Disclaimer: I don't own it, I don't pretend to own it, and I don't mean to offend anyone's sensibilities.
Thank You: Stelmarta for being there! Mom because I love her! Megan for keeping in touch, despite however much of an idiot I can be.
Special Thank You:
Saryn for the wonderful support:
Here is your cookie (chocolate w/ M &M's) and your football game.
Chapter Thirteen
Sara drove around Vegas, aimlessly, not wanting to think, but the conversation played in circles like an unending tape. Finally she stopped, realising she was just too tired to keep driving.
It was an upscale restaurant, upscale in the way only Vegas can be, tucked in the corner of one of the more prominent casinos. Ming's Cantonese Corner, it was trendy, expensive, and had the best Cantonese food Sara'd ever had, outside of Mama-Xao's kitchen.
The staff knew her, they damn well should. She stopped there for a meal almost three or four times a week, tipped outrageously, and ordered in the native language. Not many Chinese even did that, certainly not in an expensive casino in Vegas three times a week. That was the result of Deng Xao's monetary gift to her, and Sara's one, and only, indulgence.
Entering the dim, cool, interior was like crawling back into the womb. She'd been practically raised in Mama-Xao's kitchen, busing tables and taking orders since she was tall enough to reach the register. Sara may never be able to cook like a human being, but she could chop things with a Chinese style cleaver with a speed and accuracy that would make a steakhouse chef weep in envy.
They spirited her to 'her' table, one overlooking the casino floor, and handed her a menu, not that she really needed it. She ordered, and the food was brought out without question. No one bothered to ask why she was eating Cantonese for breakfast. 'Thank God for Vegas' Sara thought to herself, 'nothing ever closes not even Chinese restaurants at seven thirty in the morning.'
She knew that she'd been unfair, that her friends were only trying to help, that they cared enough about her to want her to stay. It was just something inside Sara that twitched and fought violently the instant she became vulnerable.
Den Xao had learned to live with her, um, eccentricities, out of necessity; they'd both been the 'odd men out' during Elementary and High School. It was only natural that they'd cling together, but that relationship had been decades in the making. She'd only been at CSI for a year, a little more perhaps, how could they presume to, well, presume to make these kinds of demands on her?
But then again there was Catherine, sweet mommy figure and raunchy ex-stripper all in one. Warrick, her never realized, but always there big brother. Nick was, Sara's stomach gave an excited little jump just thinking about him, Nick was just Nick and she was beginning to think that she might love him dearly for it, but she refused to analyse that relationship any more than strictly necessary. Then there was Grissom, Gil Grissom, Mr. Grissom, Professor Gil, and just plain Griss.
It bounced back and forth in her head for a while until her cell phone rang, nearly jumping her out of her skin. This wasn't her Vegas PD issued cell; this was her personal micro-mini wireless internet, PDA, super clear, digital toy phone. It had been another gift from the computer goddess, Deng Xao, and as far as Sara knew she was the only one with the number. It was the emergency lifeline for the two women who'd spent most of their lives in extremely close contact.
"Hey Dinghy", Deng Xao secretly despised the nickname, but like all good nicknames it had stuck.
"Hey Sare-bear, Grissom see you?"
"Jesus, you knew about that too? I suppose the re-broadcast'll be on CNN if anyone missed it the first time 'round." Sara grumbled, halfway pleased that this was not a situation she was going at alone.
"Very funny, I'm laughing." Deng Xao, said sardonically, "Seriously, you gonna forgive him?"
"How did you…no I don't want to know, that'll just make it even worse." Sara rubbed her eyes, feeling a headache forming, "I just…I'm lost Dinghy, I don't know what to do."
"Do you like Vegas?" asked Deng sensibly.
"Of course!" Sara protested, "That's not the problem."
"Do you wanna come back to NEThackers? You know that you're always welcome back here at home. I could use the help."
"I know, I know, it's just that I got, or rather I thought that I had something…good. " Sara stumbled, and then grumbled, "They've confused ME!"
"Ok, let's simplify," Deng said amicably, "Suck it up, stay in Vegas, and hang out with that Boy Scout from Texas. OR: give it up, come home, and make a mint of money with me."
"Waitaminute" Sara pulled back a second, "Since when did you know about Nick and me?"
"Since we had a little chat about life, liberty, and the pursuit of chocolate cake a couple of days ago. Or maybe yesterday, I don't know, your schedule's got me all whacked. Why can't you just do day shift?" Dang asked, irately.
