Title: A Shoulder to Lean On
Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sara/Warrick
Spoilers: A Night at the Movies and everything up to that.
Feedback: Makes my day
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Archive: At my site Checkmate () , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.
Summary: Warrick is worried about Sara
***
Part One
It was the end of yet another long shift, and one that Warrick was not displeased to see the back of. At least, he reminded himself, he and Sara had been able to put this case to bed, all loose ends tied up into neat little bows, ready to be sent to the DA. The only thing they'd had to do was tell the victim exactly what happened, which is what they'd done, and now they were on their way out into the early morning sunshine, with Warrick at least thinking about the dozen and a half things that he had to do today, a nice long sleep being at the top of his list.
He couldn't vouch for what Sara was thinking though, especially since she'd been somewhat less than communicative with him, with everyone, for the last few days. Most people were chalking it up to just Sara being Sara, but Warrick was a little more worried about it than that, because he knew Sara, the real Sara, not the reputation that she had around the crime lab, and he knew, like he knew his own name, that there was something wrong. He also knew, that because this was Sara, that she wouldn't tell him about it, at least not until she was good and ready.
Which didn't mean that he wasn't going to try to talk her into a good mood, or at least make the dark clouds that were surrounding her dissipate a little. "So, any big plans for the day?" he wondered as they walked across the parking lot.
"Huh?" Sara turned to him with a vaguely distracted frown, reaching up and pushing her hair back behind her ear. Glancing down at her, Warrick felt a frown crossing his own face, noting how pale she was, the dark shadows under her eyes.
Swallowing his concern, Warrick rephrased the question. "You got any plans for the day?"
Her lips quirked up in a pale, and fleeting, imitation of a smile. "None to speak of," she murmured quietly, a far-away look on her face that he was growing rather accustomed to, and didn't like.
"Well then," he said, shrugging, trying to keep his voice normal, pretty sure that he was failing completely. "How about breakfast?"
She bit her lip, and he could see her swallowing hard, and she looked around her as if to find an exit sign somewhere. She evidently did, because she looked stricken suddenly, and her face actually grew paler, something that Warrick didn't think was possible. "Just hang a minute, ok? I need to-"
Warrick followed her gaze, kept his face level with difficulty when an ambulance parked, saw Hank Peddigrew crouched inside, checking instruments and equipment. "I'll meet you at the car," he said simply, nodding, and she flashed him a quick grin of appreciation before making her way across to the ambulance.
Once she was gone, Warrick gave full vent to his feelings, letting a frown cross his face and settle there as he looked at Sara and Hank, taking in every nuance of the conversation. For the life of him, he couldn't imagine what Sara would want to talk to Hank about, because after last month, after she'd found out about how he'd cheated on her the entire time that they were together, Sara had been very definite about they two of them being through, about how she never wanted to see Hank again. Of course, that much had been said to Catherine under the influence of alcohol, but the same had been said to him the next day under the rather more soothing balm of coffee and Advil. From the look in her eyes, he'd known that she'd meant it, and she'd never as much as mentioned Hank since then. Why she was seeking him out today was a mystery to Warrick, so after making his way slowly towards the car, he leaned against the driver's door, keeping his gaze on Hank and Sara, observing the interplay between them. Hank had emerged from the ambulance, was standing beside Sara, and from Warrick's standpoint, and much to his surprise, it was Sara who was making all the overtures, doing all the talking, while Hank looked disinterested, kept trying to turn away from her, but Sara wasn't taking that, kept coming around in front of him. It looked very much like she was trying to reason with him, but he kept on shaking his head, and eventually, he threw his hands up in the air, turned on his heel, and walked away.
From the way she'd been gesturing, Warrick expected Sara to follow Hank, or at the very least, come towards him, spewing invective. What he didn't expect was for Sara to stay exactly where she was, wrapping her arms around herself in an unmistakably protective manner. He didn't expect for her to tilt her head back towards the sky, for her shoulders to rise and fall with deep breaths, didn't expect her to look like a woman who was on the verge of falling apart right there in the parking lot of Desert Palms hospital.
He'd known Sara for over two years by now, he'd never seen her like this, and he knew, because he knew Sara, that she'd be mortified by him, by anyone, seeing her in that state.
He just didn't care, because she was his friend, and she was hurting, and he wanted to help.
He was beside her before he was even aware that he was moving, certainly before she was aware that he was moving if the little jump she gave when he said her name was any indication. He gave her a smile of apology, harder to do than he'd have thought, because her face was whiter than chalk, her eyes a livid shade of red that told of the tears she was trying to keep back. "You ok?" he asked gently, keeping more than arm's length away from her, letting her have her space.
She chuckled, a harsh, mirthless sound that had his throat tightening, and shook her head, something that had his throat tightening more. "You know," she said slowly, her voice hoarse, low. "I don't think I am."
He frowned more at the un-Saralike admission, glancing in the direction Hank had vanished. "Did he say something? Do something?" Implicit in his words were a promise that, were she to answer in the affirmative, he would go after Hank and teach him a little lesson in manners and how to treat a lady, but Warrick's mind was diverted from such violent thoughts by another one of those mirthless chuckles, this one sounding rather more like a truncated sob.
