Sara
I'm reading a book on astrophysics, legs bent, half-covered by a maroon blanket. The room is cool, air conditioner humming in the corner window, classical music drifting in from Gil's office. It's Saturday morning and I'm crawling out of my skin.
It's been two weeks since we returned from Phoenix, nerves exposed, hands still shaking. I left Sofia's condo the morning after we returned. We woke inches apart. We ate cereal in her sterile, sundrenched living room. I haven't seen her since.
She's been both on mandated leave and forced into press conferences by the department. Vegas's brightest star, begrudgingly so. I had choked on my coffee one night in the breakroom when she appeared on the news with the sheriff, looking entirely underwhelmed. I miss her presence far more than I had anticipated, though she's been keeping me at a distance. I'm blaming the exhaustion and the overwhelm, though a part of me fears that whatever connection we felt is fraying.
I scoff quietly, blinking my gaze away from the words on particle theory that have blurred into nonexistence. Three weeks ago, just the sound of her smooth voice was enough to irritate me. Now, I keep my phone within earshot in case she reaches out. In case she can't sleep. In case the nightmares creep back in. Who would have guessed she could soften me in this way.
As for me, I've been drifting between work and Gil's. It's easier to be here, in a space that isn't my own. In a world where I can ask questions about his research, his books, and the conversation will rarely shift to me. He spent the first day attempting to address what happened in Phoenix, though when I expressed my desire not to discuss it, he was relieved. We rarely wade into emotional realms here. We keep things deep on an intellectual level, and that is how we relate. That is how we function.
Gil is a rock; I feel moored by his presence. In his house, in his bed. I allow him to come to me when he wants intimacy, wants touch. Once initiated, I always set the pace, as sex has always felt on the fringes of his comfort zone. Maybe just the dominant side of it, the unbridled aspect of it. His interest isn't in deep connection or relenting control. Not with us. It's more about meeting an inherent need. About grasping for intimacy when his comfortable distance loses its appeal. I am often unsatiated by this, but I find beauty in how he emotionally softens afterwards. How I lay on his chest and we discuss our day, or he shares some of the thoughts that he's kept private all week. It doesn't last, he inevitably rolls out of bed to do some work, or slips to his side of the bed, putting a punctuated end to our intimacy until the mood strikes again. There is a predictability in this that I need. I suppose that's what I take from all of this- safety. Uniformity.
I give up on my book, setting it aside and slipping out of bed. I pad across the hardwood floor, the earthy smell of Pu-erh tea drifting into the hall. Coming to lean against the door frame, I bite back a smile at the sight of Gil, brow furrowed in concentration as he reads Dostoevsky. It takes him a while to notice me, brow creasing into a frown as he slips his glasses off.
"Sorry, I didn't see you there"
"In your defence, I'm hardly as enthralling as Dostoevsky" I muse, pursing my lips into a smile that he returns, placing the book onto his lap.
"You coming to bed?" I ask, already knowing the answer by the fresh tea steeping on his desk. By that aforementioned predictability.
"Soon"
I give him a soft nod, holding his gaze for a moment before unfolding my arms and standing upright.
"Goodnight"
"Goodnight dear" he replies, returning to his book.
As I turn back to the room, I consider a run instead. A release of this stagnant energy that's been building inside of me, begging for an outlet.
I repress it instead, slipping back into bed.
Shift goes by slowly, Nick and I stuck on a B&E in an unvented apartment off the strip. The smell of mildew and rotting fruit is nauseating in its intensity, the constant done of noise from the street wearing. By the time we leave, I'm tossing back three Advil with the cold remains of coffee left abandoned in the console and cursing tourists still milling about the streets.
"Don't tell me you've lost your good mood now" Nick teases, glancing at me from the passenger seat as we turn off Sunset. I shoot him a look, head pounding.
I'd been looking forward to tonight. Greg was back after three days of vacation, signalling the return of decent breakroom coffee. Ecklie is drowning in paperwork, backlogged from the Wagner shooting. This means no one hovering over our shoulders, questioning our work. Wendy, newly single and desperate for distraction, has been baking for the entire lab. Warrick and I devoured two cinnamon buns before shift had even begun.
"Sofia's back, you seen her at all tonight?"
And then there's that.
"Not yet" I mutter, draining the last sip of coffee.
My disappointment had been clear as Vartan greeted us in the paint-chipped hallway, disguised as irritation at another B&E in another decrepit apartment.
"She seems to be doing alright, yeah?" he asks. I scoff quietly, giving my head a single shake.
"I'm uh, not really sure"
"Really? After everything that went down with you two?"
I shoot him a warning look and he lifts his hands in surrender.
