Given Wings, We Will Fly

by subobscura

Someday, they will fly away together.

Given Wings, We Will Fly

Author: subobscura

Spoilers: Up to and including Grave Danger. Maybe Season 6 eps as they air.

Rating: M, to be safe.

Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. Hey, I LIKE being poor.

Pairings: N/S. Don't like it, you don't have to read.

Summary: Someday, they will fly away together.

Archive: Ask

Chapter 1: Man of Constant Sorrow

The morning sun was just beginning to crest over the Vegas skyline, washing the room in fiery gold, when the doorbell rang.

Nicky, who'd been sitting at the kitchen table contemplating his spare sidearm, flinched at the noise and wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow. When the bell sounded again, he yelled, "Just a minute." Scraping his chair back from the table he stood, and with an ease born of practice, popped the magazine and checked the number of rounds. With one chambered and the others accounted for, he re-mantled his weapon and replaced it in the makeshift holster attached to the underside of the table. Then he walked over to the door, sighed and turned the knob, knowing he wouldn't want to see who was on the other side.

"Whatever you're selling, I don't want…," he trailed off, because to his surprise, there stood Sara Sidle shifting from one foot to the other, her eyes hidden by her sunglasses. Over her shoulder hung a duffel bag, and the crook of her arm supported a paper grocery bag, straining dangerously close to the point of breaking. In one hand she had a boom-box, and in the other, a takeout tray with two coffee cups.

He stared at her and gaped before she offered, "Hey Nick. Long time no see, man. Uh sorry I rang twice, but this shit is heavy. Mind if I come in?" During this last, she pushed herself through his door, displacing him in her wake.

After sighing in frustration, Nick closed the door, and strode over to Sara taking the tray and CD player from her hands before disaster could ensue. Not that it mattered much. Pushing her glasses up on her head, Sara turned to him with a grim smile.

"Wow, Nicky. Love what you've done with the place."

The gentle cowboy was in trouble, this much she could surmise. Entering his small home, the first thing she noticed was the smell; garbage, and sweat, and fear. This was the smell of a crime scene waiting to happen. Pizza and Chinese takeout boxes along with beer bottles, trash and dishes littered most available surfaces. The most obvious signs of destruction were the piles of plaster, insulation, and sheeting that Nicky hadn't bothered to clean up when he took to his walls with a sledgehammer. He hadn't finished the job, and now there were gaping holes with exposed studs, and plaster and chalk dust had covered his furniture in a fine snow. The offending tool leaned innocuously against the couch. Sara was cast back to a long-ago case, but those had been different circumstances, a different man altogether. She was happy to let sleeping dogs lie.

She raised an inquiring eyebrow at the man who stood before her, drawn and gaunt, a poorly cast reflection of their sweet Nick. She thought only of Before and After now. When he had been buried in a plastic box, he had drawn a stark demarcation in all of their lives, whether he intended to or not. The only event that mattered now was the night Nicky Stokes had been shattered.

He shrugged, and set the coffee and boom-box down on the kitchen island, knocking a few bottles over in the process. Clearing his throat, he drawled, "Well, Sara, the walls. Um, I guess they were bothering me. I felt, um, I felt kind of," he paused, at a loss. "Trapped, I suppose." He cast down his eyes.

Her heart broke, for only the five hundredth time that day.

Nick was uncomfortable with her presence here, and humiliated that she had caught him off-guard, vulnerable. Another insult added to his endless list of injuries. He had been unable to come up with a convincing lie, and anyway, it would have been obvious that he was falling apart within the confines of his own four walls.

For the first month after his burial, he had been unable to sleep in the dark or under bright lights, finally resorting to lighting dozens of candles as his nightly ritual. They cast a soft warm glow, but sometimes, in his most ghoulish moments, he wondered if he had risen as a vampire, a man not dead, but also not alive. During that month, he had been incapable of spending more than a half hour alone, something he had found keenly embarrassing. Not that he had much of a choice. Swing and Graveyard had established a permanent presence in his home, territory staked out by forensics journals, ipods, gameboys, and all manner of books, magazines, movies, and newspapers.

