VI - SHELTER

Nick, living up to his initial offer of cooking breakfast, was puttering around Sara's kitchen. He had a tea-towel slung over one shoulder, and was gamely mixing milk, flour and eggs in a big bowel with a little metal wisk.

Sara had gone to change into a pair of track pants and a loose t-shirt, and was no sitting at the kitchen table, directing Nick to whatever ingredients he asked for. She had an amused smile on her face. "The flowered tea- towel really completes that look well, Nicky."

Nick snorted. "Your tea-towel. Frankly, I'm surprised you would have anything so girly in your place."

Sara pretended to be offended. "What? You don't think I'm girly? You don't think I'm feminine?"

Nick snorted again. "Girly? You? No. Capable, smart - feminine in a strong way? Yes."

Sara laughed. "Thanks - I think." She watched as Nick poured a small amount of his mixture on a heated griddle, manipulating the pan until he had a perfect circle, thin as a sheet of paper. He expertly flipped the crepe, and slid it unto a plate that he stuck in the oven to keep warm.

"Really Nick, you keep going like this, you'll make someone an excellent wife someday!" Sara teased, as she quickly set the table.

"Yeah, yeah. Keep it up, and I'll eat all these delicious crepes myself." He had just finished the last one, and pulled the warming plate out of the oven and set it gently on the table. "Watch out - this is hot."

"Yes Mom!" Sara teased again, and laughed when Nick rolled his eyes at her. Minutes later, after she had come up for air, she complimented him on his fine cooking.

"I'm surprised you managed to taste them at all, you inhaled them so fast." Nick still had a couple of crepes on his plate. Sara watched him, fascinated, as he melted a small pat of butter on one, sprinkled sugar over it, and rolled it up, before cutting it into small pieces.

"What's that taste like? Without the syrup?"

"Uhm - good. Here, try some." He offered her the piece on his fork. "My mom always used to eat them this way."

"Wow - that's delicious." Sara picked up her fork, and started stealing pieces from Nick's plate. "So, your Mom - she the one that taught you to cook?"

"Well, that depends on what type of cooking your talking about." Nick leered at Sara suggestively, before grinning. "Seriously, yes. My mom said it was important for all us boys to know how to cook, how to wash clothes properly by separating them - how to put the toilet seat down."

Sara laughed. "Ooh - I love your mother. My mother couldn't even boil water. Toast was something you made with a wine glass."

"And yet, you survived! So, if she didn't cook, who did? I know it wasn't you - I remember the burnt offerings you tried to pass off as cookies at the last staff party."

"Ouch, Nicky. Ouch." Sara grimaced, before brightening immediately. "But, hey, it's the thought that counts!"

"Yeah - and I thought you were trying to kill us!" Sara snorted, and poured herself another cup of coffee, before topping off Nick's. "C'mon, let's go sit on the sofa."

"If you really must know," Sara said, as Nick trailed her to the living room, "my babysitter did all the cooking."

She glanced up at Nick slyly, expecting him to make some teasing remark about silver spoons or the like, and was surprised at how white he had gone.

He looked at her, stricken. "Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water," he muttered humorlessly, "it comes back and bites you on the ass." Nick smiled at Sara, not with any real joy, and looked down at his hands. The knuckles were white.

"Nick? Nicky? You don't have to go into any depth if you don't want to, but please tell me what's wrong."

It was the concern in her voice that did him in. "I was raped by my babysitter." His voice was harsh. "I was nine." And then the tears came. Nick's body was wracked with sobs, his breathe heaving. Sara reached out and wrapped her arms around him, and he buried his face in her shoulder.

"It's alright, it's alright." Her hands stroked his back soothingly, and she continued to murmur quietly until his tears subsided, pressing gentle kisses against the crown of his head. After a while, she heard Nick sigh, and the sound of it broke her heart.

"Nicky, it's not your fault."

"I know." His voice was muffled against her neck. "Deep down, I know. But it's so hard, sometimes. And then we get cases like Timmy - and all of a sudden, it's happening all over again." He shifted up and out of Sara's comforting embrace, hurriedly wiping the palms of his hands against his eyes, before looking at Sara. "God, I'm such a mess." "No. No, your not, Nick. You're one of the strongest men I know. And you're brave. You've put yourself in a position where you have to face your demons on a regular basis, and you do it. You do it to try to catch criminals and predators that prey on innocent victims; to keep them from hurting other people. I admire that."

As she spoke, Sara shifted into a more comfortable position on the sofa, half reclining against the big throw pillows at the side. Lifting her left leg up, she threw it behind Nick, sliding it between the sofa and his back. "C'mon, big guy. Make yourself comfortable. Turn around - yes, that way." Nick twisted until his back was to her. "Good, now scooch back. There. Just like that."

Sara started gently rubbing Nick's temples, the back of his head, his stiff neck and shoulders. After a few minutes, she could feel his tension palpably ease. He shifted a bit more, leaning back into her and resting his head on her chest. Absently, he adjusted her leg so that it curved around the front of his waist, her foot resting just between his knees. Neither of them spoke, but Sara sang softly to herself as she massaged him.

Nick fell asleep, tear tracks still staining his cheeks, and a smile on his face as he realized she was singing the song they had listened to in the truck on the way over.