golden"

"Yeah, you will" he assures me.

"I'll see you in a few days, hopefully with something probative"

"Alright, you two take care out there"

I toss the phone onto the bed, running my hands over my face roughly, attempting to wake up.

Overnight, the ridges of distant hills caught fire. I keep an eye on them as we drive down the 405, in search of some connective tissue. Sara, humming absently along to the radio, has barely paid the darkening skies any mind. Eventually she picks up on my unease, taking a sip of coffee from her to-go mug, dark eyes discerning.

"You're not from the West, are you?" she asks, more statement than question.

"How can you tell?"

She smiles, making a slow turn onto Eldorado.

"You're not used to the fires"

"I feel that 'getting used to the fires' might be problematic"

She chuckles, nodding towards the distant blaze.

"A lot of fires spark up when it's this hot and this dry. There's no wind and it's far enough from town- they should have that one out in a couple hours"

I stare at it uneasily, taking a slow sip of coffee as we settle back into a comfortable silence. I watch neighbourhoods pass by- the immense houses, the manicured lawns.

"Where did you grow up?"

A coyote scrambles beneath a wrought iron fence as we pass by, jogging up the winding drive.

"Pittsburgh area" I tell her, picturing our Victorian house near the river. The old wooden swing hanging from an Oak tree that knocked out my front teeth when I was seven. The overgrown garden; my father's despair.

She nods, glancing over at me from behind aviators.

"Yeah, I can see that"

I quirk an eyebrow in question.

"You've got an edge" she elaborates, crooked smile playing over her lips.

I chuckle, glancing back out the passenger side window. I don't tell her that it was the suburbs of Pittsburgh- all immaculate homes and mid-Atlantic charm. I prefer her idea of me- rough and tumble kid, street smart and capable.

"Which part of California are you from?"

"I grew up in Tomales Bay, north of San Francisco. Spent a few years in the city after that"

It's clear that Sara is a born and bred Californian- the soft drawl, her laid back personality, her natural beauty. It all fits. It's the linear thinking and the darkness in her that- in the most stereotypical sense- seems out of place.

"You surf?"

"For years. It's been a while though"

I smile out the window, imagining her on frigid beaches, young and windswept.

I feel a kinship with Sara that is constantly thwarted by her distrust and quiet animosity. She thinks her relationship with Gil is a well-kept secret, though she is far more transparent than she realizes. She sees me having conversations with him and perceives a threat. I want to assure her that I'm not interested. That I'm not devious or untrustworthy. That I'm just human, searching for connection.

Our line of work can be all-consuming and isolating. We rely on one another for companionship. It's why her and the guys are so close. Why her and Catherine fight as fiercely as they love. It's why Jim is so protective. Why Catherine and Warrick have been teetering for years on the edge of something more. Why, when two of my closest friends from days transferred out of state within six months of each other, I became unmoored.

"You ever surf?" she asks, tearing me from my thoughts.

"In Pittsburgh? Not much"

It's a dumb joke but she smiles, shaking her head softly, dark waves falling from behind her ear which she immediately tucks back.

"I dated a surfer once" I tell her and she glances over, clicking her tongue.

"Not quite the same thing"

Steve Walton's home is a trailer on the edge of town, near the rugged base of a mountain range. Sara was right- the fires are contained, more smoulder than burn now. The air feels suffocating, haze hanging low, the sky a chalky blue. I sip my coffee, wondering briefly about birds and the resilience of tiny lungs.

"There's nothing we can do" Sara announces quietly after minutes of silent contemplation. I sigh, leaning back in my seat. A bead of sweat rolls down the back of my neck and I groan, running my hand over it miserably.

"I was hoping there would be something in the yard, or at least some open blinds… can you do the thing?" I breathe, gesturing towards the ignition before drawing my hand to my forehead.

She sparks the ignition, air conditioning blasting warm air from the vents.

"It is weird that all his blinds are shut" she muses.