Exactly 30 days after Grissom and Warrick had clasped his hands while he laid in his would-be grave, weeping from terror and confusion and pain, Nicky knew he needed to kick them out. He had always been a private man, in that sense, especially since Nigel Crane, and having Warrick sulking around barely able to look him in the eye or Grissom prattle on about bugs or Shakespeare or film noir in soft and conciliatory tones made his toes curl in his shoes. Some days, it was all he could do to keep from walking away, never once looking back.

That was mid-June. His first idea as a free man had been to hit the open road, to ameliorate his claustrophobia that he found had finally overwhelmed him. So he packed up the Tahoe with a pup-tent and a week's worth of supplies, intent on regaining his rusty back-country skills. He turned the car on, and immediately the twangy strains of "Lucky Too" filled the cab.

Gasping for air, he stabbed the power button on the radio, opened the door, and vomited on the sidewalk until all he could do was dry heave. Apparently, once his truck had been returned from impound, they had cleaned up the powder and gotten the luminol out of the upholstery, but they hadn't taken the CD out of the player.

After recovering and spitting water out on the lawn to rid his mouth of the foul taste, he ejected the disc and crushed it under his boot heel. He would forever and always despise Bob Neuwirth and Theresa and her lucky streak.

Determined to carry through his plans, he got back in, buckled up, and steered the Tahoe out of the city limits- leaving the lights and the noise behind. Instead of country, he turned on the pounding bass of System of a Down, rolled own the windows to let the cold desert air fill him, and took the winding curves of the Nevada foothills twenty miles per hour too fast.

Once he had pitched his tent and ensured that the Coleman lantern he had brought would last through the night, he lay down and threw his arm over his eyes. He munched on a granola bar and listened to the roll and hum of the cicadas mingling with the quiet rumble of far away big rigs. He had drifted into the blackness that precedes deep sleep when he felt a light touch on his arm. He withdrew his arm, and squinted one eye, observing a small black ant trekking away with a granola crumb prize.

He came out of it half an hour later and a mile away from his tent, his chest heaving and tears streaming down his face crouched in front of an old and tangled tree. He screamed then, and heard the flutter of startled wings lift up and away.

He hiked back to the campsite, following the dim light of the lantern. He packed up the Tahoe and sped back home, back to Vegas. He arrived just as the digital clock read twelve, the witching hour. Though he longed for the company of Warrick, Sara, or even Greg, he knew they were just settling into their cases for the night, and his pride wouldn't let him call them back after just having sent them away.

Instead he dropped his gear in the middle of the living room, where two weeks later it still sat. He fell into bed then, pushing his boots off with his toes. He pointed the stereo remote over his shoulder, and turned on the radio. Billie Holiday was in the middle of singing about a weeping willow.

Willow, weep for me

Willow, weep for me

Bend your branches green, along the stream that runs to sea.

Listen to my plea, hear me willow,

And weep for me.

Nicky began to cry, exhausted yet resigned to another sleepless night spent staring at the ceiling waiting for dawn to overtake him.

A/N: This is going to be a long one folks. Feedback is appreciated. Full lyrics for Man of Constant Sorrow, Lucky Too, and Willow, Weep for Me below.

I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrow
Norman Blake

I am a man of constant sorrow
I've seen trouble all my day.
I bid farewell to old Kentucky
The place where I was born and raised.
(The place where he was born and raised )

For six long years I've been in trouble
No pleasures here on earth I found
For in this world I'm bound to ramble
I have no friends to help me now.

(chorus) He has no friends to help him now

It's fare thee well my old lover
I never expect to see you again
For I'm bound to ride that northern railroad
Perhaps I'll die upon this train.

(chorus) Perhaps he'll die upon this train.

You can bury me in some deep valley
For many years where I may lay
Then you may learn to love another
While I am sleeping in my grave.

(chorus) While he is sleeping in his grave.

