The Choice, chapter 7
Nick came through the door to find Sara asleep on the couch. He smelled the faint odor of bleach, and knew Sara must have cleaned already. She had probably come home, too keyed up to sleep, and cleaned herself into a state of exhaustion, which was just about her style.
She wasn't the only one fretting over the events of the interview; Nick, too, found it almost impossible to think about anything else. Except for what had happened that morning, that was battling to take up equal share of his thoughts, and winning. He vowed to put the interrogations out of his mind, and concentrate on Sara, at least for the next two hours.
"Nick?" Sara asked groggily. Nick shushed her, and came over to sit on the end of the couch next to her feet. She sat up, against his protest, and wrapped her arms around her knees. "What time is it?"
"Six," he murmured softly. "I was going to make dinner. Lay back down until it's time to eat," he urged.
"No," Sara yawned hugely. "This may be the only time I get to see you in the next couple of days."
Nick's heart did a small flip-flop in his chest. She wanted to spend her time with him. It didn't change what he had to tell her—the apology he had to make.
"Sara, I..." his mouth couldn't find the words as he gazed down at her. Her eyes were still sleepy, and her voice was sleep-roughened. His eyes followed the path from her brow, down her cute little nose to her small chin and sensuous lips. "Sara I'm sorry for what happened this morning."
Sara's face dropped, and she let go of his hand, he hadn't even realized she'd taken it. "I'm not," she said defensively.
"Sara," his voice was firm and she looked up at him. He reached out with his arms to pull her closer. "I'm not sorry that it happened. The way that it happened, I never should have..."
Sara's confused expression provided the question.
"I never should have...forced myself...like that, on you..." he stumbled, and Sara brought a calm hand to his lips and gently closed her fingers over his mouth, shushing him.
"You didn't do anything I didn't want," she assured him, a little breathlessly.
Nick sighed deeply, didn't respond, but pulled her closer still, practically into his lap. He kissed the top of her head fondly. "I'm still sorry."
"I'm sorry, too," she interjected. "That's certainly not how I envisioned our first time..."
"You've thought about us, together, before?" his voice was low and sultry, and at the same time, bewildered, and the combination was drawing delightful chills up her spine.
"Yeah," Sara admitted quietly.
"Me, too," he returned, grinning. "Since the very first time you flirted with me."
Sara drew her head back to look at him, perplexed. "I think we've been doing that since the first day we met."
"Then that's how long I've wanted you," Nick leaned forward to kiss her, his tongue gently seeking entrance to her mouth. The kiss was deep and satisfying, and he ended it by placing small, chaste kisses on her swollen lips. Sara was breathing heavily, her eyes glazed, and Nick found the sight infinitely more endearing than he ever though it could be.
He eased her off of his lap, and stood, gently touching the top of her head. He smiled as she lay back down with no argument. He went to the kitchen to start dinner.
Sara popped the last bite of eggplant into her mouth with a satisfied groan. Nick chuckled from the sink, where he was already washing dishes. He watched Sara lean back in her chair, exposing the pale column of throat, her small breasts jutting forward in a long, slow stretch. She got up and came around to the kitchen, where she returned jars and bottles to the fridge as Nick loaded the dishwasher.
"Let's go sit out on the balcony when we're done," Sara leaned up from behind him and rested her chin on Nick's shoulder.
"We have to leave at eight," he reminded her, not turning his head, for fear that she would move.
"We have a few minutes," Sara said and finally stood straight and grabbed the wet sponge he proffered. Nick had to restrain himself from pinning her against the counter and taking her warm, soft body into his arms.
They finished cleaning the kitchen in short order, and Sara high-tailed it out to the patio, wishing she had a couple of beers to top of the evening.
You're not here to enjoy yourself, she reminded herself ruefully.
Nick plopped down next to her in the early evening twilight, and she turned to gaze at him in profile. She realized she'd never been as close to anyone before, not even Grissom. She and Nick had been intimate, sort of, and sure, it had evolved awkwardly, but they were working on it.
They only had an hour before they were set to leave, and they were enjoying the cooling air of the impending desert night. She felt Nick's hand grasp hers, and she wrapped her palm around his larger one. She was content to sit there with him, not speaking, and she found to her very great relief that it wasn't uncomfortable.
Nick's thumb was tracing gentle circles on the back of her hand, lighting her skin on fire. A low warmth flared in her belly, tracing through her veins ever-so-gently.
