The Choice, Chapter 9

Sara awoke slowly, letting her mind languish in a peaceful dreamy state of pre-consciousness. Feeling the delicious soreness of lovemaking was like feeling the sun on her face for the first time. Nick had made love to her. She had made love with Nick. They had done the hot, naked monkey dance of lust and come out unscathed. Okay, maybe a little scathed. 'Make that a lot,' Sara thought as she stretched her body, feeling the little nips and bruises across her torso where Nick had applied his tongue and teeth. She murmured delightedly when she smelled the thick scent of her favorite coffee.

Rising, she went to shower, cataloguing each mark that Nick had given her pale skin as she soaped her body. She washed her hair slowly, standing lazily under the hot spray, luxuriating in the feel of wet warmth and a deep sense of fulfillment.

When she emerged from the bathroom, she dried off and slipped into panties and her favorite pair of jeans. She found a clean bra, and picked her favorite dark blue t-shirt, knowing that Nick loved her in blue. She wandered out into the living room, her wet hair a mess and she idly wondered where she had left her hairbrush.

Nick was sitting on the couch, staring into a cup of coffee as if it were about to produce the answers of life. His bare chest was bronzed, and did not sport a single indicator of the wildest night of passion that Sara, at least, had ever experienced.

"Hi, babe," her throaty voice sent chills to his nether regions.

"Sara," Nick cleared his throat, and Sara's heart immediately skipped a beat. He looked up to see a painful look of longing spread across her features. "Come here."

"Please, don't, Nick," her voice was stilted, her heart fearing rejection.

"No, it's not that," he acknowledged, and she sat down next to him gingerly, waiting for him to speak.

Finally he found the words, "the Rapist took another victim."

Sara gasped, "dead?"

Nick shook his head. "Caldwell, uh, he wants you down at the hospital to talk to Officer Pemberly."

"Pemberly...but he's..."

"I know," Nick shrugged helplessly, then cleared his throat again. "But you know better than anyone that rape is not about sex. It's about power and rage."

"Well, yes, but most serials don't change their MO."

"Our guy's already done that," Nick replied.

"That's true," Sara nodded, anticipating his response. "I'll go," she turned to look at him and found he was already staring at her, his eyes tormented with a pain she didn't understand.

"Sara, I..." Nick began, and then unable to find the words, he faltered.

Sara stayed on her side of the couch a moment longer before leaning forward quickly and kissing him soundly. She broke away after just a few seconds to see him looking surprised. She smiled, impishly, before grabbing her bag and hairbrush from off of the coffee table and sailing out the door.

"Ted Pemberly, please," Sara's voice was hushed as she flashed her badge at the nurse on duty. The nurse softly gave her directions to one of the examination rooms around the corner, and that was where Sara found him, alone.

She stood in the doorway, and saw him sitting on the edge of the table, facing the wall. His arms were wrapped around his waist as if he were nauseated.

"Hi, Officer Iworkinrecords," Sara said gently.

"Oh, Detective!" Pemberly's hands came up to his face in surprise, and she stepped forward into the room and closed the door. "What are you doing here?"

Sara gave him a soft, sad face, and his eyes showed the dawning of recognition.

"No, no, I can't!" he insisted.

"Pem, you have to," she urged, sitting across from him on the doctor's stool and taking one of his hands.

"No, I can't. And why would they send Vice down here anyway?"

"I know...what it feels like...to be...a victim," Sara began, her voice catching.

"Please, Sark, save it. I know it all. Heard it all. Mostly in the last two hours. I can't tell you what happened to me."

"Why?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

His answer was simple, and full of bitter pain. "Because I've been given The Choice."

"The Choice? The Choice, what does that mean?" Sara blurted helplessly.

"I think you'd better leave," Pemberly wrapped his arms around himself once more, claming up.

"Please. Give me something. For Max..."

Pemberly's eyes flashed angrily. "What about me? What about the people I love?" His eyes then filled with tears, and he gestured with one hand for Sara to leave.

