Holding On

When she came down from the shower, she looked significantly better than she had at any time since she'd arrived at his house the night before. Her hair was falling around her shoulders in damp ringlets, her cheeks pink from the hot water, her whole manner more relaxed than she'd been in the last twenty-four hours. They talked while they ate, small talk about the case that they were working on, throwing theories and guesswork around, and when both plates were empty, she stood and said that she'd better go home to change before the shift.

"Wouldn't want people talking about you," Warrick agreed, knowing that after her mood yesterday, both Nick and Greg would be keeping a close eye on her. To say that those two weren't the most discreet of persons was to put it mildly, and if Sara showed up wearing the same clothes two days in a row, rumours were bound to get started. "Leave those," he told her as she started piling the dishes together. "I'll do them."

She glanced up at him quickly, then did as she was told. She stayed standing, seemingly at a loss for what to do with her hands, first crossing them, then joining them behind her back, then resting them on her hips. He didn't say anything, just stood up and brought the dishes over to the sink. When he turned back to her, her hands were resting on the table, tapping the top restlessly. "Warrick…"

She ran out of steam then, and he lifted an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

"Just…thank you." Her cheeks were pink, and this time, he knew that it wasn't from the shower.

"Any time," he told her, and he was surprised to find that he meant it. He walked her to the door, amid promises that he'd cover for her with Grissom if she was late, and of course, that he'd owe her big time. In turn, she told him that she wouldn't be late.

Nor was she.

He didn't miss the fact that she was significantly more relaxed than she had been the previous day, nor did anyone else. Once more, he tried to stay out of the conversations, and he succeeded, until he overheard Nick and Greg in the lab discussing the whys and wherefores of what might have been going on with her. They'd turned to him, as if to ask for his input, but mercifully, Grissom had appeared at the door, calling him out to the crime scene, telling him that Sara was waiting in the car.

They put in a full shift's work and more, combing the crime scene, analysing prints and fibres, and near to the end of the shift, they got a call from Doctor Robbins, asking them to come see something he'd discovered in the autopsy. They were on their way in when a beeper went off, and Warrick, Sara and Grissom all checked theirs. "Not me," Warrick said, glancing over at Grissom, who was also shaking his head.

"It's me," Sara said, her voice sounding very far away, eyes narrowed as she studied the display. Her jaw tightened, and Warrick could almost see tension settling over her like a blanket. "You mind if I take this?" she asked, looking quickly at Grissom, then Warrick, then back to Grissom again. "It's important."

"Sure," Grissom said. "See you in there." Sara nodded, turning quickly, not looking at Warrick again, heading quickly down the hall in the direction of the break room. Warrick stood, watching her retreating back, jumping when he heard Grissom's voice behind him. "Warrick?" When he turned, Grissom was eyeing him curiously. "Coming?"

His lips quirking up in a sheepish smile, Warrick followed him in, listening with interest as Doctor Robbins took them through his autopsy findings, paying special attention to the stab wounds on the victim's back, and in particular, the fact that they had been caused by a blade with serrated edges. "You want me to mould the wounds right?" Warrick asked, already ahead of Grissom, wincing at the thought of the overtime that surely lay ahead of him.

"A serrated blade is unusual," Grissom said, thinking out loud. "Sara can go to the dealer that she talked to before…" He stopped, looking around him as if he'd just realised something. "Come to think of it, where is Sara?"

Warrick looked around, realising for the first time that Sara hadn't arrived, glancing up at the clock, eyes narrowing as he calculated just how long they'd been there. The memory of the look in her eyes when she'd seen the pager display, the way that she'd studiously avoided his gaze, had a surge of worry unfurling in his stomach, and he pulled the ugly white smock away from his body. "Why don't I go look for her? Tell her what's up."

From the tone of his voice, it wasn't a suggestion, and Grissom simply nodded, not asking any questions, something for which Warrick was grateful. He paused when he got to the hallway, wondering where she'd be, before deciding to go where he'd last seen her heading; towards the break room. After all, there was a phone there, that must have been where she was going; maybe she was still there.

He could see from the window that she was, moreover that she was still on the phone, her back to the window, one hand above her head on the wall, as if that was the only thing holding her up. As he watched, she hung up the phone, leaning against it and the wall, and from clear outside the room, he could see her shoulders shaking. Looking from left to right, he saw an empty hallway, and, hoping he was doing the right thing, he stepped into the room. She jumped slightly when the door clicked shut behind him, and he could see her hand going up to her face, but she didn't turn around. "It's me," he said softly, and he was gratified to hear her chuckle slightly.

"Grissom sent out the search party?" she asked, still with her back to him. He frowned, hearing the obvious catch and tremor in her voice.

"He didn't need to," he said simply, moving closer to her, standing so that his hip was resting against the table in the centre of the kitchen unit. "You ok?"

"I'm fine," she told him, turning then, and he kept his face neutral with difficulty. Her face was chalk white, devoid of any colour, making the redness of her eyes stand out even more.

"Yeah?" He didn't believe her, and the single word would leave her in no doubt of that.

One hand went to her hip, the other to the top of her head, scratching as her eyes screwed up in confusion. "That was my dad," she admitted, beginning to pace restlessly around the room. "He said he'd been calling me all day; I had my cell phone switched off. I didn't want to… I didn't want…" Her voice trailed off and she pushed her hair back with both hands, holding it there. "He said that they had found a body…that they had evidence on Eric…"

Warrick took a couple of steps closer to her, pursing his lips in disgust. "Son of a bitch," he muttered.

"…They say that they're sure he killed her…they're just waiting to charge him…" She looked at him then, their eyes meeting, and if anything, the pain he saw there was worse than he'd seen that morning. "Dad said…" Her voice caught on a half-sob. "He said that they're re-opening Shona's case…they think…" Her hand went to her mouth, and she paled even further, something Warrick wouldn't have said was possible, and he could see her being to sway on her feet.

