A/N: I don't know what I'm getting myself into with this one. I'd like to give this story some attention and make it a little longer, but a new semester just started and I'm in a creative writing class, so I have a lot of writing on my hands. I couldn't ignore this idea, though, so I'd like to see what you guys think and then determine how much time and effort I should put into this one. Thanks in advance for any kind of feedback (good or bad!) you want to provide.
And so, enjoy!
With the feel of the hot Las Vegas sun on her neck, Sara Sidle crouched over a half-washed out, muddy footprint. She placed a ruler on the ground near it and snapped a few photos with her department-issued camera. Wiping a few drops of sweat from her forehead, she gathered her equipment and made her ways towards the front porch, where she took a seat and glanced at her watch. Noon. She had been at the crime scene for over twelve hours. A busy night meant that only Greg had been able to help her with the triple homicide she had been called in for. He had taken off a few hours ago to bring the first batch of evidence to the lab. From the looks of the amount of evidence she had collected since then, her double was looking like it would turn into a triple.
She loaded her kit and dozens upon dozens of marked and sealed evidence bags into her Denali. She paused in the driver's seat to glance at her phone. No missed calls or messages. She gave a small sigh. It was 9 p.m. in Paris. Gil would be just getting home for the night, toeing his shoes off, warming up dinner in the microwave or oven and sitting down with a book or a crossword. She should have heard from him by now. He seemed to be missing their nightly calls more than usual lately.
The lab was busy when she pulled in. Day shift was already there, fighting for evidence priory over the Grave evidence that was just being checked in. Greg didn't even see her walk by, too red in the face from shouting at Hodges that his and Sara's blue fibers were much more important than the gosh darn Alex's trace evidence from Days.
Hours later found Sara in the layout room, her phone mercilessly quiet and her eyes staring at the dozes of photographs taken by her earlier that morning. She wasn't taking in a thing. Her eyelids felt like they weighed a hundred pounds, and she saw no reason why she shouldn't give in to the pressure to let them close… just for a few minutes. What could a few minutes hurt?
Lights. The lights were so bright, twinkling against the dark Paris sky. There was a warm hand in hers. She knew without looking that it was him. She could smell the familiar scent of his aftershave and she recognized the pattern of his breathing. She heard his voice in her ear.
"Sara. I love you, Sara."
She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. What was wrong with her voice?
"Sara?"
The feel of his hand was slipping through her fingers. She tried to hold tighter, but it was like trying to hold onto a cloud. He was floating further and further away.
"Sara!"
She awoke with a jolt, picking her head up from the layout table and bringing a photograph of a blood smear with it. Nick was standing above her, smiling. He reached out and unstuck the photograph from her forehead.
"You, uh… having a good dream?"
Sara frowned and kneaded her forehead with her thumbs.
"Sort of."
He took the seat next to her.
"These from the triple in Henderson?"
"Yeah."
He snuck a sideways glance at her and was as surprised as she was to find a tear making a steady path down her cheek.
"Hey," he said, leaning in to nudge her shoulder. "You okay?"
She hastily wiped the tear away. She hated crying in front of others.
"I'm okay," she affirmed, giving him her best attempt at a smile. "Just tired."
"Hey, I've been there," Nick chuckled. "Lord knows I've been there. But… I've never been tired enough that it made me cry. You sure you're okay?"
Sara stared at her hands for a moment before answering.
"I miss him so much," she said finally, hating how her voice cracked as the words came out.
"Grissom?"
She nodded, wondering where this emotion was coming from. All she knew was that this was way harder than she had thought it would be. Going days without hearing his voice, weeks without feeling his touch… it was taking a bigger toll on her than she expected and it was getting harder and harder as time went on. She felt Nick's hand cover her own.
"Go home, Sara," he said kindly. "Get some sleep."
"I can't just leave all this," Sara nearly choked exasperatedly.
"You know what? Let me take you for a drink," he said. "You deserve it."
"Nick, we can't just leave," she countered. "And it's too early for a drink."
"It's 8 p.m., Sar."
Sara stared at him in shock. No way had she slept for two hours…
"You've worked two and a half shifts and it's my night off," he continued. "Let's get a drink."
She let him gather up the photos and tuck them back into the marked envelope. Then she let him put a hand on her elbow and lead her out of the layout room, popping into Catherine's office to let her know they were both leaving, Sara to prevent going on overtime. She waved them goodbye, telling them to have fun and that she wished she could join them.
They took Nick's truck to a local bar, him promising that she needed the drinks more than he did, that he'd only have one and that he'd pick her up for the next shift so she wouldn't have to return for her car. He drove them to a bar that was away from the strip and free of tourists. It was small and dimly lit, and sometimes the beer tasted like it had been sitting on the shelves a little too long, but it had become a favorite haunt of the CSIs when they needed to find peace at the bottom of a bottle for an hour or two. Tom, the bartender, knew their orders by heart and placed two frozen mugs in front of them a few seconds after they sat down on two vacant stools.