"He's a career thief, it's not that weird" I counter, glancing around the yard for the thirtieth time in search of anything out of the ordinary. It's small and plain- a stunted Poplar tree growing near the sidewalk, a rusted-out wheelbarrow propped up against the side of the house.

"Let's knock on the door, make sure there's no one there"

I shoot her a skeptical look as I lean forward against the air vent.

"We'll get a better look at the yard, it's our only legal option"

I let out a quiet groan of protest as she kills the engine, plunging us back into stagnated heat.

"Come on detective, pull yourself together"

She purses her lips into a playful smile, slipping out onto the street. I follow suit, readjusting the badge attached to my belt.

"Sorry, you're right. I'm not at my best today"

"Do you want to talk about why you're not sleeping?"

She asks this casually, and I wonder why she chose now to pose the question.

"How do you know I'm not sleeping?" I counter, though it's blatantly obvious. The half-moons beneath my eyes are starting to resemble bruises. I always have a coffee in hand. I glance down, adjusting the holster of my gun when I feel a hand roughly grasp my bicep, dragging me backwards.

"Wait" she says, though it sounds distorted and distant. I tear my arm out of her grasp, whipping around to face her. Surprised brown eyes lock with mine, and I know that she sees my panic, recognizes the defence in my stance. It's a second of intense transparency that I immediately break away from, glancing down the road.

A white beater truck is heading towards us, one that I recognize from Steve Waltons file. A flood of regret instantly follows on the heels of fear, and I gently wrap my hand around her forearm, pulling her to the far side of the SUV, out of sight.

"What the fuck is he doing here?"

"I guess he made bail…"

She sounds hesitant, and when I glance over, she's looking at me with an uncharachteristic softness, eyebrows creased in concern.

"I didn't mean to startle you" she says, and I shake my head dismissively, glancing up at Walton's truck pulling into the driveway.

"I know, it's fine. I'm going to call PD, find out what's going on"

Sara is distant for the rest of the afternoon, or maybe I am. We wait around a while to see if Steve attempts any strange moves before heading back to PD. I check into the man who posted bail- A Liam Hennig from a few blocks over, a few petty offences on his record but nothing connecting the two further.

Detective Lane, a handsome man with a soft disposition invites us for drinks as we're heading out. Sara hesitates, looking to me as though I might be in too fragile a state. This irritates me and I immediately accept, turning my full attention to Lane, distancing myself from her and her concern.

We end up in a run-down Mexican pub three blocks from the station, accompanied by a few other officers coming off shift. The dynamics are familiar- the rookies, desperate to prove themselves even off-the-clock, a few misogynistic older men cracking jokes. Everywhere you go, it's some version of the same.

I'm half-listening to Lane describe a sting operation they pulled off last month, gaze focused on Sara as she laughs heartily at something. She seems relaxed now, more like her easy going self. I don't exactly bring out the best in her, but the past couple of weeks she's seemed particularly uneasy. It's nice to see this side of her again- some levity amidst the darkness.

This levity is abruptly severed when she receives a call. I watch her retrieve her phone, Gil's name flashing over the screen. Thank god I think, though the look on her face suggests confliction. Suggests unease. She excuses herself, slipping out the back door of the pub.

I have so many questions about their relationship, none of which I will ever ask. The obvious ones don't interest me- how long, who initiated? It doesn't matter. I'd like to know if he holds her hand in public, away from the lab. If he makes her coffee in the mornings. If she sleeps better beside him. I'd like to know if she would call him romantic. If they're ever consumed by passion. It's so hard to imagine. Sara is like a tinder box- incendiary. Wild yet predictable. Gil is steadfast, practical. Where does the spark come from?

He took me to dinner once, an attempt to convince me to stay at the lab. He touched my lower back on the way out of the restaurant- a subtle invitation that I didn't acknowledge then, but thought about long after. Not out of regret, but a sense of curiosity that always gets the better of me. What is it like, being with him? Even now, I can't imagine it.

