Title: enjoy the silence
Author: sarapallas
Pairing: Cath/Sara
Rated: PG
Challenge: Challenge #14, Tori titles.
Disclaimer: Bruckheimer CBS etc.
Word Count: 400

***

i. where logic ends faith begins.

You watch her as she lies on her back, gold of the setting sun flashing against the gold of her wedding ring as she twists it. She has a pattern (two twists clockwise, three twists counterclockwise). You should've had it measured, or custom-made; it's just a little too big for her finger, slides down to her knuckle when her hands are sweaty with the Vegas heat.

Your own ring reminds you of the feeling of encirclement that marriage brought; makes you think of Eddie. Eddie and the drinks he bought and the dollar bills that he stuffed next to your sweaty skin. Eddie and how he rescued you through the holy sacrament of marriage. Eddie and your fights and how he once followed you to work.

(You keep your hand tucked under the sheets. If you can't see it maybe this is all a dream. But it's still digging into your flesh, rubbing off onto your skin.)


ii. i've found the remedy.

This was a bad idea, but you had to do something to fill the emptiness behind the neon lights of your skin, your hollow lip-glossed mouth. (Once, you tried running away, but in the end you never got round to it.) Sex and something verging on the edge of love wasn't enough for her, apparently. Because she's young, a little too idealistic, and when she heard that marriage was now legal the state of Nevada, she gave you puppy eyes and a cold, logical argument about why this was the best route to take.

"It won't change anything," she whispered, and you bit down on her shoulder as the reflex to scream that yes, it would, actually swelled from deep inside your gut. Then, you still had the facade of freedom; this house was your territory, she had her own apartment to run to.


iii. i am guilty of haunting you.

Sara's still playing with the wedding ring (three twists to the left. One to the right. She'll mar her skin if she continues like that). Light reflected from her engagement ring bores into your eyes, signals SOS in Morse code. You stare at the ceiling, your dresser, and feel a sudden domesticity that makes the air stale. It's been two months, and you're holding your breath, waiting for the arguments that you've smothered over the weeks to cascade out of you.

***