They didn't talk about Grissom, Paris, or even, miraculously, work. Sara found herself relaxing in Nick's company, feeling at ease with his easygoing manner and teasing jokes.
"You were right," Sara said suddenly, setting down her beer. "I needed this. Thanks."
"No problem," Nick grinned up at her from his own bottle before his expression hardened just a little. "You want to talk about it?"
"I don't know," Sara sighed. "I don't know if I can even explain it to myself."
Nick nodded, taking another gulp of beer.
"It's just… some days it's fine, and some days I feel like I won't be able to breathe if I don't see him soon," she said, twisting her wedding ring around her finger instinctively. She bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be dumping all this on you."
"Sara," Nick said, placing his hand atop hers. "That's what friends are for. And I grew up with about a dozen sisters and female cousins. You have a good listening ear."
Sara smiled and drained the rest of her bottle.
"You want another one?"
She shook her head. Her vision was a little bit fuzzy already and she knew her limits. Nick nodded.
"I'll take you home."
Nick had kept his promise and restrained himself to just one beer. She appreciated his efforts. She was thankful to have a friend like him.
In Nick's truck, soft country music was coming from the radio, and as they cruised down the familiar streets, against all her wishes, tears started running down her cheeks once again. Nick stopped at a red light and glanced over at her.
"Aw, Sara, sweetheart," he said, putting a hand over hers and giving it a squeeze.
"I don't know where all this is coming from," she said, frustrated. "I swear I'm not pregnant."
Nick had to smile at her joke.
"Even Sara Sidle has to cry sometimes," he said softly.
And so she did. It was probably the most embarrassing thing she had done in a good long while, letting Nick see her cry, but for some reason, she couldn't stop it, and it felt good to let it out. Nick had pulled her half into his lap with a comforting hand on her back, making her feel like he didn't mind it at all. The light must have turned green and back to red by now, but the streets were deserted, and Nick didn't seem to be in any hurry to continue their journey until his friend was all right.
Slowly, the tears seemed to be letting up, although Nick's shirt was considerable wetter than it had been a few minutes ago. She sniffled a few times and looked up at him. They were almost nose-to-nose.
"Feel better?" he breathed.
"Much."
They stared at each other for a few moments and Sara held her breath for all of it. Her pain, her loneliness, her lingering insecurities, combined with the influence of the alcohol, were creating a twisting knot in her stomach, making her think things she'd never thought before. She looked at every strong feature of his face. His jawline, his nose, his understanding eyes. All of a sudden, she wanted to throw herself into Nick's arms. Hell, she was already in Nick's arms.
He was so kind. He had a huge heart, and he was the most selfless person she knew. He always had been. He cared about Sara and he was there. He was there.
She didn't know who had closed those last few inches between her lips and Nick's… it might have been her. Then again, it might have been him. His eyes seemed to be reflecting the same emotions she was feeling. All she knew was that their lips met. And then they parted. A moment passed. Their lips met again.
She wiggled herself a little closer to Nick, almost fully on his lap now. The glow of light from behind her indicated that the light was green again, but still they did not move. She felt the car shift a little as Nick put it into park, then glided his hand, over her shirt, on her back. Their breaths were coming in heated, rapid pants. They were all over each other. He felt so different from Grissom. He was all muscle and hardness, while Grissom was soft comfort. But God help her, she didn't hate it. It was only when both their hands simultaneously moved under the others shirt that exactly what she was doing hit her with a jolt. She pulled away suddenly.
"Oh my God."
Nick stared back at her, a mixture of guilt, confusion and passion in his eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asked, stroking her cheek.
"What are we doing?" Sara asked, more to herself than anything. "What are we doing?"
"Sara-"
"I'm married," she continued, hysterically. "Married."
She slid back into the passenger seat, fastening the seat belt as her eyes moved around rapidly and one hand became lost in her hair. Silence fell between them as the light turned red once more.
"This shouldn't have happened," Nick said evenly. "I've never… I never meant to… I would never want to take advantage of you, Sara."
"I know," she answered quietly. "This was my fault."
"No, it wasn't," Nick said firmly. "You're… not yourself. This was my fault. I promise it'll never happen again."
Sara looked over to smile at him.
"Can we just pretend it never did happened?" she asked almost pleadingly.
Nick let out a choked laugh.
"Pretend what never happened?"
They both leaned back into the headrest. She was overwhelmed. She didn't know how to contemplate what had just happened. She loved Grissom. She knew that. The worst thing about it was that she didn't hate what just happened with Nick. She almost liked the way his hands felt around her neck and how his lips tasted on hers. She squeezed her eyes shut. What was going on?
When she opened her eyes the light had turned green. Nick started to inch forward.
"Sara?"
"Hm?"
"Can I ask you something?"
She turned to look at him, and when he turned to meet her gaze his eyes widened.
"Sara!"
The last thing she saw was a blinding white light and a deafening honk of a horn.
TBC!