Sara's head started to swim, "Slow down Deng you're losing me. I'm night shift because I want to be night shift. I like Vegas, even if Grissom's an idiot occasionally, and I don't have the foggiest idea what to do with Nick."
"Sweetheart," Dang said in a deliberately condescending tone, "If you don't know what to do with him, then you're wayyy too far gone."
"That's not what I meant!"
"Ok, ok," Deng realised she'd pushed a little too far, "We'll leave that alone. For now. Decision time Sara, put it up or give it up. Decide. Now."
Sara sat, frozen, but it just floated out of her disobedient mouth, "Put it up."
Silence. For about ten full seconds there wasn't a sound on the other line, and then Deng Xao sighed, audibly moved, "Good. Real good, Sare-bear. You need to be there, Frisco would have just been one giant step backwards."
"Then why didn't you say so?" Sara asked, not upset, she couldn't really get upset with Deng Xao, "Woulda made my life a lot easier."
"You had to make that decision for yourself, love; I don't run your life." Sara knew Deng was grinning on the other end, "You know I'm here if you need me."
"Yeah, me too" Sara felt the weight on her shoulders lift away, leave it to Deng to make everything simple again, "Love you Dinghy."
"Love ya too, Bear-y." she sniffled, "Oh damn, I'm messing up my mascara."
"Go fix it" Sara commanded, "I'm ok."
"Sure?" sniffled Deng.
"Yeah, thanks." Sara hung up, not waiting for Deng's acknowledgement. She was staying, not without certain changes, but Sara Sidle was not about to give up or give in on anything. That was not in her vocabulary.
Determined, she finished her breakfast in peace.
****
That afternoon, after some serious soul searching, and a nap she decided to confront her little demons. It was a toss up for which one of her friends was more important to her sanity, but she made a decision anyway. She decided the easiest way to confront this was, in a typically bull-headed fashion, head on.
Sara knew, vaguely, where Nick claimed that his Rugby 'pitch' was located. It was in the same sporting complex where the stupid hockey player had got himself killed on the ice, even if he wasn't exactly killed on the ice. It wasn't an exclusively Rugby place, just a soccer/football/lacrosse/rugby/whatever stretch of dry grass. She didn't know the vaguest thing about the sport, other than it was played in some European country or other and was very violent.
Sure enough one of the dusty, sweaty, and otherwise undistinguishable players was Nick, she recognised the A&M T-shirt. They smacked into each other with a gleeful disregard for safety and good health. There was a footballish shaped ball, but too big for a football, that they tossed about. They didn't stop when someone went down, just kept right on going over the prone form, and they only passed backwards or sideways, something she found very curious.
At some point they seemed to attempt organization, about half moved on to one side and the other half shed their shirts and moved to the other. Nick was one who shed his shirt, and for the remainder of the event Sara was treated to the pleasure of watching him run around, sweating, without a shirt on.
About ten minutes later Sara decided it was kind of like football, only without pads or complicated plays or whatnot. They just kicked it off, ran, and tackled. If someone got tackled he just gave up the ball before he got mauled and the game moved on. They did appear to have penalties; they all huddled into a circle and kicked each other, or the ball, when it got tossed in. If it went out-of-bounds they tossed it back in, like soccer, but different.
They all shook hands, some more firmly than others, and began to trot off the grass. Sara stood up, off the flimsy aluminium bleachers, and stood by the exit. She got several appreciative looks, and by men who were by no means shabby, but her eyes were only focused on Nick. He didn't look up until he was almost on top of her, his head downcast and his chest heaving.
"Hey," she called, before he passed her by.
"Sara" he said disbelievingly.
"Hey! Baby, wanna come home with a real man?" some of the other men catcalled, teasing Nick, but he just froze in place, wanting to touch her, but realizing he was too filthy.
"This is what you do for fun?" she asked him, not being able to visualize Nick, who'd been nothing but gentle with her, mauling a man into the ground like she'd seen him do.
"Yeah, it's a good workout. Gets rid off all that stress" Nick said mechanically, "Got hooked up with it in Dallas, guy named Sullivan, there's a club."
"Well it is a good workout," Sara eyed the results of that physical exertion, for he hadn't put his shirt back on yet, "You don't hear me complaining."
He smiled and exaggeratingly flexed his chest and biceps. Sara giggled, involuntarily, because that was not a usual sound that she made, but the ice had been broken. My, my, did his chest look good.
"Come home with me," she blurted, unable to find the right words to make the request seem less like an order.
"Ok," he nodded, seriously, because it was a serious thing she'd suggested. "Lemme go get cleaned up."
