Title: The Eyes Have It
Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sara/Warrick
Spoilers: Post ep to And Then There Were None
Feedback: Makes my day
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Archive: At my site Checkmate () , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.
Summary: Sara heads for home
***
Your mind is spinning as you try to make sense of everything that you've seen in the last few hours of this shift. You have to admit that this is one of the more confusing cases that you've ever worked on as a CSI, going from two murders to one case, suspects falling like dominoes one by one. Grissom and Catherine have headed out to talk to Officer Spencer, Brass meeting them en route, and you can't believe that he turned out to be the killer after all that. You didn't like him the first time you met him of course, but you thought that was because he was a state trooper with a stick up his ass. You'd never have dreamed that he'd be capable of anything like this.
Just goes to show that you should always follow Grissom's most sacred maxim - never assume.
It's been a long shift, but it's over now, and you make your way to the locker room, eager to get home, have a long hot shower and fall into your bed. You don't need much sleep, it's true, but there are times when even you hit a wall, and you're pretty sure that you're about an hour from hitting one right now.
You fully expect the locker room to be deserted when you get there; after all, you got caught up in paperwork, and you know that Nick's left. So you're surprised when you see Warrick there, his back to you, giving you a very nice view. He's grabbing a shirt out of his locker, and you take a moment to admire the contrast of the white tank top against his dark skin, and when the brown shirt impedes your view, a pang of disappointment shoots through you. Number one, you preferred the blue shirt he was wearing for the entire shift. Number two, you really preferred him in just the tank top.
Although you'd absolutely prefer him in less than that.
Your somewhat less than platonic thoughts are interrupted when he turns around, not reacting in the slightest when he sees you standing there. "Hey," is all he says, and you muster a tired smile.
"Hey," you reply, trudging towards your locker, wishing all the while that you'd arrived a couple of minutes sooner. "You heading out?"
"Yeah." The reply comes instantly, punctuated by the metallic clang of his locker door banging shut. "Me and my couch are gonna spend some serious down time together." You fight back an image of the two of you, stretched out on the couch in one another's arms, and in so doing, you almost miss his next words. "You too?"
"Yeah." You don't know if you mean that you're heading home, or that you want to spend some serious down time on his couch, but you hope that's not too obvious by your tone. You open your locker, staring into it for a moment, and you can't help but notice that you don't hear any movement behind you. You can almost feel his eyes boring into your back, and a shiver runs up your spine. You hope he doesn't notice, but you're sure he does. He notices everything.
That brings another thought to mind, and you fight back a grin. "Don't think I didn't notice that crack you made in the editing bay today," you tell him, and you don't turn around, don't look at him, just like you didn't look at him in the editing bay. His words echo in your head now, that teasing tone, the tone that you've heard a million times from him; "Missed him? We'll play it again. Slower. Just for you." Had you been alone, you would have glared at him, given his shoulder a playful shove, but you weren't alone, and so you didn't react per se, just pursed your lips and looked down.
There's a soft chuckle from behind you, and an answer that might have almost been a joke. "Hey, is it my fault that you can't see what's right in front of you?"
It was supposed to be a joke, you know that. And it could just be your imagination, but it sounds like there's a slight undercurrent in his voice.
You banish the thought quickly from your mind, shrugging one shoulder, but still not turning. "I see just fine," you tell him, hoping that he gets the underlying message there.
There's a pause from behind you, and then you hear him move, take a couple of steps closer to you. You hold your breath until you feel the touch you've been waiting for; his hands settling on your hips lightly, the touch managing to be both gentle and firm. "You do, do you?" His voice is deep and low, sending another shiver up your spine, and he's close enough to you that his breath moves the wisps of hair at the side of your face.
You still don't turn, but you lean back ever so slightly, pressing your weight against him, letting him support you. A little voice in the back of your head tells you that this is insanity, to let him touch you like this in the CSI locker room, where anyone could walk in on you, but a louder voice convinces you that you really don't care. That's the one you listen to.
"You're not going to get all superior over that are you?" you ask him after a second, a redundant question if ever you heard one, because you know that competition is a strong part of your relationship, and he's going to tease you about this until the end of time. You also know that that idea doesn't vex you as much as it might.
"Superior? Me?" You think he's going for teasing, but he just ends up sounding smug. "Just because I've got great eyes?"
Smug he may be, but the man speaks the truth, and you turn in his arms, winding your arms around his neck, staring up at him. His eyes are dark in the dim light of the room, and he's looking right at you, his face smiling, his eyes dancing, and you feel a beaming smile spread across your face. One of your hands reaches up to cup the back of his head, and if someone walks in on you right now, you couldn't care less. You pull his head closer to yours, waiting until the last minute before his lips meet yours to whisper, "You can say that again."
His lips on yours are familiar and sure, his hands moving confidently on your back, pressing you against him. Under ordinary circumstances, this is the kind of kiss that would lead somewhere with the two of you, but now, he pulls away from you sooner than you might have thought, and the look in his eyes tells you that he's got the same little voice of sanity screaming in his ear that you have screaming in yours.
His next words confirm that. "We probably shouldn't be doing this here."
You nod, reluctantly stepping out of his arms, turning to your locker and grabbing your stuff quickly. "You said something about your couch?"
He doesn't even wait for you to finish, just grabs your hand and pulls you towards the door. You push your locker door shut and the clang of metal reverberates around the room, but you don't hear it because you're already out the door and on your way home to indulge in some serious down time, not the shower and bed that you had planned, but better.