Title: I've Waited This Long
Author: Banana Tooth
Rating: K
Spoilers: Through the Season Three finale.
Disclaimer: I am in no way connected with CBS, the CSI Franchise, or its writers, producers, or directors.
They're not in danger, and they're resting comfortably—as comfortably as possible, anyway. It's not like Flack, they both have family here. I'll just be in the way if I stay…
But I don't move. I just don't have the energy. I'm the only one in the little waiting area right now; Lindsay is with Danny and Mac has stepped outside where he can use his cell.
I must have been running on adrenaline all day, and now that I'm alone the whole day seems to come crashing down on me at once. I hear footsteps approaching and look up slowly, as if I'm in a fog, and manage a smile at Sheldon as he enters. "Hey."
"Hey." He sits down beside me, touching my knee. "You look beat."
"I am," I admit.
"But you're okay?"
"Yeah." I look down at my hands, clasped loosely in my lap, and think of the heavy gun, of my finger on the trigger. "You?" My head turns in his direction, but it's too much work to look up at his face and my glance lands on his chest instead.
"Yeah." He must be in the same state as I am, since we can barely manage even a monosyllabic conversation. He stirs and I realize, vaguely disappointed, that he's standing up, because I had hoped he would sit a while with me. He extends his hand toward me and I stare up at him in confusion until he explains, "Come on. I'm taking you home."
I open my mouth to protest, purely out of habit, and then think better of it. He's not Mac, offering a ride even when he lives on the other side of town. My place is on Sheldon's way, really, and besides… I take in his comfortable, reassuring presence as I realize dimly, feeling too tired to process it properly, that I'm not averse to his company right now.
I give my head a little shake to clear it. "Okay," I finally agree, sliding my hand into his.
He has to practically pull me up out of the chair. I follow him out, glad he's there so I don't have to find my way through the maze of hallways trying to get out of here.
We wave goodbye to Flack, down the hall outside Danny's room. His arm is around Lindsay and her face is hidden against his shirt, and I think, randomly, that we seem to hug each other a lot more these days. Of course, we've needed it a lot more lately…
Mac is near the elevators and he shuts his phone as we approach. "Hey," he says softly, and Sheldon waits for me a discreet distance away, giving us privacy, as if we're going to say anything…
I want to, though. I want to throw my arms around him and sob out my relief that he's safe, tell him to forget London, I'll take him to Greece…
Wow. At least I didn't say that out loud.
He sets his hand on my shoulder, gently. "Good work today."
I manage a grin, feeling ready to cry. "Yeah, you too."
"Well, you know…stop a heist, destroy the lab…all in a day's work."
I grin for real this time. "They had done a pretty good job of that before you even started."
"Yeah." His thumb moves against my collarbone. "I'm glad you're okay."
"Me too. I mean—I'm glad you're okay." I need to get out of here. I can't even form coherent sentences.
"I was afraid—after we split up—I was so afraid they would find you, and then you show up and save my life." His voice is low and a little raspy and I can't even answer because I know I'll cry for sure. I want to tell him about hearing the shot and being sure it was him, and then seeing him at gunpoint and acting out of sheer anger because they were trying to take him away from me…
I swallow hard, biting my lip, still unable to speak. He squeezes my shoulder and steps back, his tone normal again. "You leaving?"
"Yeah."
"Be careful."
"Yeah. Good night."
"Night." His eyes meet Sheldon's over my shoulder and Sheldon gives a little nod. Usually that's my job, to make sure they're okay. I feel like I should be annoyed—I can take care of myself—but somehow I'm not.
As the elevator doors close, I look around the tiny space and can't help but shiver, wrapping my arms around myself. Sheldon's eyes meet mine with understanding, and he gives a rueful little smile as he murmurs, "Maybe we should have taken the stairs."
"For eighteen flights?" I shake my head. "I'm okay." I notice that my hand has unconsciously gone to the spot on my collarbone where Mac's thumb brushed bare skin. It still tingles, almost burns, as if when I look in a mirror there will be a red mark there. I move my hand away. I am not sixteen.
"Halfway there," Sheldon says reassuringly, but then the doors open and suddenly we're forced to opposite corners as six more people crowd in, including a couple evidently very much at odds.
"What did you say that for?" the woman hisses angrily.
"What was I supposed to say?" demands her husband.
"Now she's going to cut us out of her will, and it's all your fault. I can't believe it. Closest thing we ever have to a lucky break and you screw it up. Should have expected it. When did you ever do anything right? Can't even visit an old lady in the hospital right."
This goes on for nine floors. I look up and catch Sheldon's eyes, sparkling and full of fun, and have to quickly press my wrist to my mouth to keep from laughing. When we reach the ground floor he catches my elbow and holds me back until everyone else has gone on ahead, and then I dare to look at him and we both dissolve into laughter.
"What do you suppose he said?"
"Hurry up and die so we can have your money?" he suggests, and I give a rather undignified snort of laughter. Still grinning, we head for the doors. He says goodnight to the girl at the front desk, and she smiles up at him and says goodnight back.
