Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Yeah, I know the song is really 'Round Here', but I just can't bring myself to betray my old buddy Merriam-Webster that way, no matter how much I love the Counting Crows.
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She looks up at the building;
she says she's thinking of jumping.
She says she's tired of life;
she must be tired of something
around here…
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He finds her sitting on the edge of the roof, her legs swinging absently over the side as she gazes out at the Strip. The metal railing rests against her chest, keeping her from falling, but he still has to resist the urge to grab her and pull her to safety. Instead, he comes over to sit next to her.
"Hey," he murmurs quietly, not wanting to startle her, and she half-smiles without looking up.
"Do you ever think about what it would be like?"
"What?"
"Jumping."
He realizes she's not looking out at the Strip anymore, but at the twenty-story drop to the pavement below. He starts to speak, but she continues.
"Sometimes I wonder what suicides think about while they're falling."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Her gaze is riveted to the ground. "Between the height of the building and the air resistance, they've got enough time to think."
"About what?"
She shrugs. "Their lives, maybe. The people they loved. Their regrets."
It's her tone of voice more than anything that gives him pause. She sounds so lost, so weary. He'd do anything to see her happy again, to see her smile the way she used to, but she hasn't smiled that way in a long time.
"What about you? What do you regret?"
This time she does look at him, and he winces at the wistfulness in her eyes.
"Everything." The word is barely a whisper, and heartbreaking in its honesty. "I wish I could go back and change it all, but I can't."
"There has to be something you're glad you did…something you're proud of."
"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" She's staring at the pavement again, and he wishes he could just pull her to him and hold her and comfort her and reassure her until the sadness leaves her, but he knows she won't let him.
"Isn't there?"
She shrugs again. "I used to think I could take pride in my work, but after all of the things I've seen…the things people do to each other…and I can't stop them. No matter how many of them I catch, there's always more ready to pick up where they left off. There's so much hatred in the world, so much pain and rage. How can I ever hope to change that?"
He's silent, not because he doesn't want to argue the point, but because he doesn't know how. She's right; they'll never be able to stop the violence and the killing.
"You're not in it alone," he says finally, and she shakes her head.
"You're wrong," she replies softly. "I am alone. I've tried to find someone who can understand, but they never do."
"Hank?" he guesses, and she nods.
"Hank, Grissom, a few other guys over the years. It's never enough." She clenches her jaw, holding her tears at bay through sheer willpower. She doesn't want to cry in front of him. "I'm never enough."
"That's not true," he murmurs, cupping her chin with his hand and lifting it gently. When she looks up at him, she's shocked to find that he's crying, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. She reaches up to brush them away and he catches her hand with his free one, squeezing it tightly.
"Nick," she whispers, and he feels the same surge of emotion he's always felt when he hears her say his name. This time he acts on it, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers.
The kiss is so soft that when it's over, she's not sure whether she only imagined it. She's about to ask him if he really just did what she thinks he did, and then he leans in and does it again. When he starts to pull away, she stops him, her hand on his shoulder as she rests her forehead against his.
"Sara," he says softly, closing his eyes, and she realizes he thinks she's angry with him. "I'm sorry. I –"
She kisses him again, effectively silencing him. It isn't until a few minutes later when they've pulled apart, faces flushed as they gasp for air, that the hard metal railing digging into her side registers with her and she realizes the roof of a casino probably isn't the best place for this sort of thing.
"Nick, we shouldn't –" she begins, and his face falls.
"I know," he whispers, stroking her cheek with gentle fingertips. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself."
"It's not that," she replies, feeling a smile tug at her lips as he perks up again. "We just shouldn't be doing this here."
From the look on his face, she knows she wasn't the only one who'd forgotten where they were. He glances down and pulls her to him reflexively, and she's surprised by the warm feeling it gives her to know that his first instinct is to protect her. As far as she knows, this is the first time protecting her has been anyone's first instinct. After a moment's deliberation, she decides she could get used to it.