Maybe your friends think I'm just a stranger
My face you'll never see no more.
But there is one promise that is given
I'll meet you on God's golden shore.

(chorus) He'll meet you on God's golden shore.

Lucky Too

Bob Neuwirth

It was Christmas in Las Vegas

When the locals take the town

Theresa hit a streak

And laid her waitress apron down

She was playing penny poker

Over at the old Gold Spike

She tired of Texas Hold 'Em

So she switched to Let it Ride

Then over on Fremont Street

Six bits won her a car

She rode it up the strip to where

The flashy hotels are

First she hit a royal,

Not a dirty one this time

And then she drew four deuces

And then five wilds

Then hundred dollar home run

Three coin red, white, and blue

Then double jackpots

And Double diamonds

And both progressives too

Six buck black gold

Six times in a row

Then blazing seven seven times

So the story goes

She even hit Big Bertha

Five grand for just one coin

She placed it on a parlay

She took the cowboys and the points

She took the niners and the overs

She took the unders and the jets

She took the whole college schedule

And she won every bet

She picked the six in powerball

And called the super bowl

She had the Triple Crown

Win, Place, and Show

At baccarat and black jack

She could not seem to lose

At French roulette

She pressed her bet four times on 32

She held the dice forever

At least it seemed that way

She won a million dollars

Then she walked away

It was Christmas in Las Vegas

When the locals own the town

Theresa hit a streak

And laid her waitress apron down

In her room after New Years

At the Thunder Bird Hotel

On the back of a winning Keno card

They found this living will

My friends get all my money

May they always have enough

To my enemies, I leave my luck

Maybe not quite so tough

The dealers get my bones boys

Keep them on a roll

The devil has had my body,

Now may the good Lord take my soul

So do not try to find me

For I will not be found

I'm gonna keep this streak alive

I'm headed out of town

It was Christams time in Vegas

When the locals own the town

Theresa hit that streak

And laid her waitress apron down

…And they always called her lucky.

Willow, Weep for Me

Willow weep for me
Willow weep for me
Bend your branches green along the stream that runs to sea
Listen to my plea
Hear me willow and weep for me

Gone my lovers dream
Lovely summer dream
Gone and left me here to weep my tears into the stream
Sad as I can be
Hear me willow and weep for me

Whisper to the wind and say that love has sinned
To leave my heart a-breaking, and making a moan
Murmur to the night to hide her starry light
So none will find me sighing and crying all alone

Oh, Weeping willow tree
Weep in sympathy
Bend your branches down along the ground and cover me
When the shadows fall, hear me willow and weep for me

Title: Given Wings, We Will Fly

Author: subobscura

See chapter 1 for full heading

A/N: You won't understand if you don't read from the beginning. Go on. Fine. But I warned you.

Chapter 2: The Celestial Shore

Nick turned fully to the woman standing before him, his shoulders slumping as he did so. "What are you doing here, Sar?" His tone held impatience, and a hint of resignation, but she was not to be put off.

She smiled at him, though it never quite reached her eyes. She shrugged, her shoulders catching on a hitch, and her chin betraying a slight quiver before she dropped her bags and faced away from him again. The sight of him was too much to bear.

"I missed you Nicky. We all do," she amended. "We've done our best to leave you alone like you asked. But," she let out a huff. "I guess I can't stay away from your southern charm." She turned then to see the look in his eyes, searching for a hint of playfulness in her friend, but he was staring at the floor a few inches in front of her feet. She went on. "There's a hazelnut latte there with your name written all over it. With whip though. Mine's the one with the lipstick on the rim. I guess I couldn't wait for the caffeine buzz, and Greg wasn't sharing this morning. Shift was a killer tonight," she trailed off realizing she was babbling. Then she remembered her last sentence and decided she needed permanent foot to mouth implantation.

Nick, for his part, didn't acknowledge the gaff, and instead offered quiet thanks, but made no move to take the cup. She knew then, that he was broken, perhaps beyond repair. Her brilliant, courageous, ebullient friend had been reduced to a shadow, a stranger who stood before her as a man in limbo.

