A Song For Sara

by J9

What has Warrick acting so strangely?

Title: A Song For Sara

Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

Rating: PG

Pairing: Sara/Warrick

Spoilers: Minor for Pilot, Cool Change.

Feedback: Makes my day

Disclaimer: If you recognise it, chances are, it's not mine

Archive: Eventually, it'll be at my site The Band Gazebo (helsinkibaby.topcities.com) Anywhere else please ask first.

Summary: What has Warrick acting so strangely?

Author's Note: So, I'm flicking through the newspaper one bright summer's day, and what do I see but a news report that tells me that Gary Dourdan has apparently beaten off competition from, amongst others, Lenny Kravitz, to play the role of Phil Lynott in a movie that's being made about his life. (Phil Lynott was the lead singer of Irish rock band Thin Lizzy, a hugely gifted and influential musician who passed away in 1986) When the dance of joy had been done (Gary Dourdan, filming in Dublin, singing, doing promotion on our own fair shores) I remembered one of Phil Lynott's most famous songs, one that was written for his first born child, and this story immediately sprang to mind. One word has been changed in the chorus to make it fit better (for precious, read baby in the original); everything else is as it was originally written. For those of you who might be interested in learning more about Phil Lynott and Thin Lizzy, I recommend An Roisin Dubh (www.roisindubh.com)

***

Catherine Willows strode through the halls on her way to the break room, casting a quick glance at her watch as she did so. "Only another couple of hours," she thought, wondering if it would be tempting fate to convert that to minutes and seconds. Not that she disliked her work; far from it. Even though she was permanently stuck on the nightshift, even though she didn't get to spend nearly as much time with her daughter as she would have liked, she did love her job.

Although there were days when she really wished that she was doing almost anything else with her life.

They came fairly infrequently, but today had surely been one of those days. Nothing to do with a case, or hunting down a piece of evidence though; something like that wouldn't have given cause for concern. It wasn't even the usual frustrating feeling that came along when a piece of evidence just wouldn't fit the puzzle. The case that she and Warrick were working on was falling into place nicely.

Her partner now, that was another matter.

Working with Warrick was always different to working with the other C.S.Is, Nick for example. Warrick was as laid-back as Nick could be excitable; he wasn't a man given to idle chatter. But he'd never been anything other than courteous with her; never been anything less than straightforward and helpful; interested and engaged in his work.

For the last couple of days however, he'd been anything but.

Always laconic, now the only word was his behaviour was surly, and there had been times when she was talking to him that she'd caught him not listening. She'd tried asking him if anything was wrong, imaging all kinds of scenarios, first among them being his return to gambling, but he'd blocked her at every turn, eventually causing her to give up for the moment, a strategic retreat if you would. Like any good C.S.I though, the puzzle continued to gnaw at her, even as she entered the break room, looking for junk food, any kind of junk food.

Yanking open the fridge, she peered down into it, groaning when she saw that the candy bar she'd been keeping there had been taken. "Looking for something?" The voice made her jump, and she turned to see Sara Sidle curled up on one of the comfortable chairs on the other side of the room.

"Someone robbed my candy bar," Catherine explained, sure that it was Nick, already trying to figure out what she could do to exact revenge on him. Her plans were halted mid-formation when Sara held up something that looked very like the bar in question, yet vastly depleted in size.

"Guilty," she said, and Catherine had to admit that she did look guilty over it. "I was going to replace it tomorrow," she added, standing up and crossing to the table and chairs. "I just needed a sugar fix," she concluded, throwing the remains of the bar on the table.

"You and me both," Catherine agreed, pulling out a chair and sinking down into it, reaching hungrily for the snack. "This is the shift that will not end."

"Tell me about it." Sara chuckled without humour, reaching into the fridge and pulling out a soda, handing one to Catherine.

Catherine snapped the tab, washing down the piece of chocolate she'd taken, then leaned back in her seat, sighing. "That's better," she murmured, more to herself than Sara, who answered with a tight smile nonetheless. "So, what has you so down?"

Sara shrugged. "Oh you know. Case not adding up. The usual. You?"

"Oh, would that it were so easy!" Catherine rolled her eyes. "Our case is fitting together fine; it's my partner that's the problem."

"Oh really?" Sara frowned.

