So take me and break me,
And make me strong like you,
I'll be forever grateful to, this and you.
It's only you, beautiful,
or I don't want anyone.
If I can choose, it's only you.
But how could I miscalculate?
Perfect eyes will have perfect aim.
If I can choose, its only you.
-Brand New, The No Seatbelt Song
Chapter One: Resolution
Nick was sitting in the break room with a steaming cup of coffee, hunched over the latest forensics journal. Sara must have forgotten it when she had left to meet Brass in the interrogation room. His eyes scanned the glossy pages without really absorbing any of its contents. His fingertips tingled where they met the pages. To think that Sara had touched this magazine before him sent his heart racing around his chest. He was pathetic, he knew, but those were the only things that connected him to her. The worthless, trivial, pathetic things. And so he clung to them as he would cling to a lifeline.
He was vaguely aware of soft footsteps approaching, but he could not bear to tear his eyes away from those pathetic pages of that pathetic magazine. The footsteps drew nearer and nearer and then someone was sitting down at the table beside him. He sighed and looked up to find Catherine staring back at him. "Anything good in there?" she asked.
"Nah," he muttered shaking his head, "just the usual."
Catherine chuckled. "Well, don't let Sara hear you saying that. She worships the ground before that thing."
"Yeah, I know." he whispered, not quite able to conceal the longing from his voice.
"Nick," Catherine said. He looked up again and saw the worry swimming through the blue of his co-worker's eyes. "Are you alright? You've been kind of distracted lately."
"Yeah," he muttered, averting his eyes, "just tired." She didn't look convinced. "They're doing construction down the street," he improvised. "It's been keeping me up."
"Huh," she mused.
Nick didn't feel bad lying to her. It was only a half-lie really. Nick was tired, and they were remodeling next-door. The latter had nothing to do with his sleep deprivation, though. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep for almost three months now. Not since the day Sara was kidnapped. Not even after she had been rescued and released from the hospital. There seemed to be a combination of dread and adrenaline coiled in the pit of his stomach at all hours. He would lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the squirming sensation that had infected his intestines.
The worst part was that he knew what it was. He knew, and yet he didn't know. It was there somewhere, hidden deep within the catacombs of his mind. Whenever he tried to flush is out, though, it seemed to shrink deeper and deeper into the distance, shrouding itself in a dark oblivion of ignorance. Day and night it goaded him, engaging the nice ball of energy in the pit of his stomach in a game of cat and mouse. Driving him mad.
At first he had managed to excuse his recent bout of insomnia with worry over his friend, but then the dreams started and the depth of his illness transpired. He was plagued by insatiable dreams. In the beginning he had seen only her face looming out of the darkness. But her face slowly drew nearer, and soon she was there as a whole, a permanent fixture of his subconscious.
His dreams had progressed and progressed until his nighttime fantasies became unbearable and the reality of his condition could no longer be denied.
He was madly in love with Sara and he had absolutely no idea what to do about it…
"Maybe you should take the night off." Catherine's words brought him back from his reverie.
"No." he said, almost too quickly. The last thing he needed was another night alone with his imaginary Sara. "No, I'm fine Catherine, really."
"You've got to sleep, Nick," she said sternly. "You can't do this job if you're eyes are closing on you."
He could tell she wasn't going to let the subject drop, and he knew she was right. He did need to sleep. He needed to fix things. He just wished he knew how to fix things. If only his trouble really was a noisy construction crew. Then at least the problem would pass. This, though, this was for good. Unless he could find some way to erase Sara from his memory he would live out the rest of his life in a sleepless stupor with a cloud of heartache looming above him. He would shrink and shrivel until he was no longer Nick but just a shell of the man he once was. And that was not something he wanted.
Why, though? That's what he couldn't wrap his mind around. Why now? Why, after so many years of working as indifferent colleagues, wake up one morning and realize you're in love with this woman who you've been working alongside for the better part of ten years? It made no sense. The only possible explanation was that he had loved her all along. He just hadn't realized it. And then the combination of her disappearance and the news of her relationship with Grissom had woken him up. And now it was like he was taking part in some testosterone-fueled high-speed chase, only he knew his chances of success were slim.
He sighed. "Yeah, Catherine, I know." She smiled triumphantly, so naturally he added in a defiant tone, "I'm still not taking the night off, though."
Catherine made a strange noise somewhere between a groan and a growl, but Nick ignored her. He grabbed his cup from the table, downed the dregs of his coffee, and rose. Catherine's eyes burrowed into the back of Nick's skull as she watched him leave, his broad shoulders squared in defiant resolve. He felt as though his hair would be singed by the heat of her gaze, but still he did not turn around.
He had left Sara's magazine behind, lying abandoned on the break room table. He had forsaken his only connection to the woman he loved. It had left him feeling strangely empty and bare, but that was all about to change. He knew now what he had to do. The only thing left was to do it.
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