DISCLAIMER: CSI is the property of CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a response to a call for fluff stories on the Catherine and Sara list, so don't expect Dostoevsky.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
As Sara walked into the break room she couldn't help but overhear the tail end of Catherine's telephone call. The older woman's frustrated tone was enough of a clue to make Sara aware that she was having another, in a long line, of talks with her adolescent daughter. The two Willows women having developed a cold war style of relationship since Lindsay hit her teens and decided that no one understood her, least of all her mother.
"Give me that," Sara demanded, taking the phone. "Lindsay, it's Sara, now shut up and try to act your age."
"Don't," Catherine pleaded.
"Shhh," hissed Sara, "No, I was talking to your mother. You remember her, the woman that puts a roof over your head and food on your table." Sara um'd and ah'd a couple of times. "And? Is your not going to Tiffany's going to mean an earthquake will erupt in down town Vegas? Or perhaps signal the end of life as we know it? Or, heaven forbid, the return of sleaze bag Chris into your mother's bed?"
"I mean, erm, that they'll cancel the L Word." Sara's cheeks turned a rosy shade at Lindsay's reply. "No I've not told her, and don't change the subject, we were talking about you and your..."
Catherine leant forward, Sara's sudden quiet, not to mention scarlet cheeks, piquing her curiosity. "What's Lindsay saying?"
"Nothing," Sara mumbled. "I was talking to your mother." A pause. "You can't know that." A longer pause. "Does she really?" Sara looked at Catherine for the first time since she'd taken the phone. "Are you sure?"
"Sure about what?" Not knowing was driving Catherine insane.
"Thanks, Linds, have a good time at Tiffany's."
"What!" Catherine tried to steal back the phone but Sara was too quick for her. "I've told her three times that she can't see go to Tiffany's this weekend, and you just take it upon yourself to countermand my instructions."
"Not exactly," Sara said, her mind apparently on something else as she began rooting around in her jeans pockets. "I just didn't think it was a good idea for Lindsay to stay home tonight alone."
"She wouldn't be alone, I'd be there." Catherine's frustration was growing, along with her desire to strangle the life out of the younger woman.
Sara produced a set of keys from her pocket. "Nope."
"Nope? What are you talking about? Have you been inhaling fingerprint dust?"
Sara was beginning to think that Lindsay had been mistaken, the fire in Catherine's eyes was looking less and less like desire with every second. "You'll be at my place tonight."
Catherine was sure the world had gone mad. "And why on earth would I be at your place?"
Sara swallowed her nerves and gave Catherine what she hoped was an inviting smile. "Because it's far easier for us to make love when we're in the same apartment. Easier still if we're in the same bed." Her smile grew wider at Catherine's shocked expression. "Although a couch would do. Hell, even up against the same wall is workable."
For two of the longest minutes in Sara's life, Catherine said nothing, only stared at the younger woman. Then, ever so slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of the blonde's lips. "I hope you told Linds to pack a sleeping bag, she might be staying with Tiffany for a while."
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