"Oh yeah. I don't know what's got into him the past couple of days, but he's acting really weird. Nothing I can put my finger on exactly," she amended. "He's quiet, withdrawn…it's like I can't figure out what's going on in that head of his."

Sara took a sip of her drink. "Sounds like normal to me," she observed, but Catherine shook her head.

"It's not like that," she objected. "I know Warrick; hell, we've worked a hundred cases together. But this…nah, there's definitely something up with him. And I've tried, but he just won't talk about it, he keeps shutting me out…" Her voice trailed off as she looked across the table at Sara, who was resting her elbows on the table, propping her chin up on her fists. Her soda was forgotten in front of her, and her gaze was fixed somewhere above and to the left of Catherine's head. Catherine wasn't a betting woman - even if she were, she couldn't afford it with a daughter to raise - but if she were, she'd have bet every last cent in her bank account that Sara hadn't heard a word she'd just said. "Sara?" There was no response, so she tried again. "Sara!"

Second time was the charm, as Sara blinked at her. "Sorry?" Catherine just lifted one eyebrow, and Sara blushed. "Zoned out…sorry."

"Sara…" Catherine drew the name out, a suspicion slowly taking form in her mind. "Do you know something you're not telling me?"

She hadn't taken her eyes off the younger woman, observing her keenly, and she wasn't disappointed. Sara's eyes widened momentarily with what looked very much like alarm before she schooled her features into an impassive mask. "I don't know what you mean," she replied, lifting her drink to her lips.

Anyone else might have believed her, but Catherine had worked as a C.S.I for a long time, and had known her ex-husband for even longer. She knew a bald-faced lie when she saw one. "Sara?" she asked again, leaning forward across the table. "Why are you lying to me?"

***

Sara's heart skipped a beat as Catherine leaned across the table, her eyes narrowed in a suspicious stare. "I'm not lying Catherine," she parried, hoping that the other woman wouldn't notice her hard swallow before she spoke, wouldn't hear the tremor in her voice. It was a vain hope though, as Catherine's lifted eyebrow showed.

"Don't tell me you two had another run in?" There was a hint of exasperation in Catherine's voice, and Sara couldn't say that she blamed her. After all, she and Warrick had hardly had the most harmonious of working relationships to start with, and while they'd made some headway, there was still occasional tension there. It wasn't unusual for the other C.S.Is to worry about the two of them butting heads, and it was the natural conclusion here.

It just happened to be the wrong one.

"No," Sara replied, when it became clear that Catherine expected some kind of response from her.

"C'mon Sara!" A chuckle accompanied Catherine's words, sure proof if proof were needed that she wasn't selling what Sara was buying. "He's walking around like a bear with a sore paw, you're hiding out here, robbing junk food, and when I mention him to you, you get all distant…" Her voice trailed off as something very like understanding lit up her eyes, and she laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, you didn't…"

Sara opened her mouth to deny anything that Catherine might have been thinking, but the rush of heat staining her cheeks stopped her in her tracks. She covered her cheeks with her hands, taking a deep breath, not saying anything, waiting for Catherine to speak again.

"You and Warrick?" The older woman's voice was laced with disbelief, and it was Sara's turn to shake her head.

"There is no me and Warrick Catherine…"

"But there was." Catherine was exhibiting all the behaviour she usually exhibited when she was on the trail of a clue, and there was a wicked grin on her face as she glanced around, checking to see if anyone was around. "I'm right aren't I?" Sara took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling, then back to Catherine. She held her gaze for all of ten seconds before she threw her hands up in the air, then slumped down, resting her head on the table. When she looked up again, Catherine's lips were pursed in a questioning grimace. "I take it that it didn't go well?"

Sara sat up properly, leaning back in her chair, not sure where to begin. "There's hardly anything to tell," she sighed.

"There's enough for it to affect your work," Catherine surmised dryly, but not unkindly.

"Ain't that the truth," muttered Sara.

"You want to talk about it?"

Sara looked hard across the table, not sure if she really wanted to open up to Catherine about this or not. Aside from the fact that Catherine was probably closer to Warrick than to her, Sara really wasn't given to opening up to anybody at all. She preferred to keep her personal life to herself, handle her own problems, without any input from anybody. She'd always found that it was easier that way, not having to rely on another person. She didn't see any reason why she should change her stance now.

Except that she really didn't know how best to handle this. Besides, Catherine did know Warrick better than she did; maybe the other woman would have some advice for her.