She hadn't realized that she'd dozed off again until Nick shook her gently awake. He looked reluctant, but she knew as well as he did that they had an assignment. She put her listening device in her ear, and met him at her car. Unfortunately, Caldwell had split them up for more manpower, and Sara knew that it was probably the last time that she'd see Nick for a few days, at least. That was why, when they reached the parking lot of the station house, she leaned forward and gave him a long, deep kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and feeling his return embrace.
"Be careful," he urged, his eyes serious.
She gave him her lop-sided grin. "I always am." She got out of the car and shut the door behind her.
Nick put the car into gear. "Yeah, right."
It was after one when Nick slid into the bed next to her, shushing her when she rolled over and groggily tried to greet him. The next morning, he was gone by the time she woke at seven. She sighed, wondering how he did it. She never slept this much at home, and she chalked it up to the emotional exhaustion of pretending she was someone she wasn't. But Nick hadn't stopped since the moment they had gotten off the plane.
That night she was watching the Behr home, and listened through her earpiece as Nick relayed the events of the interrogation of Yates and Barclay. Barclay had been busted for drugs after he confessed. He had tried to save his job by swearing to enroll in rehab, but Caldwell had been unforgiving. Nick relayed with some amusement that the good Captain had to give up his drug habit after Caldwell started trying to pin a series of rapes on him.
Yates had remained cool and collected, and wouldn't comment on his relationship with Officer Pemberly. Nick advised her that he had seriously considered Yates as their prime suspect, given that Yates had almost immediately asked for an attorney. Both Yates and his attorney had looked genuinely surprised at the mention of sexual assault, which made second-guess his suspicions even more.
Nick felt like he was at a dead-end.
Sara reported she'd received the cold shoulder from Sergeant Steel and the other rape victims throughout the day. Not that they were social butterflies before, but they'd ignored her pointedly. She couldn't help it; she was perplexed by what McReynolds had said during that joke of an interview. They'd been given The Choice. It sent chills down her spine, haunting her. It had something to do with the attacks directly, she felt it instinctively, but she couldn't pin down the sensation any more than she could finger the culprit.
Sara listened as Nick softly talked to her, saying nothing, really, and everything. They were just passing the time, she knew, but it was nice that she got to pass it listening to his voice, listening to his stories, allowing him to keep her awake.
She stayed at her post an hour after the street and homes had gone dark, and when she crawled into bed, Nick still wasn't home. He didn't join her in the bed at all, and Sara found the note the next morning on the bar that proclaimed he'd been sick all night. She scribbled a note to him to take care of himself, and wondered if he would heed her advice.
She had arranged with Caldwell to observe the Behr interrogation, and she tried to tell herself it wasn't because Nick was going to be there, watching it too. She'd also been keeping tabs on Maxwell's case, and the coroner had already agreed to release the body. The wake was that night, but Sara knew she wouldn't be able to attend, as Caldwell had ordered a big powwow for the three of them. With any luck, Behr would be their guy and she and Nick could go home. Sara knew it wouldn't be that simple. Was Behr the guy giving the female officers of Reno The Choice? It seemed unlikely. He was a middle-aged, balding, portly fellow who looked like he loved his TV and armchair more than life itself. But he was single, never married, and that was significant. Sara supposed psychos could look like anyone, and that's what made them so very hard to catch.
She sighed as she strapped her firearm to her belt. She wondered if she'd have to use it.
"Captain Sark, so nice of you to join us," Caldwell said coldly when she opened the door to the observation room. Caldwell was obviously already getting into bad cop mode, and his silver eyes flashed with annoyance as he turned back to the one-way glass that allowed him to see Dennis Behr looking very bewildered.
Nick rolled his eyes and as Caldwell opened the door to the interrogation room with a flourish, Nick dropped a quick kiss on her forehead, which ran a shiver through her body. She wished he could take her into his arms and really kiss her. Or she could just wrap her long legs around his waist and...
"So, Behr, I see that you've never been married," Caldwell began, a look of disgust firmly planted on his face.
"Well, n-no," Behr stammered. "I-I just nuh-never found the right girl," he blushed. Sara sensed immediately that this wasn't their guy, and wondered if Caldwell had the same impression.
"Is it because you hate women, Denny?" he asked, his tone almost...serpentine.
"Nuh-no," Behr shook his head. "I-I was never very brave. My brother Kurt got all the girls."
Sara turned to Nick and quietly said, "the only thing this guy is guilty of is being shy and snitching an extra donut."
