Title: Conundrum: Addendum
By: coldbeer
Pairing: Cath/Sara
Rating: R
Spoilers: None.
Challenge: ST:TNG titles.
Series: 1) Conundrum
Summary: And so she spent the rest of the day writing a piece to accompany Conundrum. From Sara's perspective. The rating's the only thing that really changed. ;)

***

She sits at the bar alone, playing with candlewax, her features sharp in the unnaturally bright lighting. Everyone else has gone home.

"Sara Sidle?"

The bartender who called you with Catherine's cell slides over the keys of her car, and you thank him. Catherine hasn't looked up at you yet.

"Let's go," you tell her, and she finally leaves the candle alone and turns toward you.

"Hi," she says, showing off the most sensuous smile in her repertoire. A smile that goes straight up to your head and right down to your core. "I haven't seen you here before."

She allows you to help her down from the stool, the skin of her back hot against your hand. The fabric of the top she's wearing is so thin she might as well have not bothered to put it on at all.

When you help her into your car, you realize she's deliberately leaning into you. She's practically nudging the skin below your ear as she asks you what perfume you're wearing, and she coos when you let her know you're not wearing any at all. The sound reverberates down your spine, and you step quickly away from her, as if she's burned you. In the elevator there's no way to hide from her gaze. The base of your spine tingles every time your eyes meet hers, and you don't think you've ever disliked Catherine as much as you do right now.

Her fingers are elegant, infinitely soft against your skin. The rest of her is not. She walks into the nearest table and breaks the hourglass your mother gave you when you moved out. She giggles.

Coffee. You're relieved to enter the kitchen alone, leaving Catherine in the living room. Phone. Warrick needs little information to understand the situation.

"I'll pick up Linds and drive her to school," he promises, his voice struggling to be heard over the sound of police sirens. "Good luck with Cath."

She's right behind you when you hang up, her hands in your hair like they have a right to be there. You're terrified she's going to kiss you and you desperately look for barricades to put up between the two of you.

Instead of the glass of water you offer her she takes your finger between her lips, and suddenly your knees no longer manage to support your weight.

She's drunk. You wish you were, too. It would be a good enough excuse. Catherine presses her body into yours and every fibre of your body is crying out in anticipation.

You can't do this.

She's kissing you. She's kissing you, and you don't want her to stop. She's not going to stop. You'll have to make her.

"Catherine..." Your voice nearly fails you. "Stop it."

Her hands are already at your zipper. This is your supervisor, who's had too much too drink and tastes like anise, and who couldn't really care less about who she's with tonight, as long as she's not alone.

"Don't you like this?" she asks. You could be gasping against her mouth right now, her fingers at your center. You want her so badly. She just wants someone.

"You're drunk, Catherine." There's just enough venom in your voice to finally get her to back off.

She will sleep on the couch tonight.

You won't sleep at all.

***