Moving quickly, he caught her by the shoulders, guiding her over to the more comfortable chairs, pushing her down onto one of the arms. She braced her hands on her knees, leaning over slightly, breathing hard, dropping her head, and he continued to hold her by the shoulders, supporting her until her breathing levelled off. He didn't speak until she lifted her head to look up at him. "Better?" he asked, and she shook her head soundlessly. "C'mere," he sighed, pulling her towards him. She went willingly, arms loose at her side, her head nestling in the centre of his chest, his arms wrapping around her shoulders. "It's ok," he told her quietly, feeling her shaking, but not crying. "It's gonna be ok."

She didn't move, didn't show any signs of moving, not until the door opened and she sprang up, bracing herself with her hands on the arm of the chair. Both she and Warrick turned to see Grissom standing there, curiosity in his eyes, but no other emotion discernible on his face. "Sara?" he asked, looking from her to Warrick, but she didn't reply, just looked down at the floor.

"Sara just got some news," Warrick found himself saying. "Family emergency."

"Oh." Grissom pondered that for a second. "You need some time off?"

Sara blinked slowly. "I don't… I don't know Grissom. Maybe…I don't know."

The slightest of frowns appeared between Grissom's eyebrows, and Warrick jumped in before he could ask any other questions. "I was gonna take her home." He eyed the clock significantly. "We're on overtime as it is, and the knife shop'll wait for a couple of hours."

Any other time, Grissom might have objected. Hell, any other time, Sara and Warrick both would have too. But right now, Sara wasn't in any condition to work, and Warrick's hand was on her shoulder, where it had fallen to help steady her when Grissom first came in, and Grissom didn't blink. "Sure. I'll see you guys later."

"Yeah." Warrick nodded at his boss and took Sara by the elbow, helping her up. "Come on, let's get you home." He let her walk ahead of him, his hand barely grazing her back, and he could feel Grissom's eyes on them the whole way down the hall.

It was a measure of Sara's state of mind that she didn't speak as she got her jacket from her locker, letting Warrick lead her out to the car park, stopping only when he held open his passenger door for her. "This isn't my car," she said, looking at him with eyes that were only half focussed.

He just looked at her. "You think I'm gonna let you drive?" She closed her eyes for a second, then shook her head in defeat and climbed into the car. Once she sat down, she closed her eyes again, allowing him to drive all the way back to his place without either one of them saying a word. She only reacted when he stopped the car, and she looked around her, seeing where she was for the first time.

"This isn't my place."

"I know."

His words brought a ghost of a smile to her face. "You could have dropped me off."

He raised one eyebrow. "You think I'm gonna leave you alone?" She smiled broadly at that, gap toothed grin and all, and he shrugged offhandedly, not wanting to show her how relieved that simple gesture made him. "Come on in."

When they got indoors, she made a beeline for the couch, stripping off her jacket as she walked. She slumped down on the couch in a boneless heap, closing her eyes and tilting her head back, letting out a long breath. The jacket fell to the floor beside her and he picked it up, hanging it beside his before going back over to her. He stood looking down at her for a minute, then asked, "You need anything?"

Her eyes opened a sliver and she shook her head. "I'm so tired Warrick," she whispered, her voice almost inaudible.

Sighing, he sat down beside her, leaving a generous amount of space between them, not wanting to crowd her. "Then you should sleep."

"I'm afraid to." Her voice stayed at the same level, but much to his surprise, she shifted so that she closed the distance between them, sitting close enough that her head rested on his shoulder. "I don't know what I'll see if I do." She sucked in a ragged breath. "I've lived with this for so long, the not knowing, the not being sure. I don't know how to live with closure. With maybe knowing what happened…" She turned brown eyes filled with tears up to him, pressing white knuckles to her lips. "I don't…"

Something made him reach up, taking her hand away from her mouth, holding it in between both of his, ice encased in heat. "You'll be fine." His words were firm, confident, and she blinked in surprise.

"You don't know that," she choked out.

"I know you." At that, a tear spilled over, tracing its way down her cheek. "You'll get through this Sara. We're all here for you. Whatever it takes."

She held his gaze, swallowing hard, then dropped her head back on to his shoulder. Warrick turned his head slightly, his cheek resting on top of her head, his breath moving the fine strands of hair, his hands still holding hers. The silence stretched until Warrick felt the first spot of dampness hit his shoulder, followed by another. Pulling his head back, he looked at her, and saw that she was crying; not sobbing or shaking, just a steady stream of tears making their way down her cheeks. Without stopping to think, he shifted in his seat, releasing her hand and wrapping one arm around her shoulders, holding her to him tightly.

He wasn't sure how much later it was when she pulled away, wiping her face with both hands. "Thank you. Again," she breathed, resting her elbows on her knees, chin on her fists.

Warrick shrugged. "Any time," he told her, the same words that he'd said to her earlier on that morning, and he saw her smile tiredly as the realisation hit her. "You ready to turn in?"

Sara nodded, standing and stretching, rolling her shoulders. "Same place as last night?"

He chuckled. "Shirt's under the pillow."

She turned to him inquiringly. "You were expecting me?"

"Nah. Just lazy."

She looked up, shaking her head in amusement, then stilled, her face going slack. There was no reason for that that Warrick could think of, not until he followed her gaze, saw where she was looking. Her own face peered back at her from the hall mirror, staring transfixed from the glass, stunning her into immobility, but he knew, without even asking, that it wasn't her face that he was seeing.

"Sara." He spoke her name quietly, hands resting on her shoulders, squeezing ever so gently, and she looked up, forcing a smile to her face. "Let's go."