"Well, he does keep referring to them as 'girls'," Nick's grin was teasing.
"Hey, after Caldwell leaves tonight, let's rent a movie or something. Stay in," her sultry look told him everything he needed to know. They'd no more be watching that movie than playing pinochle.
"Are you hitting on me, Detective Sark?" he kept his eyes trained forward on the glass, where he seemed to still be paying attention, remarkably.
"You are my husband, right?" she raised her eyebrows. He returned her look dubiously.
"Caldwell may have another one of his charming little errands for me," Nick reminded her.
Sara looked forward, out into the interrogation room. Behr was already looking pasty. "Tell him no. Tell him you have to have a night off. You aren't sleeping, I know you aren't."
"You're the one who doesn't like to sleep," Nick volleyed back.
"And I'm the one who's getting eight hours a night. I'm always ready to go to bed; this is very emotionally draining work. So if I'm tired, I know you are."
"I'm not tired," Nick refuted.
"Please, Nick. I want to get home as much as you do. But we're not going to be any help to anyone if we're dead on our feet."
Nick didn't say anything more, but watched as Caldwell showed Behr the pictures of Maxwell spread out like a French whore. Behr immediately turned and threw up in the wastebasket. Sara idly wondered how many wastebaskets they replaced per week with Caldwell around.
"What a heartless bastard," Nick muttered.
Caldwell spent the next six minutes leading up to the crescendo, in which he made Behr break down and cry. Sara had seen very few grown men cry, and this guy reminded her more of her father than a homicidal maniac. She suddenly had the absurd wish that Caldwell would just lay off.
Finally, he did, and traipsed back into the observatory with a smirk playing on his lips. Sara shot Nick a disgusted look, and left the room.
She stormed down the hall like a woman on a mission, and rounding the corner to the bullpen, she ran smack into Junior Caldwell and Jimmy Davis sharing a joke. They were blocking the hallway, so she was forced to stop and be social. If that's what she could call it.
"Is your brother always such an ass?" she razzed Junior.
He smiled sheepishly, nudging Davis with an elbow to the ribs. "Yeah, pretty much. You either get used to him or you hate him."
"I put ten bucks that Sark never gets used to him!" Davis chortled gleefully.
"My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever," she reported mildly. Neither man caught her literary allusion, and she wasn't surprised.
"I'm glad you're not my old lady!" Davis cackled.
Junior smiled and gave the shorter man a noogie. "Officer Sark looks nothin' like that ball-and-chain."
"You're riding with me, today, Sark," Davis informed her once he slipped out of Junior's headlock. Junior's face tightened as his attention suddenly shifted towards the door. Sara pretended not to notice, and instead, continued to flirt with Officer Davis shamelessly.
"So you have to take me down the seedy streets of Reno, and I know you know where they are."
He looked shocked, then proclaimed, "I am a paragon of virtue, Detective."
A young man was standing in the door that led out to the hallway. He had almost-white hair hanging down into his face, and his baggy jeans and hip chain told Sara he was probably a pot-smoking skater. Sara watched as Junior pulled out his wallet. He rejoined the group, and rolled his eyes.
"Nephew, always coming around for money," he said, exasperated. He immediately brightened. "But I'm going to win in back tonight in the polker game!"
"Pants and shoes, Junior, pants and shoes!"
"Pants and shoes?" Sara asked, quizzically.
"Junior usually goes home wearin' nothin' but his pants and his shoes!" Davis chuckled.
"Hey, my luck's changing," he grinned, and then flashed Sara a curious, almost shy look. "You wanna play tonight, Sark? The boys say they don't mind if you come."
"I don't know, guys," she pointed at her ring and winked.
"Oh, come on, Sark, he'll be there every other night. In fact, tell him to come along," Davis whined.
"I know he can't. His mother's sick, you know. Terminal. We came all the way out here to be with her, we can't leave her for poker."
"Bring her along, too," Davis winked, and Sara shoved the ball of her palm into his left shoulder.
"I can see the newspaper headline now, 'Old woman croaks amidst a smoky poker game."
"I'll let you wear my green visor," Junior offered, drawing another grin.
"That'll be what tips it," she assured him before moving on passed them towards the bullpen.
She moved along, rolling her eyes when Mackey Charles and Lacy McReynolds immediately turned on their heels and walked away from the desk where they had been standing, talking.
She passed Edna, on the phone yelling at someone that had to be one of her kids.
"Well, turn the damn thing off! Where is your mother? Why are you trying to chase Cody with the weedeater?"