Her resolve strengthened. This was a place she understood now. She could see a look, a feeling in him that she recognized as her own. She had been lost in her own wilderness these past few years, but suddenly she had reserves of strength that he needed to rely upon. She held no malice in her heart. She only wanted to be for him the person she had never had. She reached for his hand, her newborn kindred soul.

"C'mere Cowboy. Come sit on the couch with me."

Nick didn't pull away, but instead held onto her hand like a man drowning. Which, she supposed he was. She grabbed the coffee tray with her other hand and turned, leading them to the soft plushy leather couch, now gray instead of black. She sank into it, and pulled Nick down next to her, flush against her body, sharing her heat. He shivered and reached for his coffee then. Sara smiled at this slight improvement, and took a sip of her own. Savoring it like a fine wine, she swirled it around her tongue before swallowing, letting it warm a path to her belly. She gathered her courage and let the peace of the room surround her. Though this was Nick's prison, it still was the external embodiment of him, and he had never done her wrong. She was ready to take their first step in what she vaguely sensed may be a long journey. For now, she would carry him.

"So, tell me what's wrong today."

He let out a bitter laugh. "Do you really think you have time for my whole life story, Sidle?"

"Always, sweetheart. But you're right. It was a stupid question. Grissom told me you missed your last two counseling sessions."

"Last time I checked, the only degree you have that starts with a –ph is physics."

She threw her sunglasses on the coffee table, and swiped back her hair, frustrated. This wasn't at all how she'd imagined this would go.

She tried a different approach.

"Nicky, I know we've been friends to varying degrees, for what? Five years now? Mostly not so much this year, but that's my fault. I've been caught up in my own problems, and I really didn't make as much of an effort as I could have after the team split. But I want you to know that I have never forgotten or taken your friendship for granted. And I wanted to tell you that I understand where you're at right now, what kind of pain you're in." She took a deep breath and another sip of latte, steeling herself for the conversational minefield ahead.

"How Sara, how can you possibly know?" There was no reproach in his voice. Just pleading, as if she might be able to throw him a life preserver. To him, his circumstances were one of a kind. He would always be apart, separate now, forever inside that plastic box.

"Well, Nicky, it's like this. God this is hard." She paused to swipe an angry hand across her face, denying tears that had escaped despite her best efforts. It was time to be strong for someone else. "When I was fourteen, I was going on foster family number three. I mean, in some ways, I was such a good kid. Awesome grades, obedient most of the time. But I was so, so angry. And that would sometimes come out inappropriately. So Matt and Rhoda had me that year, after I wore out the first two couples. And when you're that age, you make due with the people you get. Everyone wants babies, not fucked up teenagers with dead fathers and crazy mothers. Anyway," she continued, her voice getting lower and growing huskier.

"I came home from school one day, and Rhoda was pissed because I hadn't done the fifteen chores she asked me to do before the bus came that morning. And something inside me just snapped. We got into this screaming match right there in the kitchen. Some ugly things were said.

"Just then, Matt came into the kitchen and pulled me around by my arm. Took it clean out of the socket. That's how I got into to yoga originally. Training my joints so they'd stay in place after they were so busted up. So, then he smacked me hard across the face. Broke my nose in two places. God, there was blood everywhere." She hunched over and was crying openly now. Her side was still in contact with Nick, and he was listening intently, not interrupting. His head rested in his hands, with his arms propped on his knees. After a moment, she gathered herself, and continued.

"So there was this hall closet that locked. The door was old and scarred and pretty heavy, and anyway, I was completely out of it by then. He dragged me over and threw me in. I landed hard on my broken shoulder, and passed out from the pain."

She gasped and threw her arm around Nick for support. "The click of that lock was a death sentence for me, Nicky. It was so dark, and I was so scared when I woke up. I didn't have room to sit up, or move around, or even get any leverage to push at the door.