"You could say that." It was a non-answer if ever he'd heard one, and he tilted his head, looked at her curiously.
"Would you say that?" She didn't reply, just looked down at the ground, and Warrick, for no reason that he could articulate, felt himself growing very cold, took a step closer to her. "Sara? What is it?"
Her deep breath was audible and he could almost see her make the decision to talk to him about whatever it was that was bothering her. Slowly, she lifted her head, and he waited impatiently, each second passing like a lifetime. Once her eyes met his, it seemed to take a long time for her to speak, and when she did, the three simple words hung in the air for aeons before he could process them.
"Warrick, I'm pregnant."
Once he processed them, he nodded slowly, the entire scene making sense. "And Hank's not too pleased about that."
Her lips twisted a grimace as she looked towards the ambulance. "He's saying that it might not be his."
"Wha-?" Warrick could only get the first syllable of the word out, such was his shock, and he knew that his jaw was wide open, his whole body going slack with shock. He had a very good idea of what he must look like, but when Sara looked at him, she actually snickered, a sound of real amusement, and a genuine smile lit up her face. "You're kidding me, right?" Because much as he and the rest of the CSI lab might have wondered about what Sara and Hank's relationship was all about, what with her denials that Hank was her boyfriend, Warrick knew that she hadn't been seeing anyone else, knew damn well that Sara Sidle was not the kind of woman to cheat on her boyfriend.
She nodded. "Evidently, he judges everyone on his own standards." Sighing, she reached up, pushed her hair back from her face. "I sure can pick 'em, huh?"
Warrick had no idea what to say to that, but he did have a couple dozen questions that he wanted to ask her, all of which were second to his concern that Hank might come back and see them there. Quite apart from how Sara might react to seeing him, Warrick was far more aware of the fact that he was very likely to give in to his violent impulses of seconds earlier. So when he spoke, he started with a caveat that morphed into a question. "Look," he said slowly, holding up his hands as if to forestall any violent impulses on her part that his words might foster. "I'm not trying to get into your business, and you don't have to tell me anything, not if you don't want to… but you want to go somewhere? Talk about this?"
This time, her nod was accompanied by an audible intake of breath, and when she spoke, her voice was thick with tears, the same tears that were forming in her eyes. "I'd like that," she whispered, so quietly that he could barely hear her. "I could really use a friend right now."
Nodding, his own voice uncomfortably thick, Warrick extended an arm towards the car, and she fell into step beside him. "You've got one."
***
When he first made the offer of breakfast, he'd envisioned them going to their usual place, the place where most of the CSI graveyard shift went to unwind and enjoy good food at a reasonable price. Sara's revelation put paid to that though, because this was the kind of conversation that simply couldn't be had in public, and knowing their luck, no matter where they went in Vegas, even if it was a big city, they were bound to bump into someone they knew. Thus, when Sara suggested that they go to her place, Warrick agreed straight away, only realising as he followed her through the streets of Vegas that in all the years he'd known Sara, he'd never been to her place, had never even seen the outside of it. Parking down the street from the building, he met her at the front door, walked up the stairs side by side with her, and when she let him in the front door, his CSI's instincts kicked in straight away, his eyes roaming over the apartment, taking everything in at a glance. The place, he gleaned straight away, was pure Sara, her personality stamped on every corner, the sparse, yet comfortable furniture, the shelves overflowing with books, some of which were spilling over on to the coffee table and the desk to his right. The desk itself was cluttered, papers and books and yet more papers, which was something of a surprise to him, because he'd always pictured Sara for the neat freak type. However, as he was learning rapidly, there was a lot more to Sara than he thought.
"Make yourself at home," she told him, over her shoulder, heading into the kitchen, throwing her keys on the counter. "Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, juice…"
He nodded as he followed her, leaning against the counter. "Juice would be good," he said, his eyes taking in the neatness of the kitchen –when was the last time it was used, he wondered- not missing the bowl of fresh fruit beside the refrigerator, or the vegetables he could see inside it, a sight that had him re-evaluating the answer to his seconds-earlier question. Evidently Sara did cook; she was just really good about cleaning up after herself.
"Orange ok?" There was a little smile on her face as she turned to ask him the question, and he was faintly embarrassed, sure that she knew what he was doing, the direction his thoughts were going in. There was no way that he would admit it, and he knew she wasn't going to call him on it, so he just smiled at her, nodding.
"Perfect," he said, and she grinned, a real Sara-smile, the first that he'd seen all day, or maybe longer. "You've got a nice place," he told her, and she shot him another look over her shoulder, this one frankly sceptical.
"Not really," she replied, in a tone that left no room for argument. "It was only supposed to be a stop-gap while I found a better place… I've been here two and a half years." She shrugged, not sounding too upset about it, despite her words. "I figured it was fine, that I was never here that much, always working…" Her voice trailed off then, and she stared hard at the two tall glasses that she was filling with orange juice, as if she was being very careful about not over-filling them. But when she had to clear her throat before she spoke again, he knew that wasn't it. "I guess I'm going to have to look for a new place soon."