"Please, Pem," Sara pleaded. She watched him stay silent for several long minutes before she gave up hope.

Sighing heavily, she stood, reaching out a hand to tenderly squeeze his shoulder before stepping away. She closed the door and walked back towards the entrance of the hospital with a heavy heart, and clapping a hand over her ear, she realized that she'd have to go back to the apartment for her hearing aid.

When she arrived, Nick was fresh from a shower and looking sexy in nothing but his jeans. He stood at the closet door, holding up shirts.

"Good, you're home. Blue? Or blue?" he called as she came to stand in the doorway of the bedroom, facing the open closet.

"Depends," she answered shortly. "Who are you trying to impress?"

"Blue it is, then, Sunshine," he discarded on of the shirts, and pulled the other one over his head. "You're pissed, and you're gonna love this!" he mumbled sarcastically. His crown appeared, and then his nose and mouth. He adjusted his collar. "Caldwell's pulling in Isabel Shepard for questioning."

"Fuck!" Sara spat. "Why?"

"Oh, it gets better," he turned to her and picked through socks. "He's charging her."

"No," Sara felt sick.

"Oh, yes. Accessory to murder. He knows he can't hold her, but he's hoping it will get her in there long enough to put the squeeze on her, and get a name."

"Nick, no," Sara moaned, rubbing her face with her hands in agony and shame. "Don't let him do this."

"I told him that if he didn't let me conduct the interview, I would call Shepard beforehand and get her lawyered up before she came in."

Sara put a relieved hand to her chest.

"Nick, we can't blow it with her. She has to know she can trust us," Sara stepped forward to meet him in the middle of the bedroom.

"Singing to the choir, babe," he smoothed down his hair. He sat down on the bed, unrolling his socks.

"Preaching."

"Huh?"

"It's, uh, preaching. You're preaching to the choir."

"Well, whatever," he grinned, charmingly. "Same difference."

Sara shook her head, not feeling like an argument.

"I forgot my earpiece," she stated, holding it up.

"Did anyone see you?" Nick looked up sharply from his place on the bed, where he was putting on his socks.

"No, no one. Well, Pemberly, but he wouldn't have noticed if I came in dressed like Mango singing show tunes."

Nick shook his head, amused, and leaned over to lace up his boots.

"Sara, I think every man in Reno would have noticed you in gold lamé shorts and high heels."

Sara rolled her eyes.

"So what did he say?" Nick grunted, tying the laces on his left shoe.

"He said he'd been given The Choice. The all-mysterious choice that we keep hearing so much about." Sara tried very hard not to sound exasperated.

Nick mulled over this as he pulled on his other shoe and began lacing it.

"Anyway, I asked him to give me something and he just freaked out. Asked me 'what about him and his family?' Like it was one or the other," she shrugged, feeling deadlocked and hampered, but not knowing quite what to do to combat the growing frustration.

He looked up, and took her hand, yanking her downwards onto the bed next to him. She tumbled across the bed, her hair spilling across the mattress. Nick flopped backwards next to her and took her into his arms.

He waited for her to stop her good-natured grumbling before kissing her passionately. Tangling his fingers through her hair, he explored her mouth thoroughly, and became more and more responsive as she did. Only their mutual need to breathe separated them, and both took in heaving pants, their foreheads pressed together.

"I feel like kissing you is so strange, and at the same time, so good," he confessed.

"Me, too," Sara replied.

"I feel like I could make love to you again, right now, and not feel guilty about it at all."

"I know," she nodded, leaning forward to kiss him. He wrapped his arms firmly around her waist and rolled over onto his back, taking her with him.

"I feel like our bodies..." he was interrupted by the need to kiss her again, swirling his tongue deep into her mouth. They parted for only seconds, while he murmured, "...were made for..." before coming together again explosively, touching wildly.

Sara tore her mouth away from his, panting, "Fucking?"