"It's ridiculous," she began, shaking her head. "Warrick and I didn't get off to the best of starts, you know that."

Catherine's eyes widened. "Sara, you didn't get off to the best of starts with a lot of us," she pointed out, and Sara had to concede that point. That was what happened when you were brought into a unit to investigate one of their own.

"True. However, I think that we've all managed to move beyond that."

"We have." Catherine took a sip of her drink, waving at her to continue.

"Right." Sara drew the word out, looking towards the television and chairs across the room. "So, a couple of days ago, I was in here, after the shift had ended. Everyone else had gone home, but I'd been working in the lab, and came in here to get some coffee."

"You? Working late?" Catherine couldn't resist the crack, but one look from Sara had her regretting it. "Sorry."

"I was checking the news, trying to see what local TV were saying about the case. And Warrick came in, wanting to check the scores of the games."

Catherine frowned. "You don't think…"

"It was nothing to do with that," Sara said dismissively. "Anyway, they were in the middle of a report that was interesting, and I told him that he'd have to wait. But Mr Impatient didn't want to wait, and tried to grab the remote off me." Her cheeks flamed again at the memory. "So then, I got stubborn, and refused to give it up…God, I can't believe I'm telling you this…"

"You're not stopping now!" Catherine ordered.

Sara grinned. "Anyway, it got very childish…and whatever way he was pulling me, I ended up coming off the chair and landing on the floor. Of course, momentum being the bitch it is, and my grip being just as strong as his, I pulled him down on top of me."

Catherine snorted with laughter. "Well, that's where you wanted him right?"

"One minute I was wondering how many bruises I was going to have the next morning," Sara continued, smiling, but otherwise ignoring the comment. "The next thing I know, we're making out on the floor." She glanced over to the spot in question again, and when she looked back at Catherine, realised that the other woman was doing the same thing. Closing her eyes and rubbing at the bridge of her nose with her hand, Sara asked herself for at least the hundredth time how she got herself into that position in the first place, and moreover, why it was causing her so much grief now. After all, it was just a kiss, albeit long and passionate; they were adults, they should be able to chalk it up to just one of those things and move on, right?

That, of course, she'd discovered on reflection, was the whole problem.

"And?" When she looked at Catherine again, she was literally sitting on the edge of her seat, eyes wide as she stared at Sara. "What happened?"

Sara shrugged. "He pulled away, mumbled something that I think was an apology, and got out of here like his ass was on fire. He hasn't talked to me since."

Silence settled over the table for a moment, and Catherine was the first to break it. "Well, at least we know what's eating him." She broke herself off a piece of chocolate, sliding the rest of the bar across the table. "He hasn't said a thing to you?"

"I might as well not be here," Sara confirmed, crumpling the paper and tossing it into the trash can. "I don't get it…I mean, I know it was a mistake, and that it can't happen again, but he should at least be able to talk to me, right?"

"Unless…" Catherine put an extra seven syllables into the word, leaving it hanging in mid-air, leaving Sara lifting her hands in confusion. "Unless…" Catherine repeated. "He doesn't want it to be a once-off."

"We work together Catherine," Sara protested. "Can you imagine what Grissom would say?"

"You think Grissom would notice?" Catherine snorted. "Besides, you think you two together could be any worse than the way you are right now?"

Sara considered the point before shaking her head again. "We've clashed from day one. I mean, we're better than we were, but we still clash. A lot."

"Chemistry," Catherine said promptly. "Verbal foreplay."

Sara's eyes widened, and she burst out laughing. "You're out of your mind."

Catherine could have laughed; instead she calmly drained the last of her soda before standing up. "Maybe," she said, tossing the can in the trash. "But you haven't denied it."

She was out the door before Sara could come up with a reply to that. And maybe, she reflected, closing her eyes and dropping her head onto the table, that was because there wasn't one.

Catherine did raise a good point, she had to admit. No matter what Grissom's policy on office relationships was - and considering the amount of time he spent with Teri Miller, he couldn't have that much of a problem with them - and no matter how she and Warrick would manage if they did begin to see one another, it couldn't be worse than the last couple of days. Every time he saw Sara, Warrick, never a talker to begin with, became more withdrawn than usual, and for her part, Sara could barely look at him without blushing, remembering how his lips had felt on hers, how his hands had felt against her skin as he worked her shirt up out of her jeans. Immediately thereafter, she would remember the look on his face when he pulled away from her, somewhere between embarrassment and dismay, and her stomach would turn over.

