Apologetic Theory (Sara/Catherine) Title : Apologetic Theory Author : Mel Summary : In ep (gij coined the phrase..it’s so much better than ‘missing scene’) for ‘Lady Heather’s Box’. Somewhere between the last scene between Catherine and Sara and the end. Disclaimer : I’m just borrowing. All characters and everything else CSI belongs to Zuiker, Bruckheimer, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis Productions. Rating : PG13, maybe R for language. Feedback : Goes here, please : fivebyfive13@prodigy.net Spoilers : Um, definitely. Music : The Used – On My Own, Finch – Without You Here Author’s Note : There was no resolve between these two. So I decided to do it myself…only I’m still not sure if there’s any resolve. *shrug * I think I just needed to do something Cath and Sara that wasn’t connected to the series. I’m still not sure how much I like what they did with them during the ep . But I do know that the last scene between them pulled at my insides. Sometimes it’s the silence that speaks volumes. Anyway, hope you guys like it…the fic, that is… ‘the storm is letting up, but it won’t die if you weren’t wrong, was I?’ It’s fucking cold out here, but I don’t care. My jacket’s hanging open because I can’t be bothered to zip it up. The swift breeze’s bitter chill is swirling around my sweater, making my legs feel like ice. I can’t really feel it. I wish that I could. I’ve been standing on the roof of CSI for over an hour now. It’s three o’clock in the fucking morning and I’m blinded by the lights in the distance. The city that never sleeps. I should fit right in here, but I’m not sure that I do. Welcome to Vegas. I’ve been staring at this pack of American Spirits for twenty minutes like it’s either going to start talking to me at any second or at least start smoking itself. I can see my breath puffing out in small clouds in front of me. It hasn’t been this cold in a while. I’m going to smoke a cigarette before the night is through. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. Maybe I’m waiting for the image of her disappointment to purge itself from my mind. Maybe I’m waiting to see if this was all a dream. I roll the cigarette between my lips for a second while I search my pockets for a light. I’m about to piss away four years of being a non-smoker. Funny, I couldn’t give a shit less right now. I close my eyes, inhaling my first drag as deeply as I possibly can. The burn is somehow comforting, somehow more familiar than it ever was before. I expect the exhale to lift some burden from inside of me, clear my head, at least bring me back down. It doesn’t. But it sure feels good. I’m hoping by the time I make it back inside, she’ll be gone. Because I don’t think I can stand to look at her again knowing that she’s thinking that all I am is a fuckup who can’t do her job properly. I can’t decide if it hurts more that she’s questioning my ability as a CSI or that I can’t at least give her the satisfaction of putting away Eddie’s killer. If not for her, at least for Lindsey. That I can’t make someone claim responsibility for taking away that little girl’s father and leaving her to die. Of all the things Catherine needs right now, I can’t give her the one thing that means the most. I can’t make sense of this tragedy for her. I can’t take away her pain. The door creaks open, slams shut a few yards behind me. But right now everything else seems miles away. I hear her footsteps on the gravel, they’re dragging slightly. Her steps are slow, possibly unsure. But I know Catherine and she’s never been unsure a day in her life. We’ve been playing at something for three years now. A series of sideways glances, brief fleeting touches, always stepping back before we have to answer for any of it. The events of the past few days were sure to put a wall up between us. I’m not sure either of us really wants to tear it back down. “I thought you quit,” she says as I exhale again, this time more slowly. “I did,” I nod as she stops right next to me, eyes straight ahead, and lights a cigarette of her own. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye and she shrugs, hugs herself with one arm and brings the cigarette to her lips with her free hand. She closes her eyes, breathes out through her nose and I’m just about knocked over by my desire for her. Standing so close to me, I want her so much it’s unnerving. But somehow I know it’s not appropriate right now. And somehow I don’t care that it’s not appropriate. Because it’s how she always makes me feel. Like there’s a fire inside that’s slowly burning its way through my veins. “God that’s good,” she says when her eyes finally open. I quickly look away because I don’t want her to know I was staring. We’ve done enough of that in the past three days, try to tear each other down using only our eyes, our body language. Right now her body language is screaming fatigue, regret, confusion. I hate myself for not being able to take that from her. “Listen Catherine,” I begin and have to take a deep breath in order to continue. “Please,” she waves me off. “Don’t apologize.” I laugh. I have to because it’s fucking ridiculous. I had no idea that Catherine being a permanent foot up my ass for the entire time I was trying to work this case warranted my apologizing to her. That her disapproving glares and passionate interference was something I had to be sorry for. So I have to laugh. Because if I don’t, the fist clenching anger will take over and I’m liable to throw her off this roof without even thinking twice about it. “I wasn’t going to,” is what I say, gritting my teeth behind my smile. “Something funny?” she asks. I can feel her eyes on me, a deep penetrating stare. Her voice is laced with anger, resentment. She’s pissed off at me again. Like I expected anything different. “Your audacity