"Well we had a beer last week and she seemed to be her same old self. Itching to get back to work"
I hum in acknowledgement, ignoring the irritation bubbling up. I hadn't asked for this connection with her- in fact, I'd actively avoided it.
I can feel Nick's gaze on me, and I glance over at him.
"I really don't want to talk about it"
"Alright" he concedes. "You want to grab some breakfast to take back to the lab? I could really go for a breakfast burrito about now"
"Good idea" I agree, directing us towards Franks.
Shift crawls by, Nick and I painstakingly sorting through evidence. It was the brother, there was little doubt about that, but proving it turned out to be a tedious task. I leave a stack of fingerprints with Mandy before calling it a night.
It's rare that we're off shift at a reasonable time, but the past few days have been uncharacteristically quiet. Just when I need distraction, crime slows to a near-halt. Typical.
I take a shower in the back room, scrubbing the smell of mold and mildew from my hair, my skin. I want to run, or drink. I haven't quite decided which feels more appropriate. I'm still considering my options, packing up my bag, when Sofia's voice penetrates the quiet.
"Hey"
My heart clenches like a fist. I finish zipping my bag up before turning to the door. She's in all black, leaning against the door frame, a pair of aviators perched on her nose.
"Hey" I greet, brow furrowing in amusement at her appearance.
"Heading out?"
"Yeah. It's been a slow night" I tell her, sitting on the bench to pull my boots on. I feel her wander in, hesitating a few feet away from me.
"Good to be back?"
"Yeah" she sighs, "It'll be better once this whole Phoenix thing blows over"
"Is that why you're dressed like this?" I ask, glancing up at her with a pursed lip smile.
She smiles, scuffing the toe of her boot against the floor softly.
"If one more person asks how I'm doing, I'm going to knock them out"
She slips her hands into her pant pockets, keys jingling quietly.
"Do you want to celebrate my first shift back?"
I'm silent for a moment, tightening the knot of my laces before standing up.
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather celebrate with Nick?"
My tone is light, but the sentiment is real. It hurts that she hasn't reached out for two weeks. She's not the only one that went through something in Arizona.
"Sara"
I turn to look at her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. She slips her sunglasses onto the top of her head, revealing that soft, perpetually amused expression that always serves to either soften or irritate me. I'm not sure which direction it's taking me now.
"I needed a little time to process things, it's been an overwhelming couple of weeks"
I pull my bag out of my locker, draping it over my shoulder.
"I get it. It's not like we're friends just because we spent a few days together"
I'm being petty, I'm aware. I don't really mean it and it's clear that she knows that by the little quirk of her eyebrow. The way her lips pull into a half smile.
"Sara"
I push my locker shut, turning back towards her.
"I have some beers in my fridge, some leftover Pad Thai…"
I can't fight the smile that tugs at my lips as she raises an eyebrow expectantly, as though she's making some irresistible offer. She steps forward to wrap a cool hand around my wrist, holding it gently.
"Let me guess, you've been recruited by the CIA"
Her fingertips graze my wrist as she drops it, turning to regard Nick as he wanders into the room. His hand falls to her shoulder, squeezing it softy on the way past.
"I'm in hiding" she explains, shooting him an amused glance before turning back to me to cock an eyebrow expectantly.
"Can I buy you two a beer? I think your return to work warrants a little celebration"
Before she can reply, Greg enters the cramped room, slinging an arm around Sofia's shoulder with a grin.
"If that's an open invitation, round two is on me"
She slips her arm around his waist with a quiet sigh, blue eyes meeting mine. I stare at her for a moment before relenting, pushing my locker door shut.
"Just to be clear, I'm not buying you any beers" I inform her, earning a quiet chuckle.
Our intimate celebration quickly morphs into 12 of us around a banquet style table, sharing breakfast and a strange mix of cocktails. I'm sandwiched between Greg and Mandy, arguing across me about the merits of some old mob movie I've never seen while I tip back my second beer and stare out at the parking lot.
My irritation is rising, despite the sweetness of the morning. The way everyone wanted to show up for Sofia- for us both. I'm irritated because she held me at such a distance. Because she let Nick in instead. Because even Gil seemed to know more about her well-being this week than I did. We shared beds, shared time, shared a traumatic experience, and I'm the last person she's reached out to.
I'm irritated because as sweet as this is, I wanted her to myself this morning. As petty as I'd been about her earlier invitation, it's what I've been craving. Mostly, I'm irritated that I care at all.
I feel a foot brush against mine and glance down at my legs, crammed in amongst too many people. I take a sip of beer, watching a couple pull up to the restaurant on large motorcycles when I feel a sharp kick to my shin. I frown, dragging my leg back as my gaze shoots across the table to meet Sofia's bright gaze.
