I squinted against the sunlight streaming in through the glass door of my kitchen, bathing the room in a golden glow. The wooden floorboards were cool beneath my feet, cursing the messy counter I hadn't bothered to clean up the night before, coffee pot still filled with yesterday's grounds.

The white walls reflected the light, creating the illusion of a warm space- the brick accent wall ever-charming to the rare visitor; the yellow flowers blooming in the windowsill a feat of my own neglectful nature. I had given up nightshifts when I moved here, returning to the schedule of the living. Three years in and I still found myself lying restless, staring at the whitewashed ceiling. Startling awake in the dead of night.

Lately it had been dreams of fire and devastation. Of windows shattered and homes collapsed in on themselves, ashes falling like snow. They collected in her hair, face soot darkened and terror struck. Our eyes met. She spoke my name. I woke in a sweat.

I gazed out the window at the cloudless sky behind the old brick apartment building across the way, hot water stinging my skin as I rinsed out the espresso pot. Terrible coffee was another habit I gave up when I left Vegas. There wasn't much I could do about the station swill, but on my own time I had developed an obnoxiously refined taste.

Mist sprayed up against my oversized t-shirt, soaking into the grey material. I sighed, flipping off the water and grabbing a nearby hand towel, half-heartedly wiping it off. The fraying ends fell against my bare thigh, the letters beginning to wear off- the H disappearing, the V like a ghost. I finished making coffee, tossing two frozen waffles into the toaster. Some things hadn't changed- my terrible eating habits; my feelings of existential dread.

I gathered my messy hair up in my fist, tying the elastic from my wrist around it. Wandering past the mirror in the hallway I caught sight of myself, frowning softly. 38 looked terrifying on me- eyes dark from lack of sleep, unruly hair in desperate need of a cut. The worry lines on my forehead were slowly becoming a permanent fixture and for a fleeting moment I wondered what my life would look like if I had taken that gap year in Barcelona when I was 19; gone to New York for law school.

Bored out of my fucking mind, I reasoned tiredly. My phone vibrated against the coffee table, drawing my attention. I dropped down onto the beige couch beside Leonard who let out a quiet meow of protest at the disruption.

"Curtis"

"Do you ever sleep? It's your day off" Quinn asked. I smiled, leaning back into the cushions.

"No" I ran a hand absently over Leonard's back. "Why bother when I'm constantly being called into work?"

"You've had three days off this month, don't be dramatic" she mused sarcastically.

I hummed in acknowledgement, scratching behind Leonard's ear gently. "You are calling me in to work though, right?"

"You bet"

I sighed, meeting the golden gaze staring up at me with a regretful look. "I'll be in in an hour"

Carson City was a step down from Vegas in just about every sense, but it was quieter and I took that quiet gratefully. Crime wise it was steady enough to keep me busy, but slow enough that my shifts rarely pushed nine hours. That meant I had plenty of time to trail run along Lake Tahoe and cuddle up on the couch with Leonard and a plethora of books on how to un-fuck your life. It was a charmed existence.

As quiet as the city was, the department was always in some state of upheaval. We had lost our second Captain to the California coast months ago, and the promise of replacing him had yet to be followed through on. That meant it was rare that a day passed without me there to play the role of departmental middle-man, appeasing the chief and keeping things running smoothly. I usually didn't mind but the warm June air was tempting me to the mountains. I had been crawling out of my skin in the city the past few weeks and I was in desperate need of a distraction from the job and the nightmares and the incessant reminders of her.

This wasn't a new problem. If I tried hard enough I could find her in everything; see her in everyone. The first year after I left Vegas had been a rough one. Being so close to having her, just to lose it all felt like a death of sorts. I pushed all of the pain and loneliness down, focusing solely on my work. I was promoted from Deputy to Lieutenant, I won the praises of my mother. It wasn't until a close call from a reckless move in the line of fire that I forced myself to step back. I spent a week in Monterey, next to the sea. I took stock of my life. I quit smoking then. I came home to a small, emaciated tabby huddled beneath the steps of my condo. I planted flowers in the window boxes. I watched them bloom.

