Title : Apologetic Theory
Author : Melanie
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.