Title: Dreaming in the New Year Author: Michelle K. (CageyGrl@yahoo.com) Site: http://glimmershine.tripod.com Archive: Lists. Others, ask. Fandom: CSI Pairing: Sara/Catherine Rating: PG-13 Summary: Sara hates New Year's Eve. Disclaimer: 'CSI' is not mine. Don't sue. Notes: As you may be able to tell from the time frame of the story, this has been sitting on my hard drive for a while. It is, also, my first piece of completed CSI slash. * It's New Year's Eve, and you're at what could be called a party. You, though, think of it as a collection of drunken fools. But you've always thought of those who are happy as fools - it's one of your many faults. Grissom's gone, and you're okay with that. You're uneasy about what's bubbling under the surface, about the way he's been looking at you lately. You don't want anything to happen between the two of you; you're sure you'd both be crushed by the distance and the silence. You'd end up hating each other, and you care about him too much to give your relationship such a fate. But you've been hiding something deeper than that, and the sight of Catherine across the room brings it all back. You want her, but you don't want her to know that. You're sure she doesn't feel the same way, and you don't want your friendship with her to die under the weight of the awkward unrequited feelings. You're no lionheart when it comes to love, be it risking its birth or its death. It's stopped bothering you. Warrick walks over to you, smiles. You think of all the fights the two of you have had, and you like that you have become friends, if not bosom buddies. "Hey," he says. "Having a good time?" "Yeah," you lie, since it's his party. "Champagne's good." That's not a lie - the alcohol is the only thing keeping you afloat. He nods. "You're not really having a good time, are you?" "I'm having a great time." His smile widens. "You're a terrible liar." You shake your head but refuse to share in his mirth. "I'm a great liar, but I'm not lying." "Whatever you say." He clinks his glass against yours before walking away. * People are staring at you, but they're looking at Catherine more. It seems that there isn't a person alive who hasn't considered what it would be like to kiss Catherine Willows. You think this should make you feel better, but all you can think about is the possibility of starting a support group for people who aren't good enough for those they covet. Maybe you could even write a book - 'Tough, sexy women, and the losers who will never attain them' - and, although it's a joke, it doesn't make you laugh. Dick Clark introduces Sheryl Crow and someone in the crowd seems newly fascinated with a noisemaker. Sheryl croons about love and change, and you listen with half an ear. When it ends, the camera pans to Times Square, full of revelers. You wonder if any of them are this happy the rest of the year, how many of them will be happy tomorrow. Nick's voice breaks you out of your trance, inquiring about whether or not you want more champagne. You shake your head - the bubbles are ceasing to affect you in pleasant ways. You decide to leave, saying tiny good-byes to Warrick and Nick before exiting. You call a cab - you're in no condition to drive. The air is warm and dry, stifling and stagnant. You hate the atmosphere, and you just want your ride to arrive. You don't want to think about the new year, the resolutions you won't keep, the desire that will have no fruition. You don't want to think about her, but you do anyway. * You give the cabbie too much money; he doesn't protest when you tell him to keep the change. You stumble towards your place, sighing heavily at the wreath that's on your door. It was a present from one of your neighbors, and you're sure she won't let you take it down until August. You're sick of the holidays. You crawl into bed, pull the blanket over your head. Your head is pounding, but you still manage to fall asleep. * Her lips are soft and warm; her hands know just how to caress you. But you're more surprised that you know how to touch her, that you can make her moan, that she murmurs your name with reverence. She tastes so good, *feels* even better, and you can't get enough. "Catherine," you sigh as she kisses her way up your stomach, then slips back down without warning. You say her name again, this time in a gasp. You've had your share of casual sex, but you *know* this won't be a one-night-stand. You won't let it happen. You'll make this last as long as you can, even if you have to sacrifice everything. Even-- * You wake up with liquor on your tongue and no one in your bed. The morning light shines through the window, and you take a minute to realize that this is a new year. This is a new year, but nothing's changed. Nothing will change. You roll over, try to sleep without dreaming. END