A/N: Sara, again, thank you.
For those interested, this story takes place some time in the (distant) future after "Crash and Burn" (epi 3x17).
Disclaimer: See first chapter. I will add though that I 'own' the OC, Drew Howard.
She walks out of the locker room, a lightweight jacket folded over her arm, purse hanging by her side, and into the brightly-lit hallway while thinking she's glad to be finished with work, finally.
The night's grueling nature had nothing to do with the assigned case and everything to do with him.
Shift had been tense with Grissom, for only God knows why reason, assigning them to work a DB together. She's not sure she'll ever really understand him. He had spoken but a few words to her the entire night, all professionally-related, all short and clipped in tone.
By the time they arrested and booked the suspect she already felt she was on the tipping point – of what, she did not know. She just knew she needed to get out of there, and away from him, and fast.
Look on the positive side, she tries to tell herself, if he had paired her with anyone else, especially Catherine, she would have spent the entire shift dodging questions about Drew.
Knowing that doesn't make her feel any better.
She sees him standing, waiting outside the double-doors of the Crime Lab, as if her thoughts alone had the power to conjure him up, and she begins to smile. The weight she'd been feeling, finally lifting away as she closes the distance between them.
"Hey. I thought I was supposed to call you?"
"Yeah, well, I went back to my room, grabbed a couple hours of sleep. Did some work, got frustrated and decided I needed a break and sort of ended up back here. Hope you don't mind?"
"Of course not, I was going to call you anyway and see if you were up and wanted to grab breakfast," she says.
"Sounds good, except for the grabbing part."
Her face displays her confusion and he explains.
"Before coming here, I stopped by a grocery store and bought the basics for making breakfast, since I know you're the queen of takeout who probably only has expired – or soon to be expired – soymilk and yogurt in her refrigerator right now."
"I'm going to ignore your disparaging comment about my lack of kitchen skills," she says, sounding more amused than upset, "and instead, say thank you. Having someone cook breakfast for me… my day's already improving."
He drapes an arm around her shoulder, giving it a quick comforting squeeze. "You can tell me about your work night while I cook," he offers.
"Actually, I rather forget about work, but thanks." She smiles in appreciation, even as she realizes that by standing right outside the Lab's entrance, a certain someone may come walking out at any moment.
A certain someone she isn't sure she wants to deal with or think about or see.
"Why don't you show me where you parked? That way you can just follow me back to my place?" she suggests.
"All right," Drew agrees, "sounds like a plan."
Twenty-five minutes later, they're walking up the stairs to her apartment; she's helping him carry his version of the necessary basics for cooking breakfast. "I can't believe you actually bought a cooler, too."
"I didn't know if your shift would end on time, and cold stuff's got to stay cold. I'm a Boy Scout – my motto is 'be prepared'."
She laughs as she shifts and settles the brown sack on her hip, and opens the door. "Welcome to my humble abode," she says and quickly adds, "don't mind the mess. The last few days, I've worked long hours—"
"Sara—"
She goes on like she didn't hear him. "And I haven't had the time—"
"Sara," he says again, this time more firmly, and she finally stops speaking. "I don't care if your place looks like a tornado crash landed in the middle of the living room. I came to see you."
"The tornado came through last week, this is just the leftover debris," she jokes, still slightly embarrassed.
(If only she remembered how her apartment looked before she invited Drew over… oh, wait, she had been too busy worrying about not running into Grissom again.)
Since this is Drew's first time seeing her place, she would have preferred a clean apartment. Without having the remains of take-out inside her refrigerator and littering her coffee table or the pile of clothes she hadn't got around to folding lying in a big, rumpled mess on the sofa in her living room.
It's not like I wouldn't have had it perfectly nice, if I had known he was coming…
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming anyway?" she asks, tossing her purse and keys to the small table near the entryway, then moving into the kitchen to set down the bag of groceries.
"I wanted it to be a surprise. It's been too long since we've been in the same city."
"It's a great surprise," she says, assuring him. "And with the excitement of seeing you again, then all the interruptions with people at work, I haven't had the chance to tell you how glad I am that you're here."
She gives him a quick, tight hug, taking a second to breathe in the familiar scent of his aftershave, before stepping back. "So, are you going to tell me how long you're staying? What brings you to Vegas," she grins as she adds, "besides me, of course?"
"You're definitely the best reason to come," he tells her. "As for the rest, I'll fill you in while I start making breakfast. You're hungry, right?"
"Yeah, definitely. Need any help?"
"No, sit down, take it easy. I may have to ask where to find something, but that's all the help I want from you this morning," he replies. "Next meal though, I may put you to work…"
"Next meal? Mhmm, I like the sound of that." She flashes a grin as she takes a seat at her breakfast bar.
True to his word, he fills her in while he prepares their breakfast.
"… so after a couple of months in Paris, then another four in Provence, I spent the rest of the year strolling up and down the Italian coast and along the countryside," he finishes saying as he turns the stove top off.
He fills up two glasses with fresh-squeezed orange juice and brings them over to her, then returns to the counter to arrange the food he made on the plates he had found.
"Crêpes filled with chocolate and topped with a light dusting of powdered sugar, and a side order of Smart Bacon and fresh fruit."
Her mouth's already watering when he sets her plate of breakfast in front of her.
"This looks great." She takes a bite out of her crêpe and her face lights up in pleasure. "Oh, wow. This is-this is… absolutely fantastic, Drew…" She breaks off, taking another huge bite out of her crêpe before trying the rest.
He laughs, picking up his fork to begin eating as well.
"That was delicious. Best breakfast ever," she declares later with a smile, after she finishes the last piece of fruit on her plate. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
She turns her head a bit, and he starts grinning, showing off his perfect white smile, the lines around his blue eyes crinkling.
"What?" she murmurs softly.
He doesn't say anything; instead, he reaches forward and softly brushes the pad of his thumb along the corner of her mouth.
She's taken aback by the unexpected, intimate contact and her breath catches ever so slightly. She jokes, trying to cover up her unexplained reaction to his touch, "You better not be getting touchy-feely with me. I've got your number."
He just grins and says, "Wouldn't dream of it," as he drops his hand, showing her the residue of powdered sugar on his thumb he had removed.
Three and a half hours later, they're in the living room, sitting on her couch – against her protests that he really shouldn't, Drew had insisted on helping her fold laundry. She had then teased him telling him she had already washed and put away her lingerie.
"So, what happened to you and… was it Maria?" she asks, her legs folded beneath her on the couch.
"Maria's long gone. Stella, Mae… Isabella, Francesca, Julia… they all came and left."
"Drew, when are you going to stop serial dating?" she asks, sighing.
"Hey, they don't get me and understand how deep these still waters run."
She rolls her eyes. "Hah. You are such a dirty little liar. You're a player."
"You wound me," he says, miming being struck in the heart by an arrow and pulling it out. "And it's really all your fault, Sara."
"Mine, you say? Why's that?" she asks, leaning forward slightly, interested to hear his reasoning.
"Because every time I ask you to run away with me, you say no."
She laughs and tosses a throw pillow at him, hitting him squarely in the face. "Well, maybe if you asked me more romantically—"
"What's not romantic about 'hey, come live with me, make my meals, answer all my demands, and be my sex goddess'?" he jokes.
"Exactly. I rest my case." She stands, stretches, and yawns. "And you wonder why all the girls break your heart…"