Title: Conundrum
By: coldbeer
Pairing: Cath/Sara
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None.
Challenge: ST:TNG titles.
Keywords: Why won't you let me touch you?
Word Count: 400-f-ing-40, dammit. :(

***

You're not sure how you went from checking your lipstick in the rearview mirror of her car to running your fingertips over her collarbone as she fumbles with the keys to her apartment. You don't pay much attention to your surroundings; all you catch of her interior is the sidetable by the door, treacherously hidden in darkness until it collides violently with your knee. Something that sounds like glass crashes to the floor and you know you've broken something.

"I'm sorry," you say, but the humor in your voice doesn't make it sound like an apology at all. Sara's lips are mere inches away from yours as she steadies you. You don't think you've ever really noticed how pretty she can be, if she puts in a little effort.

Sara's hands are strong around your waist as she guides you over to her couch. "Sit," she tells you, and you promptly do as she says. "Stay. I'll make coffee." You briefly wonder why she isn't smiling at you.

She takes too long. When you make your way to the kitchen, you hear her voice muttering low over the sounds of the traffic outside.

"Who are you talking to?" you ask, and she glares at you.

"Thanks, Warrick." She puts down the phone.

Her hair is amazingly soft. When you lightly pull on a strand and let go, it bounces back into a natural wave. She grabs your hand, and you curl your lips into a seductive smile. "Why won't you let me touch you?"

She blinks, then turns away, her expression unreadable. From the cupboards over the counter she retrieves one mug and a glass. Turns on the water a little too harsh, and it spills out over her hand.

"Drink this," she says, offering the glass to you. Eve and the apple. You would like to lick the droplets off her skin. You think that maybe, if you do, she'll smile at you.

One small sip. It doesn't work.

Sara leans back against the counter, and you step closer to her. Keep on walking until your hipbone connects with hers. She closes her eyes, covering the hint of sadness you see there. You're sure, for a second, as you touch your lips to hers, she want this just as much as you do.

"Catherine..." Her hand is forceful in between your bodies. "Stop it."

You're lost, so you hold on to her waist band. "You don't like this?"

Her expression's bitter. "You're drunk, Catherine."

And she's off, suddenly all business again with pillowcases, a blanket and some aspirine. "Better take those now," she tells you. "You'll feel better tomorrow."

She's mistaken. If anything, you'll feel much, much worse.

***