Title: The Gambler

Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

Rating: PG

Pairing: Sara/Warrick

Spoilers: Pilot, Cool Change, Table Stakes, Primum Non Nocre

Feedback: Makes my day

Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

Archive: At my site Checkmate , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.

Summary: You've got to know when to hold them, know when to fold them…

Notes: For the LiveJournal CSReports All about Warrick challenge in honour of the character's birthday on October 10th. Title and summary line come from Kenny Rogers' "The Gambler" - I've been wanting to use that one for too long!

***

When they met, appropriately enough in a casino, he was a gambler.

He didn't think there was anything wrong with that at the time; didn't think he'd done anything wrong either. That was only rammed home to him when Sara stared at him with narrowed eyes and told him that Holly Gribbs was dead. He'd been stunned into uncharacteristic silence, knowing that it was his fault, that he should have been there with her, that he could have somehow prevented it from happening.

It took a long time for the guilt to die down, and even now, after all this time, it still hasn't completely gone away.

Still, he hadn't thought he had a problem. Not until he was investigating a murder in the Glass Elevator, found out that the victim had gambling debts all over town. He'd had a Chicago bankroll in one pocket, credit markers in another, and looking at them, Warrick had found his own membership in the "There but for the grace of God" club.

Later, he'd stood in the middle of a crowded casino, knowing what he knew, and he'd still wanted nothing more than to place a bet.

He'd gone to his first Gamblers' Anonymous meeting the next day.

Ever since then, he's been mostly clean, hasn't placed a bet, though there was the time, after Lily, that he sat down at a table and paid his money. Nick appeared, just in time, and they left and had a beer instead.

The next day, he went to another Gamblers' Anonymous meeting, went to one every day for a month.

He hasn't gambled since, and he's proud of that.

He thinks of that now, lying in bed, with those same brown eyes that regarded him with anger and suspicion on their first meeting now regarding him with hope and doubt warring for supremacy. They're lying on their sides, facing one another, and while they're not touching, every breath she takes dances across his skin. They're in the middle of a conversation that they really should have had before they ended up here, and they had every intention of talking when they arrived at his place.

Then he'd kissed her and all bets had been off.

The thing is, he's wanted this for a long time, and he knows from what she's said, from looks that have been exchanged for far too long, so has she.

Still, the conversation must be had, and she's the one who plays devil's advocate. "This could be a disaster," she reminds him. "We might be screwing up everything."

He knows she's right, but he shrugs. "I think it's worth the risk," he tells her, is surprised when a smile lights up her face.

"I thought you weren't a gambler any more," she teases, but he's got an answer for that too.

"I'm not," he says, enjoying her blink of surprise. "I just figure we're a sure thing."

Her smiles widens and she pulls him close, ending the conversation.