VISIONS OF YOU
Nick loved watching her when she slept. There was something so stunning about her form when she was completely relaxed; an innocence that seeped into her limbs. The moonlight, muted by the slats of the blinds in his bedroom, danced and dappled across her skin like pixie dust.
He had never known he could love someone like this, and while the emotions sometimes threatened to overwhelm him he found that loving Sara was strangely exhilarating. He was still amazed that she would feel the same way about him. For so long, he had considered himself a lost cause - irretrievably broken by the events that had conspired against him; had melded and formed him into the man he had become.
He had been scared almost his entire life. He had hidden it well, though. No one ever suspected that Nick Stokes had demons. When they had looked at him they had seen what he presented to the world - an optimistic, ex-frat boy, a ladies man, a good guy. And Nick kept people from going deeper by keeping the front running pretty much 24/7. Nick was happy to keep it that way. He didn't want anyone to know the real Nick. He didn't want to see the pity in their eyes when they learned about the babysitter; he didn't want anyone to know the suicidal thoughts that sometimes flitted through his mind, staining his soul. So he hid behind a façade, and didn't so much fight his demons as ignore them.
He had become quite adept at denial. He had become quite adept at avoiding commitment. He had become quite adept at living a lie.
His family, of course, knew the truth. Not the entire truth, mind you - he had never told them about the babysitter. But they knew the truth about him - that he was not a good guy. They knew about the many women he had fucked, just because they were there and available. They had not been able to laugh that away with the old 'boys will be boys' excuse.
They knew about the failed suicide attempt when he was sixteen. He could still remember with startling clarity the horror in his parent's eyes when they had first seen him in the hospital, after his stomach had been pumped clean of the drugs he had tried to kill himself with. When his mother had cried out "Why?" his response had been "Why not?"
Nothing had ever really been the same with his family after that. They watched him as if he were a time-bomb, waiting to explode. His parents had forced him back into therapy, desperate to ensure Nick would never do something like that again. His mother had begged him to get help, had cried like a child when she had told him she couldn't survive it if he killed himself. They had laid the mother of all guilt trips on him; and Nick had been trapped.
So, he had gone to the psychiatrist. He had revealed only what he wanted to reveal. He pretended he was getting better. But deep inside, he knew it was all a lie. He was still a little boy, still nine years old. Ashamed. Angry. And scared beyond all belief that someday he wouldn't be able to keep his promise to his mother. Someday, he would snap and it would kill him.
When he had joined the police force, back in Texas, his mother had known the reasons behind it. She hadn't been proud to have a son who was a police officer; she had been fearful. Nick had been a wild cop; hiding his death wish behind his gung-ho, 'let's get the bad guys' mentality. He had purposely put himself in the line of fire so many times his first year on the job it was amazing he was still alive. He had been shot once - a simple arrest gone bad. He and his partner had arrived at a liquor store during a robbery in progress. One of the perps had fled out the back door, running through the back allies of Houston with Nick hot on his tail. They had eventually ended up in a dead end ally, and the perp had pulled a gun. His hands had been shaking so badly, the gun had been wavering all over the place. His voice had cracked when he told Nick to just leave him alone. The perp - who Nick found out later had just turned 19 shot the gun accidentally, the bullet going cleanly through Nick's thigh. When he had realized he had shot a cop, he had turned the gun on himself and blown his brains out. Nick's partner had found him cradling the young man, covered in blood and brains, crying his eyes out.
For the second time in his life, Nick's parents had come to see him in the hospital. When Nick had seen the deep sadness in his mother's eyes, he knew he couldn't be a cop anymore. And so, he had become a CSI. And he had moved away from his family to start anew; on his own and away from their knowledge and their grief. Away from the life he had built for himself that was really no life at all. Away from the angry brothers and fathers; the myriad of women he had slept with - away from his reputation as a loose cannon with a wild streak.
And so it had been. For four years, Nick had built a life in Las Vegas. Away from the tragedy of his past, he could almost convince himself that nothing bad had ever happened to him. He liked to pretend he actually lived the charmed life everyone around him seemed to think he did. He only went back to Texas when he absolutely had to. Visits with his family were sporadic and strained. Communication consisted of a few letters and the odd phone call. And he told himself he was happy.
