DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, please forgive me for treading on any toes, but I do it for my sanity.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This started out as a drabble for my other fandom. It's finished as a slightly longer ficlet in my Cath/Sara world, and, even though I haven't watched Bloodlines yet, I think it sits nicely in the between season's hiatus :)
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
The tall brunette wrapped her arms around the small blonde. Drawing her closer, she caressed the shapely ass below.
At the welcome touch, the blonde with come-to-bed-eyes smiled mischievously into inviting dark ebony eyes.
It was Saturday night and Sara Sidle had just had a few, truly harrowing days. As if the case that refused to be solved wasn't enough, the stupid error of judgement on her part resulting in her being caught DUI ensured it became a week to forget. The fact that her mentor and supposed love had been the one to come and take her home after the police gave her the degree of courtesy her profession allowed, was a moot point. Grissom: the unattainable man; the man, she had recently realized that was just a convenient figure to be used as cover for her real feelings, her desire for a woman.
The backlog of work had seen her make an unscheduled appearance working overtime on the day-shift, trying to catch up with the things she had been unable to work on while sitting rigidly listening to a moral lecture from Grissom, his payment for taking her home after her indiscretion. Deep in thought she had failed to hear a smaller blonde enter the room and come to stand by her side, until she heard a quiet voice, "Sorry to hear about your problem, Sara. Do you want to talk about it sometime? Maybe tonight even? There's a quiet coffee house not far from here, where we can enjoy coffee and maybe a dance or two."
Surprisingly Sara had agreed to the "date" and here she was dancing quietly with the gorgeous woman in front of her.
A colleague of the two women watched the ladies dance from her usual spot in the shadows. She had arrived half an hour earlier for her regular coffee and 'watch-the-girls-go-by' sort of evening. It was something she had done for a few months now, occasionally she would accept the offer of dancing with another woman, occasionally she would accept something more, more often than not she would just watch.
One day, having dumped her most recent attempt at having a social life, another low-life who wanted to cool things off for all the same old reasons, she had spent the afternoon chatting with a day shift CSI. The woman had directed her to this ladies only coffee bar on the outskirts of Vegas.
Usually she didn't recognize anyone and was able to spend an inconspicuous night just relaxing. Tonight, on walking through the door she had immediately noticed her two colleagues deep in conversation. Not wanting to intrude or to be discovered she had bought a coffee and taken a seat watching them. For some reason their easy conversation bothered her, and, when they got up to dance, close together and in perfect tune, her heart skipped a beat and her brain refused to believe what it was seeing.
Seeing the unmistakable look of desire that was coursing between the two dancers, the watcher got up to leave.
Suddenly, the blonde dancer felt a hand on her shoulder and heard a harsh voice whisper, "Take your hands off my woman."
Shooting apart the two women saw Catherine Willows glaring at Martha Graves with a look of pure jealousy.
On walking out of the building, Catherine had heard Sara giggling and, never hearing that sound before, had turned on the spot to see Sara and the other woman sharing a seductive look. For some reason a thick green mist had descended behind her eyes and she had marched back into the building and straight up to the two women, dragging them apart.
Even now, staring into the eyes of Martha Graves, a CSI she vaguely recognized from day shift, she wasn't sure what the hell she was actually doing. Why was she feeling jealous?
She heard Martha begin to question what was happening, and saw Sara glaring at her from the corner of her eye. Facing Sara squarely at last, she felt a blush creeping up her neck at the absurdity of the situation she found herself in. She hated Sara and Sara hated her, so why was she here acting like Sara's betrayed lover?
Pulling Sara away from Martha and towards a corner alcove, Catherine whispered, "You don't need another CSI, Sara."
The words shocked both women. The words Sara ground out angrily in response shocked Catherine even more.
"You're right, Catherine. I don't need a CSI, I *need* a lover."
A dumbstruck Catherine looked first into Sara's eyes with a sheepish shrug and a whispered, "Oh!". Then turning to look at the equally dumbstruck Martha Graves, now stood forlornly center-stage, Catherine quietly asked, "Her?"
Truthfully, Martha had just been a convenient accomplice to the night of passion that Sara had needed. It was something she did occasionally after a bad case, and Martha had been the perfect answer, a willing partner without the hassles of searching and finding. Martha had offered her self, and the night had appeared to be heading towards that heady passion Sara needed. Until, that was, Catherine had intruded.
Heavy silence hung between the two grave-shift colleagues as Sara pondered her answer. Looking into Catherine's eyes, the taller CSI spotted something that was usually missing between the two ladies, a desire for truth. The only answer Sara could give to the implored question hidden in Catherine's eyes was an honest answer. "Ummm... *a* her."
Catherine smiled shyly, for some reason feeling giddy. With deliberate intent she raised her hand to caress Sara's cheek. She murmured huskily, "I repeat, you don't need another CSI, Sara."
Not sure if she had heard correctly, nevermind understood correctly, Sara was lost for words, "Oh!"
Looking into cerulean blue eyes that held a challenge, she was stupefied as Catherine began to lean forward. Licking her suddenly dry lips, Sara began to ask a question, "Catherine...?"
Smiling, her words were swallowed by the sweet, gentle lips of her supposed nemesis.
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