Her voice turned flat, then. "I stayed in there three days and three nights with no sight of food, water, or light. I knew I was going to die in there. I started hallucinating from the dehydration and the pain. I dreamt that my soul was bird, and that when I died I would be free. That I'd fly away. I didn't even care, the pain was finally going to end. I could leave my sad existence on earth. I thought maybe it was all for the best." She stopped then, and gulped down her tears.

Nick bowed his head, before turning and looking down at her intently. They stared each other in the eye, pain radiating from each of them. "What happened," he asked. "How did you get out?"

She clasped his hands then, and she was reminded of his unearthing, him clinging to life. Both of them had held on until the end.

"The impossible happened. My case worker came by for a random check. Rhoda couldn't explain where I was, and anyway, the lazy bitch hadn't bothered to clean up the blood. Janna called the cops. They found me, out of my head delirious, and I went to the hospital. They said a few more hours and I would have died. Matt, that son of a bitch, he blamed me on the stand. Said I was violent and unruly. He was disciplining me. There's a special kind of hell for people like him."

Nick looked up at the vehemence in her voice.

"I'm sorry all that stuff happened to you, Sar."

She cut him off, in control of her emotions now. "Don't be, sweetheart. It's gone now, many years in the past. I just wanted you to know that I can relate. Fate dealt me such a shitty hand, events that were completely out of my control. But fate saved me too."

"I don't know if it was fate, darlin'. But whatever, or whoever it was, I'm grateful to them for giving me such a beautiful friend." He squeezed her hand then, and gently pushed a strand of hair behind her ears. He started shivering.

"I'm so cold all the time now." She could barely make out his words. "In there, I was so hot, I was burning up, and then with the, with the ants I was on fire. But now I can never get warm." A single tear fell from the corner of his dark eyes, sliding over his laugh lines and catching on his strong jaw. "I'm so tired Sar. I haven't slept hardly at all since you guys found me. I don't know what to do anymore."

She wrapped her arms around him then, leaned into him. She turned her head, and laid it on his shoulder. "Shhh, shhh, Nicky baby. I'm here. I'm right here. I'll always be here. Will you let me take care of you, Nicky?" He let his weight lean on her, and he rested his chin on her head. He nodded vigorously, clearly too overwhelmed with emotion to speak.

"Here, lie down with me."

The soft leather couch was wide enough to hold them both comfortably, with her on her back and him on his side with his head on her breast and one arm wrapped around her waist. She lay there, feeling the breath moving in and out of chest. She ran her hand up and down his bicep, marveling at its solid muscular warmth. He was so alive, so full of vitality, that if he were light, she would have to shield her eyes. He was still here.

"Stop feeling me up, Sidle." She started, but she could hear the smile in his voice, and feel it against her breast bone. He sniffed then, and relaxed into her. She concentrated on her breathing, matching it to his. Dust motes floated on lazy paths, winking when they caught the mid-morning sun that bathed them in a dream-like glow. Traffic whispered by on the street. A dog barked. Somewhere, children laughed, and a little girl screamed not from terror, but from joy. She was almost asleep when Nick spoke again.

"Sar, sing me a song." She could deny him nothing, and so she began.

Some bright morning when this life is o'er,
I'll fly away;
To that home on God's celestial shore,
I'll fly away

I'll fly away, Oh Glory
I'll fly away; in the morning
When I die, Hallelujah, by and by,
I'll fly away

When the shadows of this life have gone,
I'll fly away;
Like a bird from these prison walls I'll fly,
I'll fly away Oh how glad and happy when we meet
I'll fly away
No more cold iron shackles on my feet
I'll fly away.Just a few more weary days and then,
I'll fly away;
To a land where joys will never end,
I'll fly away.

I'll fly away, Oh Glory
I'll fly away, in the morning
When I die, Hallelujah, by and by,
I'll fly away

When she finished, her words almost silent, his breathing was deep and even. She curled in and touched her lips to his forehead. She turned her head towards him, and rested her weary soul.

A/N: The song Sara sings is I'll Fly Away by Alison Krauss and Gillian Welsh. Feedback welcome and appreciated.