Author's Note: The Nick/Sara saga comes to a close! And I'm pretty sure everyone will be happy with the result : ) This one was inspired in part by another A Fine Frenzy song, "Hope for the Hopeless." (Sheesh, they should be paying me for all this free advertising!) Anywho, don't forget to review and lemme know what you think.
Disclaimer: I do not own even a small speck of CSI, or the characters therein. To write this story (NOT for monetary gain), I merely borrowed a few of them, and ya can't sue me for that. So there.
Now what was he doing, parked across the street from her apartment building at this hour, avoiding her eyes, pretending he hadn't seen her, making like he was ready to drive away while he looked lost in thought? She hadn't seen or heard from him since before...well, before the murder attempt on her life, a bump on the road of life she liked to refer to as simply "the incident." If she didn't make too big a deal about it, maybe she would be able to forget about it. Or at least get rid of those damn nightmares she had every night.
She walked down the steps, paused at the curb, and glanced up and down the empty street. Not a car in sight, at least, not yet. Give it half an hour or so, and the street would be flooded with cars and people alike, everyone in a mad rush to get to work, or school, or to get the kids dropped off at school so they could go to work.
She took her time crossing the street, leaned over, and rapped on his window, startling him out of the thoughts that, judging by the thoughtful scowl on his face, were of the very deep/pseudo-philosophical sort. He whipped his head around, locking his eyes on hers, face slowly shifting from deep thought to something like pleasure, then settling into calm indifference as he rolled down the car window.
"Are you my new stalker?" she joked, grinning widely, a grin he'd melted over so many times before, a grin that, now, seemed to be taunting him.
He shook his head and looked away. At least he hadn't started to cry; that would have been embarrassing. But the day was still young, and he was sure tears would come eventually; he had resigned himself to that fact already. Just as long as he could make it through the day without a breakdown.
"Come on, Nick, talk to me," she prodded gently. Something had him extremely distressed...no, the better word was depressed. And she didn't like to see him like this. She had been looking forward to coming back to work especially because of the chance to see him again, talk to him, ask him some things. Because most nights, in one of her better dreams, she remembered hearing his voice, encouraging her to pull through, praying that she would be all right...even declaring his love. She had to know what was up, so that she could find out what she really wanted to know: had he been at her bedside the entire time she was unconscious? And were the words she heard the dream-Nick speak almost every night the same things he'd whispered to her in real life? "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he forced himself to reply, when all he really wanted to do was pour out his heart to her. "I just figured I'd swing by and offer you a ride, it being your first day back on the job, and all."
"Oh, thanks." She smiled again, and he found himself smiling back, caught up in the moment. Seeing her happy made him happy, too, especially since, apparently, he was the one making her smile. Sara nodded, glad to see him smile, glad to see a bit of the Nick Stokes she knew fight through the blizzard of his sadness, and added, "That would be nice."
"Really?" he croaked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice, then hurriedly unhooked his seatbelt, took the keys from the ignition, slid them into his pocket, and exited the car. Jogging around the front of the car to the other side, he unlocked the passenger side door and swung it open, gripping the door for strength and support. I'm a Southern gentleman, I'm a Southern gentleman, he repeated to himself silently, over and over again, the short declaration becoming his new personal mantra, a second, much-needed wave of confidence sweeping over him. I'm a Southern gentleman...and no woman can resist that.
He grinned fully as Sara came around the back of the car, murmured a quick, slightly puzzled, "Thanks," then climbed in and settled into the passenger seat. He slammed the door shut once she was ready to go, hurried back to the driver's side, climbed back into the car, replaced the key in the ignition, and hesitated. If he drove away now, they would start talking about everyday, mundane things, just to fill the awkward silence he could already feel building between them: the weather, TV shows, cases she'd missed. Small talk. Casual conversation. In short, they'd talk about nothing. On the other hand, he could start talking now, simply say, "Something is wrong," or, "I have to talk to you," or some other equally obvious lead-in to serious discussion. He could start talking, slowly pull away from the curb. They'd be so absorbed in talking to each other, listening to each other, she wouldn't notice if it took them a little longer to get to work, or if he took a wrong turn off the highway and they ended up just driving around and talking and listening and never made it to work at all.