But Sara - somehow, she had slid through his defenses without even trying, and Nick had never realized she had even done so. They had started off the way Nick started with everyone, laughing, teasing, flirting - presenting the façade. But with her, it was different. When she was around, it wasn't so hard for him to act like he was happy. When she was around, he was content.
And then Nigel had happened. And the letter from his mother. Nick had felt his world had been blown to pieces once again. He had felt himself imploding; had felt himself spinning out of control. The life he had tried so hard to build for himself, his personal world of smoke and mirrors, had started falling apart. And into the midst of all that chaos, Sara had stepped forward. When she had learned he was looking for a place to stay, she had invited him to move in with her.
She had helped him pack, had understood implicitly his need to escape his house and the memories of Nigel, and she hadn't judged him. She hadn't thought him weak. She hadn't thought him crazy. She hadn't pitied him. When she had woken Nick up from a terrifying nightmare, she had allowed him to cry his pain out on her shoulder, providing comfort without questions. Her tears for him had been his undoing. Nick had found himself telling her everything. He told her about the babysitter; about his wild fuck-anything- that-moves days - pretty much everything. It was so easy to talk to her.
And she hadn't judged him. He still remembered how badly he had wanted to taste her that first time; the urgent aching desire he had felt to get as close to her as he physically could. The surprising thing had been she had let him. Knowing what she knew about him, she had still wrapped her arms around him, kissed him, loved him.
And afterwards, when they had been lying on her sofa exhausted and spent, she had gently taken his hand and led him into her bedroom and into her life.
It hadn't been easy. There was so much she didn't know yet - the suicide attempt, the shooting - the nightmares were just the surface. But it hadn't bothered her. She had supported him; she had loved him. At night, when the shakes came - when the demons broke free in his nightmares, she wrapped her body around him and replaced the memories of other hands and other bodies with the imprint of her own. Months had passed, and they were still together. Months had passed, and Nick was no longer hiding.
He was actually becoming the person he had presented to the world for so long. He was happier than he had ever been; more content than he had ever dreamed possible. Looking at the woman lying in his bed, he knew it was because of her. He was whole again because of Sara.
Rolling onto his side, he let his hand brush from her shoulder to her hip, marveling at the softness of her skin and the firmness of her body under that skin. He could see the faint bruising of his hand prints on her hips, where he had gripped her tightly as they had made love earlier that evening. It was rare for them to both have the night off, and they had celebrated.
Leaning into her, he ran the bridge of his nose gently along her collarbone, inhaling deeply as he did so, enjoying the scent of strawberries and Sara. When he felt her hand slide sleepily up his back, he smiled against her breast bone.
"I'm sorry," he whispered huskily, "I didn't mean to wake you."
"Yes you did," she murmured sleepily, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "You having nightmares?"
Nick shifted onto his back, bringing her with him and cradling her against his side. "No, just visions." His hands traced idle patterns on her back, and he smiled when he felt her sigh, before continuing, "Visions of you."
Sara's hand was warm against the flat planes of his stomach, fingers sliding across his navel, dancing across his hip bones before coming to rest at his side. Her arm pressed warmly across his ribcage, and he sighed at the easy weight. He felt her hair pooling around his shoulder, felt her lips as they traced the strong line of his jaw. He heard the gentle rasp of his stubble against the sensitive skin of her mouth; the slight noise sending a hot sizzle of desire to the pit of his belly, and he tightened his hold on her.
"I love you, Sara," he whispered. His hands made increasingly elaborate patterns on her back, and he grunted when she suddenly shifted, her elbow digging momentarily into his side as she half-rolled on top of him.
"I love you too, Nick," she replied. Her fathomless eyes shone with his dreams of the future; her words promising him a life worth living. "I love you too."
___________________________
Author's Note: Finally - a Nick / Sara continuation of Aftermath. This is for all the N/S 'shippers out there who've been asking for a continuation - thanks for the emails and requests. Sorry it took so long, but I hope the wait was worth it!
