Disclaimer: I do not, nor do I claim to, own the television show CSI or the characters there of. I make no financial gain with this writing endeavor, so please don't sue…I'm a poor college student with fish to feed!

Warning: Femeslash and angst ahead. As to the former: A consensual relationship, of sorts, between two persons of the same sex…and the later, well, you'll see.

Rating: This is rated M for mature, not due to overly graphic content, but I find the subject matter requires such a rating.

Author's Note: A Catherine/Sara pairing…though not a fluffy one, quite angsty, in fact. 'Love-Hate Relationship' is half of a pair, the companion piece being 'Addiction'. The former being Sara's POV and the later being Catherine's POV. I'd really like to hear feedback on this, I'm starting a larger Cath/Sara fic and would like some input on my portrayals of everyone's favorite CSIs. Thanks!

Love-Hate Relationship

A CSI Ficlet

By RebelByrdie

They think we hate each other. Every time we work together, it never fails; we come out from our respective corners swinging hard. Leaping at one another's throats, trying to draw blood, wanting to see tears. The entire lab knows to stay clear when we argue. Even Greg has given up on breaking us apart. They wonder who is going to slap first, who's going to cross that line. The funny thing is, we can't find that line anymore.

At the lab we argue, we fume, we curse each other's existence. In the bedroom, when we make it that far, we moan, sigh and scream oaths to each other and to God. I can't remember when it started, the buildup, the raw need, the tension…but I don't see a stopping point any time soon. We brand each other every single time. Tooth and nail leaving marks we later have to hide with clothes and makeup. We've "christened" every single flat surface, wall and piece of furniture in both of our homes. We've desecrated her Denali, and once during a really rough double, she shoved me up against her office wall.

As much as I enjoy the near painful pleasure of our bodies coming together, I know it's not poetic. It's not making love, or even sex. It's fucking, plain and simple fucking. Hard, fast and hot, we can't get enough of each other. I would pass it off as just physical, but… After the act, when we are spent, limp and sated, we lay there together and it's no longer just physical. She curls her lithe, perfect body around mine, resting her head on my shoulder, her golden hair fanning out everywhere. She traces the marks she's left on me, the love bites on my front, the scratches on my back, she kisses each one of them, soothing my raw skin with her soft lips. I do the same for her, it always scares me how I mark her soft skin, leaving bruises like I do…She doesn't seem to mind though, we lay there, covered in sweat, wrapped around each other and we are calm. She calls me her Sara and strokes my hair. She whispers sweet nothings in my ear and tells me I'm beautiful. I am lulled to sleep by her calming touch and sweet voice. I can never equate the fiery CSI that hates me with the soft, sweet woman who makes me feel so loved. It confuses me, it scares me, the powerful feelings that we share.When I wake up, though, she is always gone. Only the lingering scent of her intoxicating perfume and the marks she put on me remain to remind me that it was not a dream.

Every time she leaves, I promise myself that I won't let her back in. That this would be the last time, it had to be. I tell myself that I deserve better. That I don't want her in my life, let alone my bed. I am kidding myself and I know it, It's not the fucking that scares me, it's not the hate or dare I think it, love, that we share. It's the need. I need her and I need her to need me too. I shouldn't need anyone. I am independent, strong, I have to be, and I should be. I'm not and that need, my need for Catherine's touch no matter if it's in rage or in ecstasy, that need damns me.

Love and hate, hate and love. When I hold her in my arms, hear her say my name, I love her. One a scene when she questions my intelligence reminds me of my glaring failures and shortcomings, I hate her. They say there is a thin line between love and hate; I wish I could find it again. I wish I could understand what makes me return to her day after day. We're caught in a love-hate relationship and neither of us knows which side we are truly on, and what's worse is neither of us cares.