Then there were the other times.

The times over the past couple of days where she'd catch him looking at her, and there'd be an altogether different kind of look on his face, one that caused her stomach to turn over in ways that was far from unpleasant.

She'd be all ready to forget about the whole incident, were it not for those looks.

She heard the door open, then a soft click as it shut, and she stifled a groan. If it was Grissom, he'd probably give her a talking to about heading home when the shift was over. If it was Nick or Greg, they'd probably try to engage her in banter, hoping to bring her out of her bad mood. And if it was Catherine, she'd probably come up with some new notion to torture Sarah with.

Dimly, she became aware that whoever had come in hadn't moved, hadn't said anything.

Which could only mean one thing.

Lifting her head slowly, she looked up into the clear green eyes of Warrick Brown. She swallowed hard against her suddenly dry throat, wishing she had some of her soda left, taking some small consolation in the fact that he looked as uncomfortable as she felt. His hands were on his hips, his lips pursed in concentration, and he was looking right at her as if she was a piece of evidence that he couldn't figure out. "Hey," she finally managed, but that was the extent of her vocal abilities.

He didn't say anything at first, just nodded, then seemed to come to a decision. "We need to talk," was all he said, in a tone that didn't leave any room for negotiation.

Struck dumb, Sara nodded.

"My place. After the shift," Warrick continued.

Again, Sara nodded. "I'll be there."

"Good."

The door clicked shut behind him as he left.

***

The end of the shift hadn't been able to come soon enough for Warrick, and for once in his life, he was out the door as soon as he was officially allowed, heading straight for home. He knew that the place was passably clean; after all, he wasn't there long enough to dirty it, but it wouldn't hurt to double check. Plus, there was the notion running through his head that if he ran into Sara, either she'd cancel, or he would. That wasn't what he wanted.

He wasn't quite sure what he did want though, and that was the problem.

From two people who could barely stand to be in the same room as one another when they'd first met, he and Sara had grown first into colleagues, then into friends, and he'd thought that that was fine with him. If he'd enjoyed spending time with her; if he looked forward to working with her, then he'd never thought of it as anything more than the fact that they just happened to work well together. And when they clashed, he just put it down to the fact that all C.S.Is were apt to disagree with one another from time to time - they were working long hours, unsociable hours, tiredness and irritability were commonplace.

He was starting to wonder though; had been wondering ever since he and Sara got into that silly squabble over the remote control and ended up practically tearing one another's clothes off in the break room.

He'd been the one to put the breaks on, the one to pull away, and he wasn't blind, he hadn't missed the look of hurt and confusion on her face when he stood up. She was probably thinking that he thought it was a mistake, that he'd come to his senses and realised that it wasn't what he wanted.

That would have been a reasonable assumption.

But wrong.

He'd pulled away because the feel of her skin against his hand had brought him back to reality; reminding him who he was, who he was kissing, and where they were.

Whether kissing her in the first place was a good idea was up for debate, although there were certain parts of him that said it was a very good idea. What wasn't up for debate was that kissing her on the floor of the break room was a recipe for disaster.

He'd been prepared to tell her that, but the look in her eyes had silenced him, and he'd just walked, leaving her there. The next morning, he'd expected her to be pissed at him, to corner him and call him on his behaviour, and he hadn't been looking forward to the confrontation. Uncharacteristically for him, he'd avoided her, purposely tried to pretend it never happened.

Instead, it was all that he could think about.

He knew that Sara had noticed it; her studied avoidance of him was proof enough of that. Catherine had been looking at him funny too, asking him if he was all right, and it was only a matter of time before Nick noticed something. He figured he was safe from Grissom though. He was only hoping that he would be able to work it out in his own mind before Catherine put two and two together and made four.

Then he'd walked by the break room earlier and noticed the two of them in there, Catherine leaning across the table, eyes wide, Sara talking to her, cheeks aflame.

You didn't have to be a bright C.S.I to work out what they were talking about.

You didn't even have to be bright.

He'd walked past the room; his urge for coffee suddenly forgotten, and when he'd next heard Catherine talking to Grissom as they walked down the hall, he'd taken a chance and gone back to the break room, finding Sara still there.