I'm drawn back to my current conversation by Lane repeating my name, dark head tilted as he observes me curiously.

"Sorry, what?" I ask, brows furrowed as I force my attention back onto him.

"I was just telling you about my new cruiser, which I'm realizing is not very interesting"

"No, I'm just…" I blow out a breath, forcing fingers through my hair. "Distracted. Exhausted. Melting slowly"

He chuckles, nodding softly

"I know, this isn't exactly a high-rate establishment. No air conditioning, but Louis slips us free drinks occasionally and makes a mean plate of Nachos"

I smile, tipping back the warm remnants of my beer. It's not all that different from Joes, the local cop-haunt a few blocks from PD. Lane notes my empty drink, dark gaze flicking back up to me before sliding off his stool. I watch him order us two more, thanking him as he slides the condensing bottle across the rough wooden surface.

"Now, tell me"

I shoot him a bemused look, hand wrapping around the bottle, reveling in the cool glass against my overheated skin.

"You and Sidle, what's going on there?"

I chuckle, taking a drawn-out sip.

"Well, I'm the last person she would like to be here with. That about sums it up"

"You two aren't… involved?"

I manage to not choke on my drink as a scoff escapes my lips. She returns through the back door, and I watch as she stops by the bar, ordering another beer.

"Why would you think that?" I ask, realizing he couldn't possibly understand the absurdity of that question.

He shrugs, glancing over at her empty seat.

"Just got a sense that there was more there than the typical work relationship"

My eyes remain trained on her as she returns to the table. Her gaze meets mine for a fleeting moment, dark and intense, before she settles in, turning her attention back to the man beside her. I sigh, running my tongue over my bottom lip and leaning heavily back in my chair, gaze returning to Lane.

"Yeah well, it's complicated"

He chuckles, taking a drink.

"It always is, isn't it? Why is nothing ever just easy?"

Dark eyes meet mine and I immediately recognize the invitation. Something simple, something easy. I stare at him for a long moment before chuckling, drawing the bottle to my lips. The last thing I have the capacity for is a fling in Phoenix with a guns-and-gangs detective. I flick my gaze over to Sara, then back to him, giving my head a single shake. I'm not sure what exactly I'm trying to convey, but he just smiles, tilting his beer towards me in concession.

"Worth a shot"

My fourth beer should have been my last. I realize this halfway through my fifth, a wave of nausea overtaking me. I don't typically drink like this, it's some culmination of the heat, my exhaustion, and my anxiety around this case. Around Sara and the way she keeps looking at me- concern that has morphed into an intensity I can't read. It's as though I'm a puzzle that she can't quite solve.

I migrate to the bar, surrounded by Lane and a few other men who are telling animated stories that I'm half listening to. I'm thinking about Elizabeth Walton, considering where Steve would be holding her if she were still alive. Holding, because I can't fathom a woman running off with the man who murdered her children. Not tonight, anyway.

I'm thinking of Sara- teasing me in the car, looking at me last night with sleepy eyes, asking me to stay. Perhaps asking isn't the right word, but the invitation was more than I ever would have expected from her. I glance around, suddenly longing for a familiar presence.

As though on cue, I feel her beside me. She looks beautiful- it's an intrusive thought that I can't seem to shake tonight. Her hair is naturally curled, wild and enviable. Her skin has a soft sheen to it and her tanned cheeks are rosy, from the heat or the alcohol I'm not sure. She smiles, eyebrows creasing softly, and I realize I've missed something.

"What?"

She chuckles, nodding towards the door.

"I asked if you're ready to go"

"Oh, yeah" I mutter, embarrassed by my distraction. I turn towards Lane, leaning in to say goodnight. He glances up at Sara and then back at me with a wink.