Nick moaned, and caught her mouth again in a searing kiss, and then rolled her onto her back, underneath him.

"You just put your shoes on," she pointed out as they broke apart.

"They come off," he grinned, already kicking them off of his feet.

He reached for the snap on her jeans, and pulled them down her legs in one quick yank. He immediately divested her of the rest of her clothes, and Sara let him. Usually, she vied for control during sex, but for reasons she couldn't comprehend; she was willing to let him take the lead, at least for the time being.

Being with Nick reminded her that there was good in the world. He was doing things to her body that made her forget about sin, and pain and death. He was reviving her. She couldn't think about Pemberly, or Max, or Caldwell, or even poor Isabel Shepard, who would never find peace without her partner. It was amazing the things people took for granted.

Nick scooted down the bed and before Sara knew it he was gently parting her thighs. She knew where he was headed, and she held her breath, steeling herself for the awkwardness and the bitching about obligation that men usually gave her, even during the act itself.

Nick leaned forward, looking up to make sure she was comfortable. He saw her hands clutching the blankets beneath her, her knuckles white. Her legs were spread formally, almost as if she were waiting for a gynecological exam.

He reached for her hands, gently smoothing his rough palms across the backs of her knuckles, causing her to release her hold on the duvet. He whispered "relax" several times as he began raining kisses on her thighs and belly. Finally, she did relax some, and Nick began to make love to her with his mouth.

Raking his nails up and down her thighs lightly at intervals caused her to tense again, but in the most delightful manner. A long, slow groan of anticipation met his ears, and he grinned.

As began to build her fire, she became restless, eager for more. Nick's jaw dropped and he almost stopped when he saw her reach out and begin to rub and fondle her own breasts. Rolling a hard nipple between thumb and forefinger, coupled with the sensations Nick was providing with his tongue, she was bucking off of the bed in near-orgasmic bliss. He gently brought his hand the center of her warmth, and that contact sent her over the edge.

The moan that was caught in her throat was one of happy satisfaction. Nick relinquished his hold on her thighs, and crawled up to rest on the bed next to her.

"You're still dressed," Sara said, surprised, when she looked over at him. She became shy, and her eyes dropped. "Do you want me to...I mean, do you want to...?"

Nick shook his head, gazing down on her. His left hand propped his head up on the mattress, and Sara reached one arm through his to hold his head still while she proceeded to kiss him deeply.

"That masturbation thing, earlier...that was so hot," he murmured once they had parted, grinning. Sara ducked her head again, and Nick could have sworn she was blushing. He couldn't be sure, though, because in the next second, her hand was down the front of his jeans and she was giving him a run for his money.

"Oh, God!" he yelped when he felt her hand rubbing against the length of him.

"How hot?" she challenged.

He shot her a look that clearly advised her he didn't find her nearly so amusing as she found herself. In the next second, his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. It didn't take Sara long to bring him to climax, and when she did, he had his face buried in her neck, and was sending hot pants across her cooling skin.

She removed her hand from his jeans, and wrinkled her nose as she rose, heading for the bathroom. She was at the sink, washing her hands, when Nick wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.

"I haven't come in my pants since I was about twelve," he admitted, placing a nip on her shoulder. Sara felt the wet fabric of Nick's jeans against the bare skin of her bottom.

She cleared her throat. "I have to go to work. It's already nine," she admonished him. He released her, and she turned in his arms, giving him several languid kisses before ducking under his arm and going to find her clothes.

"I can't believe that jerk is pulling her in to interrogate her," Sara left the bedroom, headed towards the kitchen. "I already told him I was interviewing her tonight, here," she called. She rummaged through the cabinets for her coffee mug, and yawned.

"Don't you have a meeting with the Chief of Police later today?" Nick called back.

"Yes, at three. He wants to go over staff development with me. He is convinced I have some inside scoop on hierarchy or management. I think he actually believes my 'background.'

