The follow-up to Obstruction. It ended up being a two-parter, after all! I shortened it up, a little bit. There were certain details in the original draft I didn't think were really necessary...
In his years working at the LVPD, Nick had never noticed before he was arrested how cold it was. Not that he hadn't expected the holding cells to be cold... Or maybe it was just his wriggling, fleeting feelings on the situation at hand... Yeah, that had to be it. Right...?
He turned over on his side and stared at the bottom of the door – something he'd been doing a lot since he'd been put in here – with a sigh. Underneath that door... just visible through the crack... was a sliver of hope: bright light coming in and scattering like rats fleeing their overturned nest. The light reminded Nick of the outside world. Which reminded him of what he was hoping for. Praying for...
There was a noise outside the door that made him jump. Somebody yelled something, and it must have been close. The echoes were too garbled for him to make out. Like a cartoon, he scratched the inside of his ear with his pinky finger. Suddenly, an officers' voice replied – albeit much calmer – and then came another voice. One that sounded familiar.
"Where is he?"
Nick sat up straight and stared hard at the bottom of the door. Sara...?
"This one, Miss Sidle."
"Miss Sidle", he'd said... It WAS Sara.
Suddenly, he felt panicky. Sara was coming, and he looked terrible. His eyes had finally dried up when he'd quit crying (thankfully, the worst of it had been AFTER the cell door was locked behind him), but his face was still red. His hair was short, but it was still kind of messy – licking his fingers, he tried straightening it out a bit as the clicking footsteps came closer.
Then he tried to think of a good position to be in when the door opened. Curled up on his side didn't look good, did it...? His team didn't need to see him like that anymore... They had enough on their plates, and worrying about him was one of the last things they should have to do.
Especially Sara... whom Brass had told him was having a very hard time with this. He couldn't help smiling with anticipation when the jingling keys got louder, and the door began to swing open...
The officer smiled, as well... and stepped aside with a hands-out gesture of welcoming.
Then came Sara. Rounding the corner, Nick was struck dumb for a moment by the sight of her. She was wearing a dark red sweater and several bracelets around her wrists. Her shoes seemed different... Flashy-looking, almost. They glistened in the sunlight. Which was still quite bright, even though Nick felt like he'd been lying in the cell for a lifetime... It must always feel like that, he supposed...
Sara sighed, and beamed brighter than the light falling through her straight, dark red hair. "Nick..."
Suddenly, everything felt brighter. Nick released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and crossed the room in two strides to scoop her up off her feet...
It felt like the life was being squeezed out of her at first, but she didn't want him to let go. And she certainly didn't hold back, herself: her own arms had gone around his neck and clamped down as if they were determined to break it – something she realized she didn't want, and loosened up a bit.
She let her head fall onto his shoulder, while he spun her in circles. She felt like a young child, reunited with a lost friend.
Or maybe more... Since cleaning out Grissom's desk with him, the nagging thoughts about everything they'd discussed... everything Grissom had implied... were still running circles through her head. And they were starting to effect her behavior, too – she, herself hadn't noticed, for example, that she'd dressed up a bit more with some of the nicer clothes from her locker until she was already on her way to see Nicky.
A sob made it out of her chest, and shook the both of them right around the moment he stopped turning and just held her up against him. Like he'd done when they went star watching, and she'd fallen asleep on him.
She soon realized she was crying. Not bawling, but crying.
And he was stroking the back of her head. "Sara..." he said in a weak voice. "Brass told me you were having a hard time." He set her down, and leaned back to observe her.
She felt self-conscious under his scrutiny.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
She didn't know what to say, didn't know why she was even having to think about it so hard. She just shook her head, frantically at first. "Don't worry about me," she eventually got out. "Tell me about you."
They took a seat on the edge of the bed, in synchronization. Sara took his hand and just let it sit there, on her leg, under her own.
"I'm alright," said Nick.
His cavalier shrug sent a shock through her that eventually became a sharp breath. And she shook her head again. "No, Nick. You're not."
He inclined his head to the side. "Whadda ya mean?"
"I mean, look at this..." She gestured around at the cell, and the distaste was apparent in her voice. "This isn't 'alright'. This isn't even close." She sighed, and caressed the edge of his hand with her thumb. "This isn't where you should be..."
