Title: Two Little Girls
Author: gij
Pairing: Catherine/Sara
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own. You sue, my birds bite. Consider carefully. The song is "Two Little Girls" by Ani DiFranco.
Summary: More glimpses into complications. More experimentation. I'm really just playing.

you were always half crazy, now look at you baby

you make about as much sense as a nursery rhyme

love is a piano dropped out a four story window

and you were in the wrong place at the wrong time

 

 

You get off work exactly on time, sign out and head home in time to kiss Lindsay and drive her to school. You watch her skip across the playground, sitting in the school car park, then look around the car for your cell phone.

You finally find it and hit the first speed dial. The phone rings seven times before the other end picks up, but you’re hardly surprised. You know how Sara uses her nights off – she catches up on her missed sleep.

"Hello?"

You frown. You’re not sure if she sounds more asleep or drugged.

"Hello?" she sounds annoyed now.

"Have you eaten yet?"

"Catherine?" she sounds confused.

You refuse to be so easily distracted. "Have you?"

There is a long silence. "No. I just got up." She admits finally. Defensively.

"I’ll be there in half an hour."

 

 

 

You turn up at her front door with your hands full, and you know you haven’t a chance in hell of getting a hand to your keys, or even to knock. You kick the door with the side of your foot and hope she won’t notice the difference from your normal knock.

She takes the better part of a minute to get to the door, and when she opens it, you would joke but the words die in your throat. She’s wearing a beat-up jersey and drawstring pants and her hair is tousled. She blinks twice, obviously trying to chase off the stupor of sleep, then steps aside silently and lets you inside.

Her apartment is as pristine as ever. You find it hard to reconcile with the walking wreck that is Sara. You wander around her kitchen, pulling out platers and cutlery and place them on the bench.

"Waffles for you, eggs and tomato for me. Like usual." Except that usually, Sara is awake and you’ve both just come from work to eat.

"No bacon?" she sounds vaguely suspicious as she settles herself at the counter and picks at her cutlery.

"I know how you feel about me eating bacon." You say, and she gives you a half smile. Usually she’d make a quip about your feelings on spinach, but she’s obviously not up to it.

You watch her as she haphazardly works her way through half a waffle and then drops her fork to the side. She drinks her juice only at your teasing about vitamins and vegetarians, and won’t even contemplate coffee.

She hardly complains when you give up on her eating anything and instead urge her towards the bathroom. You coax her through a shower and then back to bed.

 

 

 

You lie in her bed and stare at the ceiling while she sleeps beside you.

She lies curled up, one arm wrapped over you and the other lying defensively over her face. Her long legs are tucked up under her, and you’re not sure if it’s for comfort or for warmth.

Her hair is drying slowly, and as it does, it wisps into soft curls. They frame her face gently, emphasise both the paleness of her face and the delicate nature of her features.

Lately she’s refused to be covered by anything more than a sheet, and the few times you’ve tried to cover her while she was sleeping, she’s kicked the blankets away. One time she couldn’t and she thrashed herself – and you – awake.

Your guilt has yet to wear away.

 

 

 

You must have fallen asleep somewhere along the line because you wake up and she’s gone. You roll over until your feet hit the floor and drag yourself out of the sheets.

You find her in the bathroom, mostly dressed but barefoot. She’s frowning at her reflection as she struggles to comb out her hair, the teeth catching in tangles and curls alike.

She catches sight of you in the mirror, and smiles a fraction of a second too late.

 

 

 

At work, you somehow lose her between the car park and Grissom’s office. You turn around and realise she’s disappeared somewhere along the corridor. Possibly Greg abducted her. You hope not.

You stick your head into Grissom’s office and check he hasn’t gone off the deep end communing with his six legged friends, then wander along to the break room.

You find her again there, standing at the window with an untouched cup of coffee in her hands. You see her give a look of distaste, then carefully place it on the window ledge and turns to face outwards. Conversation flows around her but somehow doesn’t touch her.

You edge cautiously through the room of caffeine junkies and move towards her. She doesn’t see you approach, doesn’t acknowledge you at all until you place a hand gently on the back of her shoulder and she jumps.

It’s the slightest of movements, obviously involuntary, but it bothers you.

"You okay?" concerned.

"I’m fine."

 

 

 

When all’s said and done, you know what this is about. Jade Elson. Twenty four. Worked nights as a waitress. Loved wire jewellery. Raped and beaten to death by her twenty six year old boyfriend.

Everyone knows it and nobody can prove it.

You stand at the end of the hall and watch the morgue door open and shut. Sara walks out and closes her eyes, leans her forehead against the cool wall across the hall.

 

Finis