Title: Hiding
Author: sarapallas
Pairing: Cath/Sara
Rated: PG
Challenge: Challenge #12; Virtual Rewind. Rewound to Challenge #6; Christmas/New Year
Disclaimer: Bruckheimer CBS etc.
Word Count: 400

***

She insists on dragging you to the Christmas party, even though you've worked your way through six different excuses today. She picks out your dress and your shoes, battles with your hair (it doesn't seem to move, anymore). Lindsey's already asleep; Cath whispers to the sitter, we'll be back before twelve, and images of Cinderella swim into your head. Not that she'd ever lose one of her shoes, stiletto-heeled with straps that twine around her ankle, crawl up her calf, and no, you're not staring. Close your mouth.

Halfway through the evening, just after Grissom gives a long, semi-mumbled speech into his chest, you run out of the room, clattering along the corridors, dizzy from the heat. Find yourself outside, where you run through the car park in your heels, splashing through shallow puddles. The air is thick with drizzle; you have to push your way through it.

She finds you, of course. Leaning against your car, blowing smoke out of your mouth in a long, thin stream. An empty pack of Nicorette is crumpled in your hand, the sharp cardboard corners digging into your palm. She steps right up to you without breaking her stride, plucks the sodden cigarette from your hand and returns it seven seconds later with her lipstick on the filter.

Cath suddenly stumbles, tripping into you; she's drunk too much, again. You abandon the party without saying goodbye, and while driving back, you call the sitter, plead with her to stay until morning. You're surprised that she actually agrees.

Cath hasn't seen your apartment building before. Her glazed eyes hardly take in the rough carpet in the corridors, the blank white endless walls. You prop her against you as you unlock the door; haul her into the bedroom while flinging your handbag aside. No, no, you don't want that; but she must either have been acting or else has an amazing ability to sober up at will, because suddenly you're gasping no, not now, and she tells you to shut up, already.

You can smell smoke and drink on her fingers as she pins you against the mattress and traces down your cheek. If you were younger, if you were more idealistic, if you weren't so sober, you would think that maybe she thought you were beautiful. Except you've stopped lying to yourself these days, so you shut your eyes and pretend she's someone else.

***