She poured a cup of coffee into her thermal cup, and found her sunglasses, remembering to finally put in her hearing aid.

"Hey, did we ever figure out where Caldwell's personnel file went?" She hollered to Nick, who was still lost somewhere in the bedroom.

"It's right here," a stony voice replied.

Sara almost yelped and flung her coffee to parts unknown when she realized Bryce Caldwell was sitting in the living room. He looked as casual as anything, relaxed in the armchair as if he had nothing better to do.

"Captain Caldwell!"

"Mrs. Sark," he intoned, carefully avoiding inflection.

"W-What are you doing here?" she stammered.

"Coming by to drop off these remaining files," he gestured towards the coffee table, where indeed, several folders had been placed.

The bedroom door opened and Nick stepped out, looking towards the kitchen where Sara was standing. "Thanks for making me change my pants," he jabbed. Sara's wide-eyed look of fear registered and his gaze swung across the room in a wide arc, coming to rest on Caldwell. Sara saw the muscles in his neck and chest immediately tense.

"How long have you been here?" Nick demanded.

"Long enough," was his monotone reply. He carefully smoothed his tie down as he stood. "Have a good day, agents." He was out the door before Nick could speak again.

"What do you think he heard?" Nick questioned, turning to Sara.

"Everything," she muttered, defeated. "He could report us for inappropriate conduct, fraternization. We could be discharged from this case."

"He won't do that," Nick said, confident. "He can't make that risk now. We're undercover, deep cover. To pull us out now would be way too suspicious."

"I wouldn't put anything past him," Sara said darkly.

"He's dependent on us, at least for the time being. Let's just take it one step at a time. We have no idea what his motivation is at this point," Nick finally pointed out.

"I'm just embarrassed. Ashamed," Sara couldn't meet his eyes.

Nick paused, uncertain. "Ashamed that it happened? Or ashamed that we were caught?"

"That we were caught...of course,"

"Good," Nick came around the edge of the bar and pulled her into a companionable hug. "I don't regret anything, Sara."

Sara shook her head against his chest in response, but didn't say anything.

"I have to go," she finally said, stepping out of his embrace. "I'll be home for dinner." She gathered her things and headed for the door. She had it open, her right hand juggling her keys and bag and her left hand occupied with her coffee cup.

"Sara," Nick's voice broke, and she looked back up at him, perplexed. "I love you."

She gave him a mysterious smile before leaving, shutting the door behind her.

Sara finished the day worried as hell that Isabel was going to crack in her interrogation. Nick had mentioned they were pulling her in at five, and if all went well, they'd be there for several hours. She'd ridden with Officer Kukyendahl until around two, and then gone back to her desk to fill out "reports" until it was time for her meeting with Chief Abernathy. Really, she just sat there and worried about Nick, worried about Isabel Shepard, worried about what Bryce Caldwell was going to do to her. She was still sitting at her desk, watching the clock, when three o'clock rolled around, and she had to fight the urge to call Nick and tell him to go easy.

When Abernathy pulled her in at three, she found that he and the Mayor had gotten together to ambush her to get details about the investigation. She answered the questions to the best of her ability, relaying her concerns about Caldwell's attitude, particularly towards the female victims, and the several "missing" personnel files that he'd come to give her that morning. She didn't report his entry into the apartment, or the casual state of undress they'd been in prior to and after his arrival.

Abernathy didn't seem concerned by either, but the Mayor watched her every move, as if committing it to memory, and nodded at regular intervals. Sara idly wondered if they'd even say anything to Caldwell about it. Probably not. 'Boys will be boys,' she thought bitterly, knowing Caldwell would get the benefit of the doubt.

They released her at five fifteen, much to her consternation. She'd done her best to speed things along to be allowed to leave in time to be with Nick during the interrogation. Entering late might tear down any trust and rapport that had already been established. Her other option was observing from behind the mirror, but that might mean two or more hours with Bryce Caldwell. Not only would it be annoying as hell, but also embarrassing to boot.