"Ow" I mouth at her, brow furrowed. She gazes at me with the hint of a smirk, reclined back as far as the stiff dining chairs will allow, some cocktail with a yellow umbrella resting half-empty in her hand.
She cocks an eyebrow and I know she's clocked my sour mood.
"I'm tired" I lie, voice drown out by the drone of conversations around us. Her eyebrow raises further, and I know she sees straight through me. Before she can call me out, officer Hewitt approaches her with another absurd drink, dropping down next to her chair to talk to her. I chuckle, tipping back a sip of beer, aware of how much she hates this attention.
"Sara, you've seen Goodfellas, right?" Greg asks and I sigh, tipping back the last of my beer before relenting to the conversation.
By 7 am I'm sufficiently buzzed. Warrick and Nick are left discussing last nights Raiders game at the other end of the table while Sofia and I gaze at one another across the cluttered space.
She slid her aviators back on at some point and I watch as she takes the last sip of her drink, yellow umbrella sliding precariously to the edge. It's hard to be irritated with her when she looks so absurd.
"You look my aunt Sylvia" I tell her, absently picking at the label of my beer bottle. My mothers' alcoholic sister with an affinity for the color black and cheap cigarettes.
Sofia snorts, raising her glass slightly before tipping back the remainder of her drink.
"Cheers to Aunt Sylvia"
I know that she would have been out of here an hour ago if this entire breakfast wasn't centered around her. Hence the cocktails. Hence the derision.
"Alright, the only sober person left in this place is taking leave. Can I offer you ladies a ride?"
I raise my beer towards Warrick before tipping back the final sip.
"You know, we're lucky that we live in the only city in America where drinking before 8 am is acceptable behaviour" Nick muses as we step out into the dry desert air. Sofia falls into step beside me, and I squint against the sun glinting off the cars.
"You've clearly never been to Palm Springs"
He chuckles and I feel Sofia's fingers curl around my wrist.
"Come over?" she asks quietly.
I glance over at her, lips pulling into a crooked smile.
Sofia's place is like a vacant artist studio- open and airy. Neutral tones. Uncluttered. It's church-like, with high ceilings and a small stained-glass sunflower etched into the top of her kitchen window.
"I assure you that nothing holy happens here" she jokes when I point this out, playfully quirking an eyebrow at me.
I settle onto one of the barstools as she mills around the kitchen, preparing coffee. There's something strangely intimate about seeing her at home, performing menial tasks. Soft, barefoot, unguarded.
Once she starts the coffee, she turns to lean against the counter, bright gaze falling onto me. The questions that I left unasked in Phoenix feel suddenly burning. Kyle, her mother, what had been bothering her before the shooting happened and overshadowed everything.
"I'm sorry that I've been distant" she says, fingertips tapping softly against the edge of the counter. "I needed a minute. But I got to work today and I just…" she clicks her tongue, gaze lingering on the floor for a moment before meeting mine again. "Wanted to see you."
My heart clenches, smile ghosting over my lips. I'm still hurt. I want to tell her that, remind her that I went through something in Phoenix too, but she looks so genuine that I force it aside.
"Yeah, I know the feeling"
Her bright gaze it acute and my fingertips are suddenly aching with the desire to touch her; to feel her near. I clear my throat, grasping for another topic in an attempt to dissipate the mounting tension.
"I uh, met Kyle, in Phoenix"
Great choice, I silently chastise.
A smile plays over her lips, eyebrow quirking softly as she flicks at a nail on one of her hands.
"Not quite what you were expecting?"
"No" I admit, leaning back in my seat. She glances down at her nails before dragging her gaze up to meet mine again, waiting for me to continue.
"I would never have thought you could get someone so hot"
Her laugh is soft and honey thick as she tilts her head back. I want her to keep making that sound. When she meets my gaze again, it's impossibly soft.
"She seems to really care about you"
She sighs, smile fading.
"Yeah, well. Sometimes that's not enough"
I'm about to press further when the coffee maker beeps. She turns to the cupboard, reaching up to grab a mug when she hisses in pain, grabbing the edge of the counter in a white knuckled grip.
I frown, immediately sliding off the stool.
"Still hurting?" I ask. An absurd question, considering.
"It's fine" she assures me, straightening back up with a soft wince. I roll my eyes, moving around the large marble island.
"Can I take a look?"
She glances at me in amusement, grabbing the coffee pot.
"What do you know about gunshot wounds?"
"I got into medical school you know" I remind her, reaching up to grab another mug from the cabinet.
"And how much of that did you actually attend?" she asks as she pours dark coffee into my cup. I purse my lips into a smile.