"You two have a good night"

Sara frowns and I grasp her arm- partially for support, partially to drag her away, unsure how to explain Lane's extremely misguided ideas about our relationship. Misguided by me, I suppose.

"Let's go"

The air outside offers little relief, a hot breeze blowing in from the East. I glance around the quiet parking lot, realizing that neither of us is in any condition to drive. Her relaxed demeanor and unsteady gait reveal that she's just as intoxicated as I am.

"I called a cab; we can pick the car up tomorrow" she tells me, anticipating my question.

I stumble slightly, leaning unceremoniously back against the stucco wall. The lights are dim and I am craving a cigarette, my pack left at the hotel somewhere.

"Detective Lane seems nice"

She purses her lips into a smile and I chuckle, using the elastic around my wrist to gather my hair into a loose ponytail.

"He is" I tell her, offering no more insight as she comes to lean against the wall beside me.

"Sam the rookie seemed pretty taken by you" I tease as she pats the pockets of her thin jacket, pulling out a crumpled pack of smokes. Hallelujah.

"Sam the rookie is a child" she reminds me, sticking a smoke between her lips.

"Can I?" I ask, nodding to the pack. She quirks an eyebrow at me.

"But you don't smoke, right?"

I scowl and she smiles, lighting it before passing it over to me. I stare at her for a moment, distracted by the cigarette she's sliding between her lips and the smell of patchouli that is distinctly Sara and the feel of her leather jacket against my bare skin.

Something about this moment sparks the desire to kiss her, hard and intense. Shove her back against the stucco wall, slip my hands beneath her thin t-shirt. It floods through me like a wave, fist clenching against it. It's not a shocking thought, it's one that has crossed my mind before. We may not get along well, but we do have chemistry. The danger is that we're alone and we're drunk, and that has been a predictably destructive path for me in the past.

"Sofia"

I blink, looking from her down to the cigarette she's still holding out towards me. I snatch it, muttering a 'thanks' as I take a long drag, forcing my gaze out at the dark parking lot.

"Are you okay? You've been spaced out all night"

"How do you know, we've been apart all night" I remind her. She stares at me for a moment, clamouring for the right words. I know she's been watching me, all concern and calculation, and I can't help the soft prod. It's so easy to fluster her.

"You seem distracted, that's all"

"I'm tired" I tell her honestly, flicking ash from my smoke.

"Why are you so tired?"

I stare at the glowing ember, studying it intently as I consider how to answer her question in a way that will put her concern to rest.

"I'm a cop, Sara. I deal with things every day that haunt me. I just haven't been sleeping well"

I feel her gaze on me as I tilt my head back to exhale smoke up towards the starlit sky. The air still smells of burning brush and lemongrass and suddenly I feel an overwhelming wave of emotion. My heart feels impossibly heavy. There is so much that I want to put down.

"That's not it" Sara announces after a moment, finally looking away, flicking the ash that has accumulated with her thumb.

"What?"

She shakes her head, shoulder brushing mine softly with the motion.

"I've known you for years, I know the work affects you, but not like this. You don't sleep, you panic when someone touches you unexpectedly…"

She looks over, brown eyes meeting mine.

"You don't have to tell me what's going on, I just…" she stares at me for a moment before turning away, taking a short, harsh drag of her smoke. "I just want to know that you're okay"

It's a sweet sentiment that confuses me. I should just accept the kindness, thank her for her concern, but I'm not in my most rational mind at present.

"Why do you care?"

She looks over, brow furrowed, and I hold her gaze.

"Really Sara, you rebuff every attempt I make to be friendly; you have made it abundantly clear that you want nothing to do with me. So why does it matter to you if I'm okay?"

She scoffs, taking a final drag before stubbing it out against the wall behind her with more force than necessary. Pushing off the wall, she tosses it in the trash can before turning back to me with a frown.