Nick loved watching her when she slept. There was something so stunning about her form when she was completely relaxed; an innocence that seeped into her limbs. The moonlight, muted by the slats of the blinds in his bedroom, danced and dappled across her skin like pixie dust.
He had never known he could love someone like this, and while the emotions sometimes threatened to overwhelm him he found that loving Sara was strangely exhilarating. He was still amazed that she would feel the same way about him. For so long, he had considered himself a lost cause - irretrievably broken by the events that had conspired against him; had melded and formed him into the man he had become.
He had been scared almost his entire life. He had hidden it well, though. No one ever suspected that Nick Stokes had demons. When they had looked at him they had seen what he presented to the world - an optimistic, ex-frat boy, a ladies man, a good guy. And Nick kept people from going deeper by keeping the front running pretty much 24/7. Nick was happy to keep it that way. He didn't want anyone to know the real Nick. He didn't want to see the pity in their eyes when they learned about the babysitter; he didn't want anyone to know the suicidal thoughts that sometimes flitted through his mind, staining his soul. So he hid behind a façade, and didn't so much fight his demons as ignore them.
He had become quite adept at denial. He had become quite adept at avoiding commitment. He had become quite adept at living a lie.
His family, of course, knew the truth. Not the entire truth, mind you - he had never told them about the babysitter. But they knew the truth about him - that he was not a good guy. They knew about the many women he had fucked, just because they were there and available. They had not been able to laugh that away with the old 'boys will be boys' excuse.
They knew about the failed suicide attempt when he was sixteen. He could still remember with startling clarity the horror in his parent's eyes when they had first seen him in the hospital, after his stomach had been pumped clean of the drugs he had tried to kill himself with. When his mother had cried out "Why?" his response had been "Why not?"
Nothing had ever really been the same with his family after that. They watched him as if he were a time-bomb, waiting to explode. His parents had forced him back into therapy, desperate to ensure Nick would never do something like that again. His mother had begged him to get help, had cried like a child when she had told him she couldn't survive it if he killed himself. They had laid the mother of all guilt trips on him; and Nick had been trapped.
So, he had gone to the psychiatrist. He had revealed only what he wanted to reveal. He pretended he was getting better. But deep inside, he knew it was all a lie. He was still a little boy, still nine years old. Ashamed. Angry. And scared beyond all belief that someday he wouldn't be able to keep his promise to his mother. Someday, he would snap and it would kill him.
When he had joined the police force, back in Texas, his mother had known the reasons behind it. She hadn't been proud to have a son who was a police officer; she had been fearful. Nick had been a wild cop; hiding his death wish behind his gung-ho, 'let's get the bad guys' mentality. He had purposely put himself in the line of fire so many times his first year on the job it was amazing he was still alive. He had been shot once - a simple arrest gone bad. He and his partner had arrived at a liquor store during a robbery in progress. One of the perps had fled out the back door, running through the back allies of Houston with Nick hot on his tail. They had eventually ended up in a dead end ally, and the perp had pulled a gun. His hands had been shaking so badly, the gun had been wavering all over the place. His voice had cracked when he told Nick to just leave him alone. The perp - who Nick found out later had just turned 19 shot the gun accidentally, the bullet going cleanly through Nick's thigh. When he had realized he had shot a cop, he had turned the gun on himself and blown his brains out. Nick's partner had found him cradling the young man, covered in blood and brains, crying his eyes out.
For the second time in his life, Nick's parents had come to see him in the hospital. When Nick had seen the deep sadness in his mother's eyes, he knew he couldn't be a cop anymore. And so, he had become a CSI. And he had moved away from his family to start anew; on his own and away from their knowledge and their grief. Away from the life he had built for himself that was really no life at all. Away from the angry brothers and fathers; the myriad of women he had slept with - away from his reputation as a loose cannon with a wild streak.
And so it had been. For four years, Nick had built a life in Las Vegas. Away from the tragedy of his past, he could almost convince himself that nothing bad had ever happened to him. He liked to pretend he actually lived the charmed life everyone around him seemed to think he did. He only went back to Texas when he absolutely had to. Visits with his family were sporadic and strained. Communication consisted of a few letters and the odd phone call. And he told himself he was happy.
