DISCLAIMER: CSI is the property of CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
SERIES: Second part of the 'Stuck' series.

Stuck With Me
By L.


"This madness of love and madness of thinking
and thinking of love and loving of thinking and
loving of maddening and thinking of maddening."
~ Juliana Spahr

When I finally got back home, Sara was already asleep.

I slipped into bed and waited for her to turn over and take me in her arms as she always does. She always holds me close, keeps me safe and grounded. Even in her sleep.

But tonight she stayed at her side and I tried not to assume anything.

When we first met, we fucked like animals. If I'd allowed myself to think about it I'd be embarrassed.

I've had sex before, in back rooms and bedrooms, in public spaces and in the privacy of my own home, but nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared me for the raw, carnal need of having to take her right now, right here. To have her take me right here, right now.

And she did it so ... well. Thoroughly, uninhibitedly, and deliberately; like she knew all my secrets, like she knew my body inside out, like she knew what I needed before I'd even allowed myself to fantasize about it.

If I'd allowed myself to think about it I'd realize I haven't allowed myself nothing much at all before her.

This is pleasure.

This is also speaking.

This is intimate.

Today, it's been four weeks and two days since we last made love.

Not that I'm counting.

But now that I think about it, the last couple of weeks she's hardly touched me at all. And that's one of the reasons I love her so: the way she immerse herself in work. How she allows it to take her over, steal her sleep, eat her up from inside. I won't compete with that, what would be the point? It's who she is and I love who she is, what she is, I love everything about her. I love her because she is an honest and decent person, absolutely uncapable of lying, and always putting her work first.

It was like when I spoke to Catherine a while back, at the scene over at The Flamingo, that day when Sara was feeling sick, I don't know what it was.

"Maybe it was something you ate?" I asked.

She just excused herself and ran to the bathroom.

Catherine chuckled.

"Everything's just a laugh for you, Catherine, is it?"

"Yeah, well... If you can't laugh at life, honey..."

"What if she's seriously ill or something?"

"I bet when she's done in there, she'll come out, tell us she's fine, and get right back to work." She raised an arrogant brow, "I bet you a dollar..."

"I don't respond well to games, or challenges."

"Funny," Catherine said with a bemused smile. "That's exactly what Sara said the other day."

Before I could think of a response, Sara came out, told us she was fine, and got right back to work.

I can still hear Catherine laughing, and when she went after her she turned back to me and winked and said, "You owe me a buck."

I owe her shit.

We learn.

We exchange.

This is thinking in exchange.

Another thing I love about her is how we communicate absolutely seamlessly.

Like her secrets, she's got so many of those. I will never, ever ask her of them. In my line of work, you learn to smell secrets from miles away. And the funny thing is, the more secrets people have, regardless if they're suspects or witnesses, the more they want it out of their systems. Sure, they think they're being evasive, keeping themselves closed off, hidden, but the more you're shielding, the more obvious it is that all you want is for someone to yank it out, to expose you, relieve you.

But not Sara.

Catherine once said, and I hate to admit she was right, that Sara is like an open book. All that brooding, silence and absence, is ironically enough making her wide-open. But when you look, you see nothing.

I wonder at times, when she drifts off, when she can't sleep, when she's holding me so tight I'm afraid I'll break. But to ask of details would be insulting, to her and to me.

To ask would make her stupid when she's anything but.

She tells me everything I need to know when we're touching, when we're close, when she whispers nonsense in my ear. I let her be, and she lets me be with her. And that's all I need, really.

As touching, gathering, happens in the most
difficult places at the most difficult times.

We were in the break room, some time ago, when Catherine stepped in.

I instantly noticed the change in temperature, which was unexpected. They had become friends of sorts, going out for drinks, hadn't they?

Sara started gathering her things and then she rose and looked at me.

"I'm going to get some lunch. You want me to bring you something?"

I said I'd have a tuna on rye, please, and she turned to Catherine.

"You want anything Cath?"

Catherine studied her for a moment, and took her time before answering.

"Surprise me."

Something flickered over Sara's face. Surely she wasn't going to hit her? Start crying? I didn't have time to analyze it before she kissed me, hard, and stalked out of the room without a word of goodbye.

Catherine turned to me with a smirk, "Sara is so good at surprises, detective. Don't you think?"

I looked at her warily, but didn't say anything.

"We get confused by contradictions," she continued. "And you know what else?"

I shook my head, no.

"When I'm lost, simple juxtapositions feel like sense," she put on her glasses. "Like truth feels."

She started flipping through a paper and I knew I'd been dismissed.

"Catherine?" She raised her eyes to me, and I leaned forward, a little bit too close. "For all your talking? You sure don't say much."

Oddly enough, she gave me dazzling smile but it faded slowly and turned into something much more ferocious.

"I wonder what else you two have in common..."

I rolled over and gave in to my need of being close to her, my need of her. She mumbled something unintelligible, but closed her arms around me.

What I am saying.

What I am confessing.

I need to go to the bathroom.

I slowly entangled and padded towards the bathroom. When I was finished, I came back to bed and settled in right where I'd been, reached back for her arm and cradled her hand just under my breasts.

And I basked in the familiarity of it all: the feel of her and her body close to mine, the warmth she was radiating.

"You make me feel so safe," I murmured and in seconds I was asleep again.

I drifted awake slowly, far away I could feel her holding me, trembling. With eyes still closed, still in a dream (a dream with us, we here together in the same room, one leg on one shoulder and then the other is stretched out or twined around the other person, you are the other person, we all together now) I heard her whisper somewhere.

"You know I'll never let you go, right?"

This is the lovely part of it. It is ours to keep.

As I gradually surfaced, I noticed her clutching. I noticed her tears.

My hand came up to her face, and touched her cheek.


It is ours. So it might matter.

"Shh... It's OK," she said. "Go back to sleep, it's nothing."

"Baby, what's wrong?"

"It's fine, honey... Go to sleep."

So it might matter.

"Yeah?" I mumbled against her throat.

"Yeah..." She kissed the top of my head. "Everything's fine, Sofia."

"Mmm..." I drifted back to sleep. "You know you're stuck with me, right?"

The End

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