"That's irrelevant"
She scoffs, holding her mug close for a long moment, meeting my expectant gaze. Eventually she puffs out an irritated sigh, leaning back against the counter and tugging her dark blouse from the waistband of her pants.
"I'm telling you, it's fine"
Hair falls from behind her ear as she leans forward, golden in the shaft of light flooding through the window. A soft furrow of her brow signalling her irritation. I set my coffee down, moving in front of her, hands falling to the small buttons at the bottom of her shirt.
"Are you always this stubborn?" I ask quietly, eyes flicking up to meet her gaze.
"I could ask you the same" she mutters, raising the mug of coffee to her lips.
"You've been running?"
She's silent for a moment before answering.
"Jogging, barely"
A smile twitches at the corner of my mouth as I drop down to my knees.
I part the fabric, revealing her golden skin; a bandage covering the right side of her hip. I tuck her shirt back, fingertips brushing the margins of the bandage before carefully pulling it away. She winces and I wince in response, glancing up at her apologetically.
The wound is mostly healed, though still tender looking. The edges are red and irritated. I slide my free hand up to touch her uninjured hip as I trace the margins of inflamed skin.
"It's not infected, but you've gotta stop pushing it"
"Is that your medical opinion?" she asks, drawing the mug to her lips. I shoot her a look, pulling the bandage back into place. I'm about to pull her shirt down when I notice a scar, a few inches long, just below her ribs. It's white and raised, clearly a recent injury. Tentatively, I reach up, fingertips brushing along the soft contours.
Her stomach muscles tense beneath my touch and I glance up, watching her set her mug down. She looks at me for a few long moments, gaze penetrative, before enveloping my hand in hers, pulling it away from her skin.
Okay.
I sit back on my heels, gazing up at her for a long moment. Her eyes are focused away from me, fingertips tapping together softly, anxiously. Whatever has been haunting her involved violence. The weight of that feels suffocating.
I stand slowly, taking hold of her shirt and beginning to thread the buttons carefully back through the holes.
"You don't have to talk about it" I tell her quietly, "but I am here"
She keeps her gaze trained away from me, hands idle against the counters edge. When I push the last button through, I take a few steps back, resting against the island.
She squints softly out the window, a breeze blowing through the lavender in a large window box.
"A few months ago, I was attacked. I was jogging, it was late, I wasn't paying attention"
She takes a breath, drawing her mug close to her chest.
"I'm fine, but the bastard got away. I had him…"
She shakes her head, clicking her tongue softly.
My nails dig into my palm, nauseated by the thought of her beneath unwanted hands.
I force it down. Press my tongue between my teeth and silently curse the violence of men. The injustice of it. I'm yearning to close the distance between us, wrap my arms around her. The desire to be a safe place for her feels searing, but it doesn't look like sympathy or outrage. Not now.
"Rough few months, huh?"
Her gaze flicks up to meet mine, holding it momentarily before a smile pulls at her lips. She chuckles, pushing her hands into her pockets and nodding.
"Yeah, you could say that"
Everything in me wants to inquire further. She's trying to play it off, but I've seen the four-inch scar marring her. I've seen the way she flinches beneath an unexpected touch, watched exhaustion overtake her when there's finally someone beside her at night. I want so badly to know more, but I won't pry.
"Has there been any similar attacks since?" I ask her softly. She raises her shoulders- a shrug, a shrinking back.
"He's either been laying low or he skipped town. My mother called in a personal favor from the sheriff to keep me off any sexual assault cases for the foreseeable future, so I'm not exactly the first to know"
"Your mom is, um…"
"A lot?" Sofia offers
"A force"
She smiles, tilting her head softly in concession.
I gaze at her across the sun-drenched space.
"I'm sorry that happened"
She holds my gaze for a moment before looking away. I pray that I'm adequately conveying how deeply I mean that. Communication is not exactly a strength of mine, especially when it matters. She sips her coffee, fingertips tapping softly against the white ceramic.
"Are you staying?"
This is a gentle request, posed as a question. Sofia, master of direct communication, being coy. I don't press her on this, instead pulling my lips into a half-smile.
"I don't know, sell me on the experience"
She smiles, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"Well, aside from the excellent company, there's pre-shift food" she says, gesturing to the fridge. "And I'm pretty sure today it's… a Law and Order marathon on channel 9"
"You've been at home too long" I muse, wandering towards the living room. She scoffs, quirking an eyebrow in agreement.
"I know"
I drop onto the couch, looking over at her with a pursed lip smile.
"You uh, had me at 'pre-shift food'"
She grabs her coffee and joins me, flicking on the tv. Eventually she sinks down against the cushions, stretching her legs out, feet softly colliding with mine and remaining.
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