But Sara - somehow, she had slid through his defenses without even trying, and Nick had never realized she had even done so. They had started off the way Nick started with everyone, laughing, teasing, flirting - presenting the façade. But with her, it was different. When she was around, it wasn't so hard for him to act like he was happy. When she was around, he was content.
And then Nigel had happened. And the letter from his mother. Nick had felt his world had been blown to pieces once again. He had felt himself imploding; had felt himself spinning out of control. The life he had tried so hard to build for himself, his personal world of smoke and mirrors, had started falling apart. And into the midst of all that chaos, Sara had stepped forward. When she had learned he was looking for a place to stay, she had invited him to move in with her.
She had helped him pack, had understood implicitly his need to escape his house and the memories of Nigel, and she hadn't judged him. She hadn't thought him weak. She hadn't thought him crazy. She hadn't pitied him. When she had woken Nick up from a terrifying nightmare, she had allowed him to cry his pain out on her shoulder, providing comfort without questions. Her tears for him had been his undoing. Nick had found himself telling her everything. He told her about the babysitter; about his wild fuck-anything- that-moves days - pretty much everything. It was so easy to talk to her.
And she hadn't judged him. He still remembered how badly he had wanted to taste her that first time; the urgent aching desire he had felt to get as close to her as he physically could. The surprising thing had been she had let him. Knowing what she knew about him, she had still wrapped her arms around him, kissed him, loved him.
And afterwards, when they had been lying on her sofa exhausted and spent, she had gently taken his hand and led him into her bedroom and into her life.
It hadn't been easy. There was so much she didn't know yet - the suicide attempt, the shooting - the nightmares were just the surface. But it hadn't bothered her. She had supported him; she had loved him. At night, when the shakes came - when the demons broke free in his nightmares, she wrapped her body around him and replaced the memories of other hands and other bodies with the imprint of her own. Months had passed, and they were still together. Months had passed, and Nick was no longer hiding.
He was actually becoming the person he had presented to the world for so long. He was happier than he had ever been; more content than he had ever dreamed possible. Looking at the woman lying in his bed, he knew it was because of her. He was whole again because of Sara.
Rolling onto his side, he let his hand brush from her shoulder to her hip, marveling at the softness of her skin and the firmness of her body under that skin. He could see the faint bruising of his hand prints on her hips, where he had gripped her tightly as they had made love earlier that evening. It was rare for them to both have the night off, and they had celebrated.
Leaning into her, he ran the bridge of his nose gently along her collarbone, inhaling deeply as he did so, enjoying the scent of strawberries and Sara. When he felt her hand slide sleepily up his back, he smiled against her breast bone.
"I'm sorry," he whispered huskily, "I didn't mean to wake you."
"Yes you did," she murmured sleepily, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "You having nightmares?"
Nick shifted onto his back, bringing her with him and cradling her against his side. "No, just visions." His hands traced idle patterns on her back, and he smiled when he felt her sigh, before continuing, "Visions of you."
Sara's hand was warm against the flat planes of his stomach, fingers sliding across his navel, dancing across his hip bones before coming to rest at his side. Her arm pressed warmly across his ribcage, and he sighed at the easy weight. He felt her hair pooling around his shoulder, felt her lips as they traced the strong line of his jaw. He heard the gentle rasp of his stubble against the sensitive skin of her mouth; the slight noise sending a hot sizzle of desire to the pit of his belly, and he tightened his hold on her.
"I love you, Sara," he whispered. His hands made increasingly elaborate patterns on her back, and he grunted when she suddenly shifted, her elbow digging momentarily into his side as she half-rolled on top of him.
"I love you too, Nick," she replied. Her fathomless eyes shone with his dreams of the future; her words promising him a life worth living. "I love you too."
___________________________
Author's Note: Finally - a Nick / Sara continuation of Aftermath. This is for all the N/S 'shippers out there who've been asking for a continuation - thanks for the emails and requests. Sorry it took so long, but I hope the wait was worth it!