She, in the meantime, noted his hesitation, an apprehension to start the car, to start the drive to work, to start the work day itself. To face everyone else at the lab, perhaps. She didn't know for sure, didn't know if she ever would, but slowly, she reached a hand out and laid it over his own, entwining her fingers with his. After weeks of being treated like glass, it felt nice to be the one giving the comfort for a change, to be the strength for someone else. "Want to talk about it?"
"About what?" he inquired, trying (and failing) to sound baffled. He knew he should be pulling his hand away, knew it was absurd for him to go on entertaining his hopeless dream, to go on believing Sara would ever feel for him what he felt for her. But no matter how many times he told himself what they were doing was wrong, what it could lead to would only cause more heartache, he couldn't deny how damn right it all felt, her fingers interlaced with his own, her gentle tone probing for information, for a way to make his pain go away, her eyes on his face, boring through his flesh and bone and, maybe, all the way down to his soul.
She sighed. "About whatever's making you feel...however you're feeling." She frowned, gripping his hand tighter, and said, "Something not right, Nick, and I can't understand why you won't clue me in."
"I can't tell you," he replied. "It's not right. I should be the one asking how you are..."
"I'm fine," she insisted without much conviction. Because yes, physically, she was completely healthy. But mentally, emotionally, psychologically...she wasn't sure she'd ever heal. She waited for him to say something. He didn't. She looked away, stared out the window, leaving her hand where it was. She didn't protest when he gently slid his hand out from under hers, then took her hand back in both of his. Staring out the front windshield at the far-off horizon, she said, "Dreams are weird, aren't they? I mean, sometimes they're totally crazy, right? A complete fantasy. Some magical land with castles and knights in shining armor and talking animals. Just random images your mind comes up with and throws together while you sleep. And sometimes, you don't remember anything when you're awake, but your mind still took in all these experiences and sounds and images, and you only think of them when you fall into a really deep sleep.
"The point of this is, I've been having a lot of dreams lately. Nightmares, mostly. But sometimes, I have a good night's sleep, and I have a few recurring dreams. Most of them are completely black, totally darkness. But out of the dark, I hear a voice. And this voice is telling me that I'll be okay, that I'm a fighter, and I'll survive. The voice is praying sometimes. Begging that I'll pull through, bargaining with God, or whoever, to let me live. And this voice, this guy in my dreams, he's telling me how important I am to him, how much he loves me, how much I mean to him." She glanced at Nick for a reaction. He was just sitting there, watching her talk, clasping her hand in both of his...but there were tears in his eyes. Slowly, she asked, "You were with me, weren't you? The whole time I was in the hospital, you were there."
He nodded. "I was," he told her, his voice cracking. "Cath and Warrick and Greg showed up sometimes, too. I went home for a little while one day, just to get some sleep, and while I was gone, Grissom came." He sighed wearily and looked away. "He must've gotten there just before you woke up. I...I saw you wake up," he added. "I was coming back to see you, but he was already there, and you opened your eyes...and you thanked him for being there."
"I didn't know," she cut in. "I'm sorry."
"I know. You couldn't have." He looked up again, meeting her eyes and letting a small smile flicker across his lips. "I meant everything I said."
