SWIMMING WITH THE CURRENT

DISCLAIMER: I think we've all established the fact that I don't own them by now. The evidence doesn't lie, and the evidence says that these are TV characters owned by an American TV network, while I'm an Arts student in New Zealand. Yeah. Enough said.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Post-ep for 'Lady Heather's Box.' AU in that Hank doesn't exist, which is how I prefer it, really. Actually, I'm sure the show would be much better if the powers that be would take my opinions into account, but see the above disclaimer.

Sara sat in her favourite chair, legs tucked up under her, feeling rather like a small boy pulling the wings off flies. She held the remote for the television in one hand, and switched from channel to channel, waiting for whoever was speaking to be halfway through a sentence before she changed, cutting them off, letting their words disappear into oblivion.

"Sam, don't, I ca - "

"So it's sixty seven points to - "

" - blue heron commonly - "

She barely noticed as the front door opened and shut again, nor did she cease in her small way of amusing herself.

" - and the French Prime Minister - "

"Sara?"

" - weather in Las Vegas tomo - "

" - bother, I'll call - "

Nick inserted his body between the remote and the television, effectively cutting off the beam of the remote. The game of ice hockey to which Sara had just switched kept going. "I hear you had a bad night."

Sara just shrugged. 'Bad night' was putting it mildly.

Nick walked over, pulled the remote out of her hand easily, and switched the television off. "Hey," he said, his voice chiding, but gentle. "Talk to me."

She felt like that small boy with the flies had been caught by a mother trying desperately to understand what made the child's mind work.

"Sara, I can't make it better if you won't talk to me."

His words, at least, managed to pull her momentarily out of the restless despondency she'd sunk into since she'd closed the Eddie Willows case. "It's not your job to make it better. I don't need to be fixed."

If Nick didn't quite see the link between Sara's two statements, he didn't say it. Instead, he sat down on the arm of her chair and gently stroked her head, just once. Even when Sara was in one of those moods when she wanted to lock the world in a cupboard and curl up and forget about it, there was a section in the back of her mind that worked objectively, analytically - almost scientically. It was that part of her mind that registered how patient Nick was and wondered how the hell he put up with this.

And she did wish he wouldn't touch her when she wanted to be mad at him. For her, an affectionate touch was enough to break through the walls she threw up. He could talk all he wanted, and most of the time she could tune him out, but when he touched her... Maybe it was because she wasn't used to someone touching her simply because they loved her and were concerned about her, but that wasn't a thought she wanted to delve into too deeply.

"So I won't fix you. But I will listen."

Listen? What to? Sara didn't have the words for the sense of failure that was swamping over her. All of Catherine's hasty words were stinging in her mind. Oh, in a few days Catherine wouldn't mean half of what she'd said. Sara knew all about words said in the heat of the moment - words said without thinking, but so often words that came from the heart. The emotion was there, even if the intent wasn't.

And even if she'd never consciously thought it, Sara had wanted to produce Eddie's murderer. To serve the killer up on a platter, to give Catherine and Lindsey someone to blame. They had no one person to blame for Eddie's death, but two who had somehow been factors in his death. Knowing that all her skills as a CSI were not enough to bring a killer to justice was bad enough; knowing that this directly affected two people she cared about made it worse.

"Sara, talk to me - "

"I can't, Nick, I can't talk because I don't know what to say."

"Oh." A pause, during which they both just sat there. "That bad?"

"That bad," Sara repeated, glad for some words, any words. She closed her eyes, sighed, and leant against Nick, feeling his warm, reassuring presence.

"Catherine?"

"And Lindsey."

"They'll get over it. You did your best, Sar, and Catherine will see that. She's just upset."

"But my best wasn't good enough. I wasn't good enough."

"Now you're being silly."

She didn't have the strength to be angry with him any more. She could have been sitting in her cold apartment, mulling over the case, drowning in these feelings of failure - alone. Being here with Nick, knowing that he was going to put up with her like he'd put up with so much already, quite took the edge off those feelings. Sara's general reaction was to store up the emotions produced by cases, or just by life, and bring them out again whenever she was upset, juggling them carefully, as she would a hot stone, or gently touching them, like a fading bruise, seeking for the part that would hurt the most. "I can't help it."

"I know you can't."

Sara felt Nick slide his arms around her, wrapping her whole body in warmth, and some intangible emotion that only Nick could produce in her, an emotion that chased away the worst of those feelings of failure. They sat there for a long while, the silence of the room deeply comforting, a respite from the hectic night they'd both had.

"I wish - I wish I didn't care so much," Sara whispered, eventually managing to put one tiny strand of thought into words.

"But then you wouldn't be you," Nick returned gently.

"But when you don't care you don't hurt."

"If you don't care you're not human. Look, of course you care. I care, and I didn't work that case. Warrick cares. Hell, Jacqui and Bobby and the rest care. You got the worst of it because you worked that case. But, Sara, you can't solve everything. But you can't stop caring either, because then you wouldn't do your job so well."

"Why do you put up with me?"

"Because I love you, silly."

"Oh. I suppose that's a good enough reason," Sara said lightly, relieved to find a smile coming to her lips - and her heart.

"Life goes on, Sara."

"Not for Eddie Willows."

"Sara - " For the first time, Nick sounded just the tiniest bit aggravated. Sara thought she knew what he wanted to say, but wouldn't because he didn't want to set her off. Just leave it. It happened and it's sad, but you can't let it ruin your life, or even your day. Quit deliberately torturing yourself over it.

"I know," she whispered, that small child with the flies once again. "I know, Nick."

"Sara Sidle, you are the most complex human being I've ever met, and I love you anyway. Now, can we please have some food and go to bed?" Nick punctuated this last sentence with kisses to Sara's forehead, which at least had their desired effect. Sara stood up, only a bit reluctantly. Nick wolfed down most of a (no longer) frozen vegetarian lasagne; Sara slowly ate the rest.

All the logic in the world couldn't stop her feeling guilty as she let Nick draw her into his arms in their warm bed. Yes, she felt guilty, because she was here with Nick, while Lindsey Willows was mourning her father and Catherine was trying to get over the near death of her precious daughter.

"Sara," said Nick firmly. "Stop thinking."

"I can't," she replied, sleepy despite herself. "Because then I wouldn't be me."

Nick laughed, and didn't push the issue. Sara buried her head against Nick's chest, and hoped the overwhelming feelings of the night didn't return in her dreams, as she subsided into sleep.

Maybe it was Nick's presence, but the bad dreams she'd expected didn't come. Sure, for the next few days those feelings of disappointment in herself and sympathy for Catherine and Lindsey hovered over her, and something made her heart sink almost to her feet whenever she got anywhere near Catherine, but she no longer felt like she was trying to desperately to stay afloat in a fast moving river.

Again, maybe it was Nick's influence, but the way she managed to handle to Eddie Willows case left her feeling that she was learning to swim.

THE END