And then Warrick died and I knew I couldn't avoid her forever. I ended up on Jim's doorstep at some ungodly hour, blind with exhaustion and sorrow. We drank whiskey and reminisced. I had cut myself off from everyone when I left, so I had no idea that Sara had left mere months after I did. That her and Grissom, despite being together, were not living the suburban nightmare that I had been imagining. It felt like an emotional weight lifted. I may not have gotten to go home to her at night, but neither did Grissom. I held no animosity towards him, it's just that I loved her and though she refused to see it, he was never going to be enough.

It wasn't until after the service that I saw her. I followed her into the stuffy church bathroom, alone beneath dim lighting and the musty smell of dying flowers. We didn't say much. I told her I was sorry. I held her until she stopped shaking. Until my own tears that I couldn't quite hold back subsided. She touched my face; looked at me with a softness that was absolutely gutting. We said goodbye.

Since then we had run into each other a handful of times, usually at departmental conferences and seminars. We spent as much time together as we could without stepping off of conference center grounds- evening coffee in a closing down café, lunch on the rooftop, hiding out from our respective colleagues. We may be friends again, but the suffocating tension was still there; unspoken words burning the tip of our tongues.

She crossed my mind often, but it was usually painless and fleeting. This past week though, I couldn't seem to shake her. I told myself that it was her birthday that had her haunting my thoughts, but there was something unnerving about it- something vague and unplaceable.

"Fuck" I muttered as I glanced out the side window at my exit. Reaching out to turn the music up in an attempt to drown out my thoughts, I chastised myself for being so distracted.

I pulled into my parking stall just as Deputy Hadley was heading towards PD, displeasure written across her features. I shot her a smile, sliding out of my old pickup. At least we were in this together.

"Lea" I greeted as I slung my messenger bag over my shoulder.

"Captain" she replied tiredly, tossing dark waves over an ebony shoulder. "Fucking Saturday morning, man. Leon was making pancakes"

I smiled, falling in step beside her. "Thai for lunch to drown our sorrows?"

"God, yes" she agreed, taking a long sip from her coffee mug as we passed by a woman on her way out of the station. I glanced up to offer a passing smile and was struck by the chocolate color of her eyes- the roundness, the sadness behind them. They were so unnervingly familiar. I blinked, falling out of stride. Lea glanced back at me, quirking an eyebrow.

"You okay?"

I nodded, hand sliding to my back pocket absently to grab my phone. "I've just got to make a call, I'll be in in a minute"

I moved off to the side of the building, searching through my contacts. I paused over her name, thumb hovering for a long moment before I scrolled back up, clicking another familiar name before I lost my nerve.

"Greg, hey. It's Sofia" I greeted softly.

"Sofia Curtis, I was wondering if we'd ever hear from you again"

I smiled, leaning back against the wall. "I know, I'm sorry, it's been a while. Look, I'm just heading into work and I can't seem to shake this feeling…" I hesitated, fingers craving the comfort of a cigarette. "Is Sara okay?"

"You must have heard about Basderic. She's okay, or so she says. She refused to take any time off, but we're keeping an eye on her"

I frowned, covering my ear against the drone of traffic as I tried to make sense of what he was saying.

"What are you talking about?"

"… the Basderic case, I assumed you had gotten wind of it up there"

"No, I had a weird feeling so I thought I'd check in… what the hell happened?"

He launched into a story about a man dead in a hotel room that Sara had been in that night, another man framing her for murder. Sara assaulting a suspect. I listened carefully, staring at the pavement with a frown.

"She's been going through a pretty rough patch lately. Between the café shooting and the divorce, her mother going off the rails again and now this… she just seems a little lost"

My chest tightened, short nails spearing into my palm.

"Her and Grissom, they're divorced?" …they were married?

"Yeah, it was a surprise to us too"

I pushed a hand through my hair as I leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes against a sudden wave of nausea.

"Maybe you should call her, I know how close you guys used to be. We're all here for her, but you know how she can be"

I blew out a breath, nodding at no one in particular.

Oh.