"I know," she said quietly, and they fell into a long, contemplative silence again. Finally, she said, "I have this other dream...I must have been semi-conscious when I was rescued. I'm lying in the sand, hoping I'll be saved, but beginning to doubt anyone will ever find me, even if I do have the best CSIs in the country looking for me." She smiled wanly, then continued, "Then suddenly, there's someone there, whispering my name, and shouting to someone else that he found me. And eventually, the car's off me, and I'm on my back, blinking up at the night sky while more people are coming with searchlights, and everyone's talking and hurrying around...except one. The person who found me is right there the whole time, talking to me and stroking my hair." She smiled, touching her free hand to her head lightly, remembering his hand as it slid gently down her blood-soaked, sand-covered hair, uncaring of the grit and grim. "I'm still in pain, but he makes it a little better. Then finally, he lifts me off the ground and carries me to the ambulance, and rides with me to the hospital...or, I'd assume he goes all the way to the hospital, because I black out after a few minutes." A few seconds ticked by, time enough for her to gather her thoughts, to study the face of her rescuer. "You saved me."
He nodded. Finally, she knew the truth. Everything he'd wanted to tell her had been revealed in her dreams, evry word, every touch, every wish and hope and lament. But none of it really mattered unless he said it aloud to her, at that very moment, did it?
"I love you, Sara," he said quietly, and that summed up all he'd ever whispered to her, whether the words had been spoken at her hospital bedside or into the darkness of a lonely midnight when he pretended she was there beside him, like he felt she should be. "I know you're with Grissom right now, and my telling you this will probably just complicate things...but I wanted you to know. I've wanted you to know for a while now, but I couldn't get up the nerve."
There was a pause, a few seconds of silence that stretched into an eternity. "We're not together," she said finally, her voice quiet and her words coming slowly. "I told Grissom I needed some time alone. I called him over last night because I just couldn't stand to be alone."
Nick glanced at her, pleasurable surprise evident on his face yet again, though he felt stupid for assuming the worst (the worst for him) when he'd watched Grissom leave Sara's apartment. Of course she'd want time to herself, to work through what had happened to her, to recuperate and to heal. And then he felt annoyed with himself, for thinking only of himself and his wants and his needs and his ambitions, when he should have been there for her, offering comfort and support, looking out for her and protecting her from the nightmares that reminded her of her ordeal each and every night. "I'm sorry," he replied weakly, unsure what else to say.
But she shook her head. "It's nothing." She glanced at her watch, and joked amiably, "We should get going. At this rate, I'll be late for my first day back."
"Right. Sorry." He grasped the steering wheel, turned it, pressed down on the gas pedal, and pulled away from the curb.
"You know, I'm going to need a ride home later."
He smiled at her. "I'll be waiting with the motor running."
She laughed. "A quick getaway, huh?"
"That's what I was hoping."
"And maybe you could come up for a little bit," she added, still smiling faintly. "I'll order take-out."
"Sure." He paused a moment, stopped the car at a red light. "Sounds great."
"And if you end up spending the night..." She shrugged slightly and took his hand in hers again. He glanced at her in surprise, but she merely grinned in return. "...that wouldn't be such a bad thing, would it?"
He felt a grin spreading across his own face as he shook his head and squeezed her hand in silent reply, then said, "No. That would be just fine." They stared at each other a long moment, then both glanced away shyly, laughing at how utterly junior-high-school-crush everything had become. When they looked back at each other, deepest thoughts and secrets revealed to each other, the most personal details exposed, and when they kissed after only the shortest of hesitations, they both knew that everything would be perfectly fine. As long as they had each other.
Funny how things work out sometimes, isn't it? One minute, nothing's going right; you're having the worst day of your life. Woke up late, had a bad hair day, hit traffic on the highway, endured a harsh reprimand from the boss. Unrequited love threatens to break your heart beyond repair. And suddenly, something clicks, the cosmos shift, God smiles on you. Everything falls into place. The sun breaks out from behind the clouds. All is right with the world.
The almost lover in your life, the one you pine for, the one your heart aches for, the one your soul longs for, can become the love of your life, the one you pledge your life to, the one you vow to love for sicker and for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death dopes you part. Hopeless dreams can become brilliant realities. Luckless romances can become the best thing to ever happen to you.
And finally, you realize that no matter how dark the times, no matter how deep the depression, no mater how hopeless the dream or luckless the romance or painfully almost the lover, there's always hope for the hopeless.