I turn to him as we go out. "Do you miss it? Being a doctor?" I immediately think I shouldn't have put it that way, because of course he still is a doctor.
"Yeah, sometimes," he says with just a hint of a sigh.
"Do you regret it?"
"No." He sounds sure of himself. "I never have."
"I'm glad. You make a great CSI."
He looks surprised, really surprised, at that. "Wow. Thanks."
"I mean it. I don't know what we did without you." It seems a long time ago, thinking back to when he was the ME,
That makes me think about when I first found out about his application to work in the field. I usually shy away from that memory, even though the first part makes me unreasonably happy, remembering how Mac's eyes had moved slowly over me, checking me out, and then he'd grinned and said he liked my dress.
But then I always remember that it was Frankie I'd dressed up for, and how I'd been happy for Mac, because he was trying to move on, but with a twinge of pain I tried so hard to ignore. Ditch her. I'll ditch Frankie, I wanted to say—but in nicer words, of course—and I almost did, but instead I touched his face and told him to have a good time.
I bring myself forcefully back to the present. We have to take another elevator in the parking garage, and I find that I'm glad to have him here. There's still the elevator in my building to go. Maybe he'll go up with me…
No, I tell myself sternly. That's silly. He doesn't need to go all the way up and have to go all the way back down again. Get a grip.
He opens the car door for me and closes it carefully before going around to his side. I steal a glance at him in the dim light as he navigates the tight curves of the garage and think, He wouldn't mind…
I lean back against the seat, frustrated and unsettled. His gentle voice breaks the silence. "What are you thinking about?"
"Oh. Nothing." I turn my head against the headrest and smile at him. "Thanks for giving me a ride. I really appreciate it."
He says, "You're welcome," and I watch his hands on the steering wheel and think about how sweet he is. How sweet he always is. We don't say much else until he pulls up across the street from my building, and then I don't have to ask him after all, because he just follows me in.
"Last one," he says as, once again, we watch the elevator doors close.
"Yeah," I say a little absent-mindedly, because now I'm wondering why he's coming up—just to check on me? He could have just dropped me off and waited until I got inside. Not that I mind, of course, but still…
We go in and I smile at him a little uncertainly. "I'm going to wash my hands," I announce unnecessarily, heading for the kitchen sink. "Do you want something? Something to eat?"
"No." Suddenly he's right behind me, so close that I can feel his breath stirring my hair, and his hands settle on my shoulders, warm and steady. I bow my head, clutching the towel. I'm shaking a little beneath his hands, and I can't help it.
"Do you—"
"Go ahead and cry."
"What?"
"You'll feel better."
I shake my head. "I'm okay."
"Hey." He turns me around to face him, and he's looking at me the way he does, gentle and reassuring, so I slide my arms around him and lean my face down on his shoulder. And then I do cry, just because I'm worn out and on edge, and I can't stop thinking about everything that happened, and because…
No. I won't admit even to myself that I'm crying about that. I pull myself back together after a few minutes, but I stay as I am, spreading my palms against his back. He feels nice, I think—he's more slender than Mac, but he's strong and solid. And a good hugger.
"Feel better?" he murmurs.
I grin against his shirt. "Yeah. You were right."
"Come here," he says, and guides me to the couch and sits down, so I follow his lead. He pulls my feet into his lap and slides off my shoes and his hands go around one foot, his thumbs stroking softly, soothingly. I smile and lean back against my throw pillows, closing my eyes, feeling my tension start to drain away.
"You're good at this," I say sleepily.
"Just one of my many hidden talents."
"Oh really."
"Really."
"What else?"
"I can cook."
"You can?"
"Mm-hm. And I can perform a mean autopsy."
I laugh. "That must make you popular at parties."
"Oh, you have no idea."
He switches to the other foot. I watch him giving my feet the same careful attention he gives to dead bodies, which is…a little creepy, when I think about it. "Do you miss that?"
"What?"
"Being an ME."
"Yeah. Sometimes. It's a lot of fun."
This is getting creepier. I hide my grin. "So do you regret it?"
"No."
"I'm glad…haven't we already had this conversation?"
"I liked it. Let's have it again."
"Now you're just fishing."
He just wags his eyebrows at me. I laugh and lean back into the pillows again, but then his thumb hits a spot just behind the ball of my foot and something like a shock wave races up my calf and sends little shivers all through me. It takes me completely by surprise and I give an involuntary little gasp.
He's instantly concerned and apologetic, his grip loosening. "I'm sorry—"
"No, it was good…you did something with your thumb…"
"This?" he asks, and does it again, and I bite my lip, breathing in quickly.
"Yes."
He grins a little, as if to himself, and does it to the other foot too, and then finishes them both up with loose, circular strokes. "Good?"
"Yeah." I scoot over, snuggling beside him and tucking my legs up. He sets his arm around my shoulders. "Thank you," I whisper.
"No problem."
I reach my arm across his stomach to his other side, hugging myself up to him, and we stay like that for a while. We start to breathe in unison, I notice.
"So…how are you?" His voice is low.
"Okay," I reply, which is not true, and then, just because he's here and he's listening… "I thought I was over it."
