Title: Mirrors
Author: Mars
Pairing: Cath/Sara
Fandom: CSI
Rating: PG
Challenge: none
Spoilers: vaguely for crows feet and crash and burn
Word Count: 796 (what can i say, on a roll)
Disclaimer: the lovely lady is not mine. *sniff*
summary: A character sketch. Cath ponders Sara.
A/N: i think this is TBC, although it stands alone as of now.

***

It came to her, abstractly, as she stood there mustering all her stunted feminism against the strangely compelling echo of the doctor and the crushing weight of forty-odd years. "Most mirrors are mere errors." Lindsey had said it, a quote from whatever book she was currently wrapped up in. She needed that book right now. Or maybe she needed a peel, and a new diet -

What she needed, more than anything, if she admitted it to herself, was a beer and a friend. For a moment she contemplated calling Warrick, or Gil. Even Nicky, bless his chivalrous soul, would listen to her, and assure her once more that she was beautiful, and buy her a round and maybe pay for her cab home. But really, she knew better than that. None of the guys would really understand. As wonderful as they could be, in the end, they were still men, subject to body image yes, but not judged by it in any way that could help them understand. In fact, now that she was being honest with herself, she had to admit that the one person she needed to go have a beer with was the one person she knew who least needed a beer.

Gil had talked to her about it, a little, in his Gil way, and anyway, anyone who sees the company shrink ends up on the rumor mill. So she knew, of course, as everyone did, about Sara's DUI and accompanying facts. Every once in a while, when she caught a glance of Sara staring, distracted, at nothing, Catherine would give herself a little kick for not noticing before. Coke or alcohol, a jonze was a jonze and she should have recognized it. But then, her relationship with Sara had always been a little strange.

Looking back, it was clear to her that all her antagonism, all her volatile dislike for Sara was a product of her stripping. Stripping was a man's world, a place where women take off their real selves and become what men want them to be. And in a man's world, women are not friends. It was as clear in the dressing room of a club as in the Shakespeare Grissom so often quoted - other women are competition, lethal opponents bent on stabbing each other in the back. Every dollar bill that found its way into someone else's thong was a dollar bill that couldn't buy her coke. Every look that Eddie flashed another woman was a look Catherine would never get back from him. She was more than humiliated when she figured it out - she thought she'd left that all behind her, but the minute Sara showed up, Catherine was Hermia all over again, just waiting for a chance to trip up Helena and laugh when she sprawled out in the dirt.

It made it that much worse when Catherine realized that Sara didn't even think of herself as a woman most of the time. Once in rehab she had done an exercise - write down five positive words about yourself. Catherine had picked things like nurturing, attractive and feminine. She figured Sara would write smart, smart, smart, clever, and smart. Catherine was playing for keeps and Sara wasn't even aware of the game.

But even once she'd figured it out, it kept flaring up. So for all the progress they made as friends during tough cases or after the Hank debacle, there was a tension that kept them at odds during work. After Gil shot her down, it was worse. It was subtle, but sides were taken, and she'd been Grissom's friend far longer than she'd known Sara.

And now Chris's true colors were apparent and Doctor Drink-Your-Own-Urine's voice was taunting her from her own reflection, and Sara wasn't offering to reciprocate that long-ago beer invitation because she didn't know Catherine was in here and she didn't need any more beer in her life even were she around. And maybe she didn't deserve Sara's support to begin with, because there was a cattiness to her that had kept her from seeing how badly Sara needed help until long after the "good friend" line had been drawn.

And maybe most mirrors were errors, and she had been standing here doubting herself for far too long. Maybe it wasn't too late to swap shrink stories and maybe a ginger ale and a sympathetic ear was better than a whiskey topped off alone. And maybe Sara would tell her to shove off. But maybe only makes money when you're stripping, and Catherine was a CSI now. She dealt in certainty.

And she was pretty certain Sara would still be in the lab somewhere, and pretty soon, she was sure she'd be certain about the ginger ale too.

***

Next story in series - Coffee.