There was nothing he could say to that, so he simply waited for her to turn, accepted the glass she held to him with a quiet, "Thanks," and following her lead, moved to the couch. She sat down at one end, he on the other, an ocean of space between them, and he waited for Sara to speak, not wanting to rush her.
Her glass of juice was half-empty and his hand was freezing from holding his before she finally sighed. "I guess you're wondering how this happened," she said, looking at her white-knuckled hands rather than at him, her face drawn.
The first words that came into his head were a smart comment, and in a split second, he considered whether he should give voice to it, deciding that he really should. "Grams did give me the birds and bees talk," he said, and her head snapped up, her lips curling up into a wide grin, a laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep inside.
"Funny," she said, rolling her eyes, and he shrugged off-handedly, reaching over to the coffee table and putting his glass on it. When he straightened up, he leaned his right side against the back of the couch, resting his arm on the cushion and propping his head up on his hand.
"I meant what I said Sara," he told her seriously, all levity forgotten. "I'm not looking to get into your business… but if you want to talk, I'm here."
She smiled, nodding as she too leaned towards the coffee table, placed her glass on it, and when she sat back on the couch, she mimicked his posture exactly, something that he noticed, but knew better than to comment on. "I never expected this," she told him frankly, and a slight tinge of pink made it way across her cheeks. "We were careful." Warrick shifted, because frankly, that was as much information as he was comfortable knowing, and from the look on her face, from the way that she moved on swiftly, it was as much as she was comfortable with sharing as well. "And then, when I found out about Elaine, we broke up, I didn't even think about it." She rolled her eyes. "I thought it was a stomach bug at first… and then I took a mouthful of Greg's coffee in the lab one night and promptly threw up." His eyes grew wide at that, and she snickered, nodding. "I've never been so grateful to be alone in the break room," she confirmed. "That same night, I was signing off on something, I can't even remember what, and I noticed the date…" Her voice trailed off, and he took pity on her.
"And two and two made four."
She nodded. "Went to a drugstore on the way home, did the test… when I saw that blue line, I threw up again." Her lips twisted into a grimace as she spoke, and she leaned over to the table, taking up her glass and taking a sip, holding the liquid in her mouth for longer than usual, as if she was trying to get the memory of the taste out, replace it with something nicer. "Took a couple of days to get my head around it, and then I told Hank." Suddenly, she chuckled, but it was decidedly less than humorously. "Of course, the date happened to be April 1st. He thought I was kidding him."
Warrick rolled his eyes, feeling a surge of anger course through his veins, imagining beating Hank to a bloody pulp. "He would," he muttered darkly, and if Sara heard him, she didn't say anything.
"When I managed to convince him I wasn't, he told me…" And here, Sara's bravado faltered, and she looked down and to her left, at her fingers picking idly at the pattern of the couch fabric. "He told me that our relationship was hardly exclusive… that there were weeks where we hardly saw one another… that he couldn't be sure it was his."
As she spoke, her voice grew lower and lower, and by the end, Warrick could
barely hear her. He was seized by another urge, this time decidedly
non-violent, the urge to reach out and touch her hand, her shoulder, her knee,
anything to show her that he was there for her, to provide her with some sort
of comfort. But this was Sara that he was dealing with, and he was sure she
wouldn't welcome it, was even more afraid that it would cause her to shatter
and crack, so he did nothing, just waited for her to speak again.
When she did, her words made him even angrier at Hank. "I thought it might be the shock talking," she explained. "That once he had time to think about it, he'd been more reasonable…" Her voice trailed off, and she didn't have to say anything else, because it was more than obvious that that hadn't happened. "As you saw…"
"He's a jerk Sara," Warrick said quietly, just about keeping his temper in check, and a sad smile crossed her lips.
"Yeah," she whispered. "But he's the one who gets to walk away."
Frowning, he shifted in his seat slightly, because from the way she'd been talking about this, and from that comment in particular, there was only one conclusion that he could draw. "You've made up your mind?" he asked, wondering briefly if that was a question too far, only found out that it wasn't when she shrugged.
"There was never a choice to make," she told him honestly, her eyes meeting his, and she didn't look away. "I don't believe in abortion Warrick, I never have." Another shrug. "I mean, if people make that choice, that's fine, but… it's not for me. I could never take a life." He remembered her saying that to him once upon a long ago, in a tone that was far more strident, more angry, than the one she was using here, and he nodded, because once he heard her say the words, he couldn't imagine her doing anything else, honestly, had barely even contemplated the notion in the first place.
"And you're ok with doing this on your own?" he asked, the words out before he could stop them, and he instantly regretted them when she bit her lip, looking stricken.
"No," she said, with something that might have been a laugh, or might have been midway to a sob. "But I don't have a choice about that either."
He shook his head, not sure of what to say that wouldn't sound corny, or patronising, and settled for going for honesty. "You're not alone you know," he told her. "We're all going to be here for you… whatever you need."
She smiled, nodded her head, and to his surprise, she reached out with one hand, touching his knee lightly, briefly. "Thank you," she whispered.
end part one