Captain Yessen she could see from his office, his face blustery as he spoke with one of his sergeants. Pemberly was sitting at the Records desk, buffing his nails and reading GQ. One of the payroll guys was standing at the end of the row of filing cabinets, stuttering out a story about a fishing trip that weekend.
She smiled as she headed towards her desk. It was like one, big, happy, fucked-up family.
Nick stood behind Sara in the kitchen, his hands firmly over her breasts, his head in the crook of her shoulder, nibbling on the skin there, applying his tongue occasionally just to feel the shudder that ran through Sara's body at that contact. His chest was pressed against her back, and her arms were up over her head, and stretched out behind her, her fingers tangled in his short hair. He was rubbing small circles around her nipples, causing her to moan loudly. In the interim of her groans were small pants that sounded adorable, at least to Nick's ears.
He was whispering to her, in between licks on her earlobe, nibbles on her shoulder and out-and-out sucking on her neck.
"...sexy...can't wait to see you naked again...we have to be alone soon...or I'm going to have to...get down-and-dirty...on our next stakeout...I mean, really, how much can one guy take?...you smell so good, like...honey and cinnamon...mmmm...you really should wear that perfume to bed...I'd never be too tired again..."
"Caldwell's going to be here any minute," Sara managed to say.
Nick disengaged his mouth from the ministration and stepped back from her very deliberately. "Well, now you've gone and done it."
"What?" Sara turned around to face him.
"Even you, the delectable Sara Sidle, can not overcome the mental image of that prick."
She giggled, uncharacteristically, and Nick cocked his head to stare at her. He rubbed a thumb down the graceful line of her jaw.
"You're beautiful, you know that, right?" he asked, husky.
She blushed, and immediately began to inspect the floor. "Yeah, well."
Nick opened his mouth to argue, but a knock came at the door, and Nick knew Bryce Caldwell would walk right in on them if he didn't go answer it.
"Button your shirt," he said to Sara, before rounding the bar to head towards the living room. Sara flushed even hotter, then reached down to push the buttons back into their holes. She did a cursory check to make sure her bra clasp was still intact, then tried to smooth down her hair with the palm of her hands.
Bryce Caldwell didn't seem to notice as he came to spread his files out along their dining room table.
"Here are the personnel files for 56 Officers, 21 Detectives, 14 Sergeants, 6 Captains, and a Chief of Police. In a pear tree," his dark smile was humorless.
"Great," Nick rubbed his hands together as if to warm them.
Sara joined Nick and Caldwell at the table, sliding sideways into her seat, almost smoothly. Nick still had to shift around in his seat to help discourage the erection that was starting to take up permanent residence in his pants...at least, whenever he was around her.
"So here is an employee list, if you need anything else...call me," Bryce Caldwell stood, and Sara shot a quizzical look at Nick.
"I thought..."
"I know," Caldwell's smile was warm for her. "But I really must go."
"Fine," Nick's expression was cold, and Caldwell shot one last ingratiating smile at Sara before gathering up his briefcase and heading for the front door.
"That was weird," Sara said briefly.
Nick narrowed his eyes; "everything about that guy is weird. Call me crazy, but I think he's got something to do with all this," he gestured at the files spread out on the table.
"You're crazy," Sara said, her eyebrows raised.
"Think about this, honey. Who cleared Caldwell?"
"IA," Sara said.
"And who runs IA? Caldwell. How do we know, really, that he's not the one?"
"Let's look at his personnel file," Sara started to shift through the folders. After several minutes of searching, she frowned. She looked over at Nick's stack. "Well, it's not here," she pursed her lips.
"Call him," Nick urged.
"I'm not going to call him less than three minutes after he has left and ask for his file," Sara rolled her eyes. "I'll go to the Chief tomorrow and get it."
"Fine," Nick's voice held a measure of defeat.
"Let's just do what we can tonight," Sara said softly, reaching to brush her hand across Nick's. "Don't forget, Max's funeral is tomorrow."
As if Nick could forget. Sara got quiet, and withdrew her hand. They sat together, late into the night, compiling the personnel files with their notes and lists, working late, late into the night...
TO BE CONTINUED...quicker than a long-tailed cat moves through a room full a rockin' chairs...
And the next chapter is going to involve Nick and Sara actually getting' some booty, so stay tuned...I know all this UST is driving everyone crazy. Three more chapters and I'm done! YAY-HOO. Keep on reading, reviewing, it makes my day.