She looked up and saw that his lower lip was quivering. She brushed it once with her thumb.
"You haven't done anything wrong, Nick," she continued. "You saved a woman's life. From a psychopath with a knife."
He looked down. "I know..."
"And you shouldn't be locked up for it!" said Sara, standing up suddenly and walking in circles. "This isn't right..."
For a moment, she was afraid that she might have an anxiety attack. With all these new questions about Nick weighing on her mind, she hadn't even thought much about the moral problems with the situation he was in. She was certain (or trying to make herself, anyway) that those problems, alone, would be enough to justify her reaction to all of this.
She stopped circling, and observed his defeated-looking form with a renewed sadness. Why did she really come here?
Nick suddenly looked up, and the expression on his face reminded Sara of a little kid who had just figured something out in school for the first time.
"It's the law," he said.
As if that makes it all better... Sara thought.
She shook her head and sat back down next to him. Either something in her face or her hand taking his again must've made him feel ashamed. He drooped his head again...
She lifted it back up with two fingers. For some reason, seeing him like this also made her feel stronger. "That doesn't make it right, Nick."
He took a deep breath and raised his eyebrows. "Yeah... I know it doesn't always, but... what else can I do? You know, I just-I..." He hunched forward, and buried his face in his hands. His head shook back and forth.
Whatever the conviction and the excitement from before, it was melting away now. Sara's eyes brimmed, and she snaked her arms underneath his.
His face fell onto her shoulder when he returned her warm embrace.
"Nicky..." was all she could say...
...Then she felt him smiling, his face pressed into her skin.
And she was unable to keep a small grin from forming on her own face. "What?" she asked.
"I like that," he replied, a slight giggle in his voice. "It irritates me sometimes when people call me 'Nicky', but I like it when you call me 'Nicky'."
He shook a bit in her arms, but she was glad to see it was with quiet laughter, this time. She didn't even want to try to stop herself from giggling with him.
"I'll try to remember that, then," she said.
He raised his head, and they laughed together for a few more minutes about it.
When they stopped, his hands came up to her shoulder, and he affixed her with a very serious gaze.
"You don't worry so much about me," he said sternly. "You look tired..."
She felt his thumb stroking her chin. She closed her eyes...
"You go home and get some sleep..."
Automatically, she shook her head.
"Sara–"
"No." She stamped her foot. "No... I'll go home when you take me."
She opened her eyes up again to see that he was slowly, slightly shaking his own head back and forth. "So stubborn... You should take better care of yourself. We need you."
She looked to the side and inclined her head once. "Yeah. Well..."
"For me?" he tried.
She looked back. Her eyes swept up and down him. "For you. Sure... But you still have to be the one to take me."
Whatever it was he was about to say, his expression had softened. Like he was about to try and break bad news to her calmly. Sara was torn between being glad that she didn't have to hear it, but sad that she would have to leave him when the door opened to their side, and the officer poked his head in.
"Miss Sidle?"
She did not have the strength to smile. Not even formally... "Yeah. Coming. Sorry."
Nick stood with her, and they turned into each other automatically.
Their eyes locked, and Sara had a horrible feeling. Like a deep corner of her mind had chosen this most inconvenient of times to remind her: this might be one of the last few times she'd ever see him. The thought brought her trembles back.
The way he was slowly losing control of his own steadiness looked like he was thinking the same thing. They embraced each other at the same time.
"Come see me again, okay?" he said. "Soon...?"
When she blinked, she held her lids shut for a few seconds longer than necessary against his chest. "Yes," she reassured. "As soon as I can."
She pulled back, and he felt her warmth disappear like a lone drop of water running off his skin. His fists clenched by themselves.
When she walked to the door... and her form became more silhouetted by the sunlight... he smiled to her when she looked back at him. He couldn't tell through the lighting if she was smiling back, or just looking at him out of concern.
He hoped for the former, but then she was gone. And wondering about it started to drive him immediately crazy, as he laid back down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling...
Until a slight movement of his head caught the light coming in through the bottom of the door in the corner of his eye. He returned to his original position and watched it longingly.
If he closed his eyes... and held the shirt of his jumpsuit up by his nose... he could still smell Sara there... and imagine her feet in the light on the other side of the door.