His arm tightens. "I know."
"I keep thinking that, and then something like this happens and I'm back where I started."
"I know."
"He's going to London with her."
"Yeah."
"I don't know what to do." I didn't mean to say that, and I chide myself for sounding pathetic.
He sighs and replies slowly, "I guess you just have to give it time."
"I've given it a year," I say in frustration.
"I know." His fingers squeeze my arm in a little encouraging gesture. "It doesn't help when you have to see the person every day."
Curiously, I pull back so I can see his face. "You sound like you're talking from experience."
He's about to say something, but then he seems to change his mind and he looks down and nods, just a little.
"Really?" I ask, and he nods again. I lean back against him, considering this new information. "How long did it take you?"
He hesitates. "Well…I'll let you know."
"Oh." I truly had no idea. He's never said anything… A thought strikes me. "It's not Peyton, is it?"
He laughs a little. "No."
"Good. Then we'd really be in a mess."
"Yeah…" He draws a long breath. Suddenly I feel guilty.
"Sheldon, I'm sorry."
"What?"
"I always go on and on about it to you, and…" I can't seem to find the right words for what I mean. The last thing you need is to listen to my problems, when you've got the same ones yourself. "You can tell me about it if you want. You know that, right?"
He doesn't answer for a moment, and then he says quietly, "Maybe I will. Sometime."
I can hear his heartbeat, and it makes me think of all the nights I spent with Mac, sitting just like this, listening to his heartbeat and breathing and being content to stay with him as long as he needed.
And now he doesn't need me… I nestle my cheek against Sheldon's shirt. "Tell me what happened. In autopsy."
He starts to talk, his voice low and soothing even though it's a tale of bone saws and drawers in the morgue, and I can feel myself drifting off. Stay awake, stay awake, stay awake, I tell myself. You can't fall asleep like this, you'll both be stiff and sore in the morning. I know that from experience.
But still I stay as I am, eyes closed, drowsy and comfortable, not really hearing him anymore. I already know what happened, anyway—we all gave our statements to Flack—so I just let his words wash over me, calming my frayed nerves.
Then the next thing I know I wake up with a start, because water is running in the bathroom. Oh. Just Sheldon, I realize with relief. I'm curled up on my side, as if he just slid out from under me, and there's a pillow under my head and a blanket over me.
I hear the front door opening. He's leaving…I've got to tell him thank you… I'm not entirely awake, but that thought seems fixed in my mind, so I jump up and run after him. He turns in surprise just as I reach him, and I kiss him full on the lips.
And then I jerk away and stare at him in horror. "I—I'm sorry—I didn't mean to do that…"
He's grinning from ear to ear. "It's okay."
"No…you could report me for sexual harassment or something…"
He laughs out loud at that. "Well, I'm not going to." I'm still staring at him. I feel like I'm breathing too fast. "I thought you were asleep," he says.
"I was—I just wanted to thank you before you left."
"Oh. You're welcome."
"Really, Sheldon. Thank you so much. For the ride, and the footrub, and listening to me." He's still grinning. Am I making a fool of myself? "And—I really am sorry for—" I gesture toward him. It's too awkward to say it.
"Listen," he says, growing more serious. "It really is okay. More than okay."
I blink. Does he mean…that? Suddenly I feel like I'm too close to him, but I'm watching his face and I don't want to move away. He has a nice mouth. A kissable mouth…
I close my eyes. It's far too late to be thinking like that—in the state I'm in, I'd probably kiss Danny if he were here. I need to let him go.
"So, see you in the morning?" he asks.
"Yeah. Be careful going home."
"I will," he says, standing still. His gaze is bright even though it's shadowed from fatigue, and it holds mine as I lift my hand to his cheek. His stubble is prickly under my fingers—different from Mac's, which is like sandpaper. My eyes drop to his mouth and I slide my thumb lightly across it and his lips part a little. I can actually feel my good judgment fading away as I brush a tiny kiss against his lower lip, but when I pull back a little his eyes are still twinkling, so I lean in again and set my lips against his.
This time it's not really a kiss because I just rest there, not moving. I can feel him grin, and then when I don't move he sets his arm around my waist and kisses me back, and it feels so nice, warm and comforting…
I gasp and pull away. "No, Sheldon…"
My heart breaks a little at his crestfallen expression. "I'm sorry," it's his turn to say, and once again I'm horrified, because I can't believe I just did that to him, and now he's apologizing for kissing me, when I kissed him first…
"No—I mean—I don't want it to be like this." I look at him, pleading with my eyes for him to understand. "I don't want it to be because it's late, and we're tired, and I'm upset…you deserve better than that. We both do."
He nods. "Okay."
"But I didn't mean…" Be careful. "I didn't mean never," I finish softly.
His eyes brighten, just a tiny bit, and that's almost enough to convince me right here. I could be happy with him, I know. He would be easy to love, and quick to love back…No. Stop it. Not tonight.
"Take your time, then," he's saying. "I'll wait." He lifts his hand and traces his fingers along my jaw line, and I close my eyes at his careful touch. His breath is warm as he murmurs, close to my ear: "I've waited this long."