Disclaimer: C.S.I does not belong to me, none of the characters belong to me and none of the profits go to me.

She could move like a feline. He knew her hackles could be driven to movement at anytime of threat. He had watched unspoken affection pool through her eyes

"You know that doors left unopened lead to more questions"

Her cryptic words had been followed by an unsteady smile and her immediate departure.

What was then left lingering was the exclamation mark. He had missed the opportunity and now there was turning back.

She is left to her sullen daughter and a small fantasy of dark hands pulling at her shirt. Hands that might have peeled subdued pink material from her skin and then perhaps the sensation of metal lockers digging into her back. The dream, after contemplation, is systematically destroyed. Her brain has pulled each stitch from its place to the same old tune, never hesitate and forget things that make your heart weep.

She had learnt her lesson over and over, so while the path that might have been crumbled in her shadow Catherine walked down the path that lay ahead.

It was different for him though, he had the distraction of learning his new wife by rote. The underlying temptation however, could not be banished though it was rebuked by her silent fury at his fictional betrayal.

She avoided his proximity while she still could without capturing scrutiny from her workmates. She supposed they had already guessed her stance on the situation.

Things didn't seem to have changed, she had been waiting for the walls to fall down and kill them both but it never happened. Catherine suspected that he realized his actions had crushed something small and fragile that may, or may not have been growing inside of her. But in saying that she understood why he couldn't wait for an uncertainty. He couldn't weigh his future on a pair of scales that didn't exist.

Things look the same as always. She manages leave her thoughts at the door but now she has created this formality, where she had once requested him to work with her now instead she take him only out of necessity. He is hurt by her actions, poor Warrick, but he will not understand.

She thinks she may have seen a flash of guilt as he told her, and the graceless change of subject clearly intoned that she had something to lose from the situation.

He must have realized.

The whole marriage thing shot her down from mid flight and despite valiant thoughts of being compassionate and happy the emotions themselves didn't seem to register. An emotional sensory output made her clutch at her clothes and run steady fingers through her hair. Mild signs of distress that he either chose to ignore or didn't pick up.

The unanswered slowly drives her to the brink of madness and the suggestion of cracks translates into the breadth of gaping chasms. If she isn't careful she'll let the work consume her. She thought she might want to take time off to lick her pride back to its regular high sheen and also reconnect with her own flesh and blood. It seems a too grandiose a gesture for an event that shouldn't matter so much. She forgets about these ideas.

The states of affairs are in a solidly precarious position, she might be quick to anger and distrust. The rationale for her is that these feeling do not belong to their work relationship. These things do not belong in the lab or anywhere where she think of herself as a C.S.I before a woman. It's quite possible that these feeling never belonged to her, from the past or future. He has upset her, injured her pride. It's fine though, she is a grown woman who is fully able to cope, equipped to deal with what ever she gets given.

The next time she catches him being openly saucy with a flirtatious look in his eyes she instantly reprimands herself.

Warrick can't come out to play today.

It is distinctly unsettling the way things have slipped back into the same old.

Weary from working Catherine closes the door to the locker room and sits; she watches its deep metallic stillness with great interest. When she swings back the door of her locker and finds her clothes hunching in neat piles there is an absurd sense of satisfaction that fills her.

Warrick at the door, like the wolves at the door, plays the silent observer. He watches her profile through the glass, he would go to her and ask what is on her mind but he's not sure if he really wants to know, he isn't sure if he cares. Her movements distract him, so instead of invading with his physical presence he watches. His unobtrusive voyeurism whittles away at any good intent on his behalf.

She pulls her shirt off, it slides like it wishes to be her second skin; her sweat has made it needy. Her black bra plays what is now an age old contrast, black satin against pale skin, luxury juxtaposed with the day-old t-shirt scrunched in her fist.

Naughty Warrick is still watching, but only because she has a shape that makes him appreciate art. During these moments he finds it in his soul to be sympathetic to any innocent bystander that witnesses the crime. He suspects that he might understand their quandary.

Is thinking about being unfaithful as bad as the act itself, is watching but not acting a crime?

Tina will come before this pipedream; she will come before his loyalty to his job and to his workmates. This is the purpose of a wife. This having been said, Warrick still finds pleasure in watching Catherine do up the zipper of her pants and start on the bottom button of her pale linen shirt.

The hallways are amusing to walk down. Sara likes the sound of footsteps reverberating off the walls and bouncing off one another.

She has been sent on an errand, she should mind and yet she doesn't, Grissom has information for Warrick regarding the Jane Doe they had pulled out of the river. She had seen the body, the girl used to look like every other girl in this city but weeks floating in water had caused her to bloat and discolor.

This is the mortality that her job brings to her

Sara rounds a corner to find Warrick in deep thought. He is gazing at the door is if he might be able to read its life back to the seed that it had originally sprung from. There is something in his posture however, a small imbalance that leads her to further questions. A C.S.I knows that nothing is what it seems.

She doesn't want to spoil his reverie but her suspicions carry the weight of what she assumes will soon be confirmation. Reflections in the glass explain the situation, strawberry blonde hair and chapped fingers doing up the button that hides cleavage from her watchers.

Emotions haven't always been Sara's strong point though she is sure that these particular ones are not rash or unjustified. Blank questioning and insolence color her face, if this doesn't give her away then her words clearly will.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Her gaze is direct and his eyes rise slowly to meet hers, but only for a moment. In a subconscious effort to hide his crime Warrick moves so that Catherine is out of his sight. He tries to think of something to say that won't cause more anger. He is drawing blanks, a bad hand that he should know all to well.

Sara doesn't look like she can be satiated with calming words and sweet excuses so instead of offering them he waits, She will make the next move. The awkwardness of the situation could be increased any moment; Catherine will eventually leave and find them waiting outside the door.

Sara is trying to block out her mothers voice, the words that she had said to Sara every time she had gotten into a confrontation at school

If you haven't got anything nice to say…

"Grissom has been looking for you"

She doesn't care that the words sound forced to her own ears. Warrick understand that she is letting him get away with it, though what exactly it is he isn't sure of. Was the warning about the possibility of him acting or was it a scolding for childish behavior? Childish behavior that could be overbalanced by lust is a dangerous game.

"It's about the Jane Doe, he's in his office"


He is still standing there, the confrontation isn't over. Sara is waiting for him to leave she is making certain that he exits without making any more errors.

"I better go then"

Words seemed to have been the easiest option for once.

"Yeah, you better"

Sara doesn't drop her gaze, she visually escorts him away.

His work at keeping his words smooth and controlled isn't noted by her. He walks past with his smooth gait and black shoes making another beat echo between the walls. He is surprised that the situation had ended so amiably even more so that Catherine hadn't interrupted the brief conversation. If she had things would have escalated and the ending would have been very different.

Warrick is glad for the show of control on Sara's behalf but he is not so ignorant that he doesn't hear what she is muttering as he walks away.

"…say nothing at all"

Catherine goes home to her daughter and takes her to school. This has left her with an empty house and a cupful or whirling thoughts. Sleep had seemed like an easy option but it became evident that it was a state of mind she wouldn't be able to achieve without taking some pills, or a drink.

Catherine stays awake.