floors me,” I answer and take a long drag, until my lungs can’t take in any more air or smoke. “Your incompetence floors me,” she scoffs and starts walking away. She always knows just the right thing to say to rip my fucking heart out. “Fuck you, Catherine,” I call after her. “Right,” she says without turning around and tosses her cigarette to the side letting the embers burn out by themselves. “Don’t fucking walk away from me, Catherine,” I demand and toss my own cigarette to the side using my thumb and middle finger. She doesn’t stop. “You know nothing you can say to me right now can make me any more disappointed in myself than I already am for failing you on this case,” my voice cracks and this does make her stop. “Nothing you can say can make me hate myself more for all the things you and Lindsey need and deserve that I’ll never be able to give you.” I’m crying now. They’re tears of frustration, disappointment in myself for not being able to change things for her. For not being able to serve the person who killed her daughter’s father up to her on a silver platter. Regardless of the circumstances I can’t help but feel like I could have done more. That my best will never be good enough, especially for Catherine. “I didn’t mean…” she falters, turning her eyes to mine. “I’m tired and angry and…” she runs a hand through her hair and shakes her head. “And I could have done better,” I finish for her and don’t wait for her to respond. “Don’t you think I wanted to wrap this up in a neat little package for you?” I raise my voice and her look is somewhere between shock and confusion. “So in five years when Lindsey can really understand what happened you can say ‘listen baby this is the person who killed your father, this is exactly what happened, and they’re going to be in jail for a long, long time’? I’m not some fucking first year rookie, Catherine. This is me. I push myself harder than you ever could. Calling this case is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” I pause, her face softening a bit but not quite changing. We’re both angry, but not at each other. Just at ourselves. I figure while we’re out here freezing our asses off and being so honest I might as well get it all out. Because if not now, when? I avert my eyes a little, this distance between us growing wider every second, and finally find my voice again. “Because believe it or not, I care about you. I care about you so much I’m surprised it hasn’t killed me yet,” I say and finally turn to look at her. She’s walking towards me, her eyes locked on mine. I’m sure she’s going to slap me in the face as hard as she can. But she doesn’t. Instead she kisses me hard, her hands burning into the sides of my waist through the light material of my sweater. She tastes like smoke and coffee and the remnants of a cinnamon Altoid. I push on her roughly and back her into the side of the concrete ledge, all but pushing her over it. She holds onto me tighter, pushes herself against me just as hard. It’s all I can do to hold onto her as she forces herself as deep into me as she can. Her tongue is smooth against mine for a second before she drags it across my teeth and I kiss her back just as hard if not more so. Then it’s over. She pulls away as suddenly as she started it. Her fists have my sweater locked up in them like a prisoner. I can feel the skin of her temple cool and soft against the side of my face. I’m struggling for breath and I can feel her doing the same. I’m holding her loosely, my arms barely around her shoulders as I stare off into the lights and she looks past me towards the door. It’s easier than meeting each other’s eyes. Than facing the reality we just made. She tenses, shoulders and back going rigid, and I drop my arms to my sides. “I have to be with Lindsey,” she says quietly and moves past me, her shoulder bumping into mine as she passes. I turn and follow her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to a stop. I force her to look at me. “I’m sorry, Cat,” I say and, at the mention of the nickname only I call her, I see her eyes start to water. She shrugs and blinks back tears that are breaking my heart. “Me too,” she says and I let go of her wrist. I turn back to the lights so I don’t have to watch her walk away from me. I hear the door squeak open and I’m lost in the distance. So much so that I don’t notice her footsteps coming close again until she grabs my arm and spins me around to face her. She kisses me again, this time I’m ready and kiss her back the second her lips touch mine. The kiss is passionate and relentless, just like she is. Her hands are in my hair and I’m holding her against me like if I let go I’ll lose her forever. And maybe I will. Maybe once this is over, it’s just over. And we’ll be left to act like it never happened. And I’ll be left to wonder if it was better not to know at all. I can taste her tears. This moment is so bittersweet; it’s almost hard to swallow. I’ll never be able to fix this for her no matter how hard I try. I couldn’t possibly feel more useless. And somehow I feel like I’m anchoring her here as she crushes her lips against mine, leaving them swollen and bruised as she pushes off of me roughly and turns around without looking at me. She holds her head high as she walks away and I don’t turn around again until I see the door slam shut behind her. I wonder why I let her treat me like this. Maybe this is her way of punishing me. Or maybe it’s my way of punishing myself . Because someone has to pay for what happened to her. And why not me. I walk slowly towards the door, leaving the lights behind me, and toss the pack of cigarettes into the trash can as I pass by it. I only wanted one anyway. END. 2/15/03 home | news | bio | works | fanfiction | pics | mixtape | monkeysays | lyrics | links | contact