Author's Note: This is my first CSI fic, so please be kind with the reviews. It was inspired in part by A Fine Frenzy's "Almost Lover" (a fantastic song, IMHO). It's just a little Snickers oneshot, telling how Nick is the one who rescues Sara from her season finale plight, and how he feels about her. Very angst-y, not at all forensics-y. I do better with angst/romance kind of things, anyway...but I digress. Reviews loved. I beg of you, no flames. They're really not necesscary.
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI, or any part of the CSI franchise.
He sat by her side for thirty-six hours straight. Well, of course, he'd had to leave a few times: food, bathroom, water, just to stretch his legs. And for a day and a half, he'd sat by her bedside in the intensive care unit, holding her hand, talking to her, hoping she would wake up soon. He sat so long, he knew each nurse's name, and the times of each of their shifts. He knew the doctor was married with three kids he barely got to see because of his work schedule. And he knew that if he was here when Sara finally woke up, maybe something good would finally happen.
Besides, he knew what she'd been through; he'd had a close brush with death himself. And he had been the one to finally put the pieces together, to figure out the mystery, to find Sara on the brink of death, but still breathing, still holding on, still fighting. He had been the one to rescue her. And, if all went as planned, he would be the one with her when she woke up.
Yes, there was something going on between her and Grissom. But it couldn't have been that serious. They didn't even seem like a couple, at least not from what he'd seen. And when he told her that it had been he who had sat with her for a day and a half, he who had watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing, he who had missed work despite complaints from both Catherine and Grissom, well, she couldn't just forget something like that.
The hour grew late, the second day of his vigil coming to a close. The doctor and nurses were beginning to worry about him; he barely ate, barely slept, thought of nothing but his injured friend. Eventually, the doctor told him gently that there had been no change in awhile, that there would be no change, at least not for a few more hours. He should go home, get some rest, before he ended up in the hospital, too.
He resisted at first. What if he left, and she woke up? What if he left, and she didn't? What is he left, and they discovered she never would? No. He would stay. He wanted all the news firsthand, be it good or bad.
But he was tired. He was hungry. His legs and back ached. His eyes hurt. Yes, he would leave. But just for a few hours. Two, maybe three. Four hours, tops. Time enough to shower, to sleep in his own bed, to down a bottle of Advil, and to come back.
He left. He did as he'd planned, returning in four hours, as promised. He bought a bouquet of flowers from the gift shop in the lobby, then rode the elevator up to the third floor. Maybe she couldn't appreciate them now, but she would, eventually. The nurses on duty greeted him with smiles, the doctor told him things were looking good, the best they had in days. She would probably wake up any minute now.
He hurried down the hall at a quick trot. Any minute now, she could wake up. Any minute now, she could finally realize how he felt about her. Any minute now, his secret passion could be revealed. Any minute now, he could finally be happy.
The intensive care unit walls were made of glass. He glanced through the panes, flowers in hand, and froze at the entrance to the ward. Someone had taken his place, holding the hand he'd barely let go of for almost two days, watching the monitors his eyes had scanned for some change for hours on end. Grissom. Sitting in his chair. Watching Sara's slow, steady breathing. Stroking her hand with his thumb.
None of this was right. While he went home for some much-deserved rest, his plan had been thwarted. By his boss, no less. Two days of his life, forty-eight hours he'd never get back, every moment, second, every breath, wasted. All his care, worry, angst, now worthless as an unsigned paycheck.
Her eyes opened.
She blinked, once, twice, taking in the scenery. Hospital bed. Heart monitors. Oxygen stats. Stark, white hospital walls, and sheets to match. Grissom. Her eyes locked on his, and she managed a weak smile, which he returned. Nick couldn't hear what she said, but read her lips as she murmured something faintly to Grissom: "Thank you for being here."
His arm fell to his side, the flowers pressing gently against his thigh. All his hope, gone. Dreams, dashed. Plans for the future, now null and void. He stood, rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes from the sight before him. Finally, he forced one foot forward, then placed the other in front of it. Soon, he was walking at a slow, steady pace down the hall, the same rhythm of Sara's unconscious breathing. He passed a large garbage can, and dropped the flowers into it. Everything was ruined. Sara would get better, she'd come back to work. She and Grissom would be together, while he was stuck on the sidelines, watching, waiting, wanting, wishing.
He could do something angst-y and insane, like resign. Or go on a hunger strike until she'd stop fawning over Grissom and recognize what he felt for her. He could just stop showing up for work, stop answering the phone, stop checking his e-mail, stop living his life. But, no; he was smarter than that. None of that would make her feel for him the way he felt for her. She wasn't worth starving himself over.
The elevator dinged quietly, and the doors slid open. He boarded the lift, pressed the "L" button for the lobby, watched the doors slide shut. He rode down, his mind now strangely silent and calm. The doors opened again, and he stepped off, making way for a family going up to visit a new baby. He crossed the hospital lobby and exited the building, stepping out into the warm Nevada sunshine. Turning back to face the building looming tall before him, he nodded slightly at it before moving off.
Goodbye, Sara.