"I don't know, okay? I don't know"

It's an absurd answer, shouted at me beneath flickering lights of a dive bar, and I'm feeling a myriad of emotions that all contradict one another. After a drawn-out moment the absurdity wins out and I emit a quiet chuckle that breaks the silence. She stares at me for a moment before the tension in her shoulders seems to dissipate, features softening as a laugh escapes her throat. She drops her head back to look up at the sky, dark hair falling down her back. If I were to sum up this evening, it would come down to this:

We're graceless. She's beautiful. I notice.

She comes back to rest beside me against the wall, shoulders touching as we wait in relative silence.

It's not until we're in her hotel room that the silence is broken.

She turns in the hall to say goodnight, but before she has a chance I slip between her and the door, effectively silencing her. I lean back against it, goosebumps raising along bare arms as I watch her surprise morph into amusement, an eyebrow raising expectantly. It drives me to distraction for a moment before I remember myself, slipping the key card from between her fingers and turning around. She's so close I can feel the warmth of her, and I fumble with the key before successfully letting us into the room.

As soon as we're inside, the smooth hum of the air conditioner accentuating the silence, my confidence wavers. I'm being inadvertently seductive and that isn't my intention- I'm just trying to delve below the surface with her. Trying to be her friend. Looking at her now, it becomes deeply apparent that I don't actually know how to do that. This unnerves me deeply. When did I become so inept at basic human connection? I open my mouth to speak with a soft inhale, hesitating a moment before my lips draw together, uncertain.

Her gaze travels down to my fingertips, tapping an anxious pattern against one another. She slips her jacket off, revealing more of her perfectly tanned skin.

"Do you want a nightcap?" she asks, voice colored with gentle amusement as she moves into the small kitchen.

"What do you have?"

"High end stuff" she assures me, returning with a few mini bottles from the fridge in hand.

I smile, dropping down onto the edge of her bed as she pours cheap whiskey into paper cups and passes one to me, taking a seat in the armchair. She tips back a long sip and I expect her to ask me what exactly it is that I want, but she doesn't. Just relaxes back into the chair, slipping her boots off and drawing her long legs up beneath her.

"Do you want to watch a movie?"

I raise an eyebrow. Not quite what I was expecting, but I'll take it.

"Can I…"

I realize halfway through the question that it's absurd to shower here when my room is four doors down, but somehow she knows what I'm about to ask and nods towards the bathroom before I have a chance to retract it.

"There's towels in the closet"

Twenty minutes later we're both showered and I'm in a pair of Sara's baggy sweatpants. I meant to protest, but she had adorned a pair of boxer shorts that offer an uninterrupted view of her legs, and I wasn't about to deprive myself of that sight. Some old black and white movie is playing that I'm not paying attention to. I'm drifting, our arms almost touching as we sit half-propped on a sea of pillows.

Eventually I drift off and when I wake up some indetermined amount of time later, I realize I've once again completely overstayed my welcome. She notices me stirring and must read my mind, because when I move to push myself up, she presses her palm just below my collar bone, urging me gently back into the pillows.

"Please just stay"

Too tired to fight her, I mutter some unintelligible agreement, curling into the pillows. A few moments pass, the movie droning in the background, before I mutter her name. She hums in question, and I force my eyes open to look at her.

"Thank you"

"For what?" she asks, tucking wild hair behind her ear.

For chasing dead-end leads with me. For worrying. For sharing your bed. For offering me your clothes. For being good company. For not letting me push you away.

"For this. For… letting me raid your mini bar"

She chuckles, and I realize my eyes have fallen shut when her fingertips brush a stray lock of hair away from my face. I blink them open and see a mix of softness and confusion in her gaze. We're both drunk and exhausted- emotionally, physically. This wouldn't be happening sober, but I'm grateful for the chance to see her like this- soft and unguarded. She seems as though she might say something, but a moment passes and she draws her hand away, clicking her tongue softly.

"It's on the company card, so you can explain the room charges to Ecklie" she teases.

I chuckle, nestling back into the pillows.