"We need to talk," he'd told her, and she'd nodded.

Now he just needed to figure out what he was going to say to her.

Which he wasn't having a lot of luck doing, and he was still trying to work it out when the doorbell rang. Casting one final eye around the place, he went over to answer it, his mind eased only slightly when he saw that if anything, Sara looked even more nervous than he did. Her eyes were wide when he opened the door, hands jammed into the back pocket of her jeans, and the smile she gave him was uncertain to say the least. Giving her a tight grin, the best he could manage, in return, he stepped back, letting her enter the house.

The front door opened directly on to the living room, and he stood back, letting her wander around, taking everything in, from the comfortable couch, to the shelves of DVDs beside the television, to the keyboard in the opposite corner; from the books on the coffee table to the photographs dotted around the room. "This is a nice place," she said finally, turning to face him. "I wasn't sure if I had the address right…"

Warrick shrugged; he got that reaction a lot. "What, you were expecting some bachelor pad like Nick's place?"

She shrugged, and this time, her grin was more what he was used to. "Kinda," she admitted.

"This place used to belong to my Grams," he told her, stepping closer to her.

She blinked in surprise. "Your family's from Vegas?"

"I'm from Vegas," he replied. "Born and raised, in this very house." He looked around the room, trying to see it from her eyes and failing, only remembering his grandmother, and the iron velvet hand she'd kept order with.

"By your grandmother?"

"Yep. Never knew my father, he split before I was born. Mom died when I was six. Car wreck."

"I never knew that," she murmured, so quietly that he almost didn't hear her.

"No reason you should," he observed, not unkindly, but she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, turning away from him. He had the strangest urge to turn her around, physically pull out that bottom lip; tell her that it wasn't anything to worry about, but his body didn't seem to be willing to move.

"You never wanted to move out?" she asked him after a minute. "Get out of here, get away?"

"Considered it," he admitted. "But Grams got sick when I was a senior in high school, heart trouble. I wasn't going to leave her alone, so UNLV had the honour of my presence." She grinned at his words. "Then, when Grams died, I was already pretty settled here." He shrugged. "So I stayed."

She shook her head, looking around the room again, beginning to pace. "I can't imagine staying in one place your entire life. The minute I was eighteen, I was gone…as far away as I could get." She wandered over to the mantelpiece, picking up a photograph. "This your grandmother?"

He came to stand at her shoulder, a smile lighting his face as he looked down at the smiling face of his grandmother staring up at him while he smiled at the camera. It had been his twenty-first birthday, and Grams, never one to be at ease in front of the camera, had insisted on capturing the occasion. "Her work in progress, all grown up and twenty-one," he murmured, remembering the many times she'd said that that day.

She looked up at him when he spoke, and when he took his eyes away from the photo, he realised just how close he was standing to her; close enough to touch her, close enough to kiss her. He saw the knowledge pass behind her eyes too, saw her part her lips slightly before stepping back, putting the photo down carefully, just so. "She's pretty," was all she said.

"Sara-" he began, but she cut him off.

"What are we doing Warrick?"

He considered it for a second, before shaking his head and looking down, his hands on his hips. "Damned if I know," he admitted.

"I mean, this is nuts!" Sara was pacing the room restlessly, hands flying everywhere in agitation. "We work together, we're friends, there's no need for all this…" Her hands gestured at the space between them, roughly half the length of the room.

"Awkwardness?"

"Between us," she finished after he supplied the missing word.

"I agree."

"I mean, we should be able to move past this, put it behind us. It was a one-off; we were working late, we were tired, we were giddy; we put it down to one of those things, and we move on. End of story."

Warrick considered her words, weighing them carefully. On one hand, she was making sense; that was undoubtedly the easier path.

On the other hand, he'd never taken the easier path in his life. Plus, there was a distinct element of the lady protesting too much, not to mention the uncertain look in her eyes. "That what you want?" he asked.

"It's what you want," she pointed out. "You made that quite clear…"

"When?"

"When you were running away like a scared rabbit every time I walked in the room!" Her voice had gotten a little strident there, and she must have realised that, because she screwed shut her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her hand.

"And you think that's what I want. To forget about it?"

"How am I supposed to know Warrick? How am I supposed to know what's going on in your head?" Her voice was defeated, and she dropped down on to the couch, putting her head in her hands. "How am I supposed to know that when I don't even know what kind of house you live in? Or that you're a Vegas native, or that you play the piano!" She gestured with one hand to the keyboard in the corner, then stared up at him. "There are times when I feel like I don't know you at all."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you want to?" he asked.

She didn't speak, didn't nod, didn't move a muscle, just kept staring at him.

He took a deep breath, wanting to tell her what was on his mind, what was in his heart, but he didn't know how to find the words. "I'm not good at this," he told her, and there was a harsh laugh in response.

"That's two of us then." He looked over at her, a picture of rueful amusement, then an idea occurred to him.

"Mind if I play something?"

She started a little, taken aback, but she nodded, and he headed straight for the keyboard, sitting down on the stool, his back to her. "You any good?" she asked, with a smirk in her voice, and he was glad that she couldn't see his expression.

"I get by." Thanks to Grams and her insistence on hours of practice and lessons, believing that it would teach him discipline and concentration. His fingers ran over the keys idly at first, getting used to the feel - it had been a while since he played, and he didn't want to foul this up. Finally, he began to play, and then, to sing.

When you came in my life you changed my world,
My Sarah.
Everything seemed so right my precious girl
My Sarah.
You are all I want to know
You hold my heart so don't let go
You are all I need to live
My love to you I'll give.

When you begin to smile you change my style,
My Sarah.
When I look in your eyes I see my prize,
My Sarah.
You are all I want to know,
You hold my heart so don't let go,
You are all I need to live
My love to you I'll give.

He was lost in the music, and in the words of the song, and he didn't hear her standing, didn't know what she was doing until he sensed her behind him. Then he felt her two hands resting gently on his shoulders, warm even through the material of his shirt, and he smiled, but he didn't stop singing.

You are all I want to know
Oh my Sarah
Don't let go oh no
My Sarah

You are all I want to know.
You hold my heart so don't let go
You are all I need to live
My love to you I'll always give.
You are all I want to know
You hold my heart so don't let go
You are all I want to know

Sarah
Be mine

When the last notes finished echoing through the living room, she dropped her hands from his shoulders and he swivelled on the stool to face her. Looking up at her, he noted that her eyes seemed rather more red than tiredness might account for, and that the smile she was giving him was wobblier than he'd ever seen. "You wrote that?" she asked, eyes wide in disbelief, and a definite catch in her voice.

He wanted to say yes; he wanted to tell her that he wrote it for her. Instead, he decided that honesty was the best policy. "Borrowed it," he admitted. "But the feelings…they're all mine."

She nodded slowly, and her hands returned to his shoulders. "It's nice," she whispered. "If you like that kind of thing."

He lifted an eyebrow, resting his hands on her hips. "And how do you feel about -"

She leaned down, cutting off his words with some of her own. "How do you think?" Then her lips met his, and just like in the break room a couple of nights earlier, he forgot about who he was and who she was and where they were.

He was once more brought back to reality by the feel of her skin underneath his hands, and he pulled away from her, finding that they'd managed to arrange themselves so that she was straddling his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, his arms around her waist. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, tucking an errant strand of hair back behind her ear, smiling before he spoke. "You know, there's a lot of reasons why we shouldn't do this," he murmured, not wanting to raise the notion, but knowing he had to before they went any further.

"I know." Her voice was just as quiet as his. "But there's just as many reasons we should."

He couldn't help but chuckle, both at the simplicity of her argument, and the way she pressed herself against him when she made it. "You're a stubborn little thing, aren't you?"

"You wouldn't want me any other way," she told him smugly, and he had to admit that she had a point. She looked past him then, to the keyboard, and tilted her head. "Will you play it again?" she asked winsomely, and he pulled her to him again.

"Later," he promised.

It was much later when she stirred against him, lifting her head from the pillow of his shoulder, looking up at him through drowsy eyes. "You never played the song for me again," she reminded him, a teasing pout finding its way to her face.

"I'll improvise," he told her, and she'd frowned, not understanding until his fingers began to tap against her skin, finding the notes as if on the keyboard, and he sang the lyrics softly, slowly, lulling them both to sleep.

You are all I want to know.
You hold my heart so don't let go
You are all I need to live
My love to you I'll always give.
You are all I want to know
You hold my heart so don't let go
You are all I want to know

Sarah
Be mine