As she walked back to her desk, she had an idea. She couldn't watch the interrogation, but Nick would report everything faithfully and would probably even bring her a copy of the recording so that they could listen to it together later. He was such a good man. She wanted to go home and make him dinner. A very domestic move, but perfect to show him how much she really cared. Nick was always so good about coming home, making dinner for them both every night, and she'd hardly even lifted a finger the entire time they'd been there. Sara decided to kill two birds with one stone. Go home, cook for Nick, and hopefully keep her mind distracted enough from analyzing herself to death every minute that Isabel was in interrogation.

She gathered up her bags and purse, and again resisted the very strong urge to go out the back and step into the observatory, even for just a few minutes. She figured no one would miss her around the bullpen, so she slipped out the front door. Taking the front steps of the station house two at a time, she got into her car in the parking lot and fired it up. She debated just picking something up for dinner and telling Nick she made it, but then decided she'd actually rather cook.

She went through the very short list of things she actually knew how to make, and was coming up short. Spaghetti, tuna casserole, soft tacos, and pancakes. She decided on pasta, knowing it was a mutual favorite. She couldn't hardly keep the smile from her face as she drove to Marty's Market, imagining Nick's shy surprise when he came back to find dinner prepared and her, ready to be...er, briefed. Briefly.

She practically floated in the doors of the supermarket.

"Hi, Isabel," Nick took a seat across from Isabel, easing down into the chair across from the frightened woman. "I'm Sam Sark, Mary Sark's husband, and I'm assisting in the investigation.

"Where is Mary? I only want to talk to Mary," Isabel had stiffened, and her voice was high and strained.

"She unfortunately couldn't be here now," he smiled sympathetically. "She had a meeting with the Chief of Police this afternoon. But please, know that everything you tell me will be relayed to her verbatim," he pulled out the mini-recorder and put it in the table between them. She knew it was being recorded in the other room, but those tapes wouldn't be able to leave the station house.

"Am I being charged?" Isabel narrowed her eyes.

"No," Nick's voice was soft, and as comforting as he could make it. "You're not being charged. But I would like for you to cooperate with me, and Mrs. Sark, of course."

"Who's listening now?"

"Bryce Caldwell," he answered immediately, sensing that being forthright would be the only way to gain her trust.

"Anyone else?"

"Not to my knowledge, ma'am."

"Make him leave," Isabel demanded.

"I can't..." Nick began to protest.

"I won't talk to you unless he's gone," she insisted, crossing her arms around her breasts protectively. Nick could almost imagine Caldwell behind the mirror scowling.

Nick stood and entered the observatory, and looked at Caldwell pointedly.

"I'm not leaving," Caldwell shook his head.

"She won't talk. Do you want to get something out of this or not?"

"I'll...charge...her," Bryce Caldwell enunciated, as if Nick were a very small child, or drunk.

"Not without the D.A. you won't," Nick rolled his eyes.

"Bluff," Caldwell scoffed.

"No. I won't lie. You'll have the tapes, listen to them later," Nick gestured to the recording equipment Caldwell was standing in front of.

Caldwell gritted his teeth and stalked out of the observatory. He'd probably just wait five minutes and come back, but at least he could tell Isabel with certainty that he was gone for the time being.

"He's gone," Nick's sigh of relief was almost as big as Isabel's was, and they sat across from each other, staring at each other speculatively.

Sara chose fresh pasta, the refrigerated tubs of Alfredo sauce and swung her cart down the aisle on the prowl for broccoli. She also picked up the bagged salad, and smelled the fruit in fleeting bursts, wondering if she should go for the gold and attempt some kind of dessert. Wandering down the frozen foods solved that dilemma, as she picked out her favorite flavor of Ben and Jerry's and tried to remember if Nick loved the Caramel Sutra or the Fudge Brownie…

"Okay, Mrs. Shepard, I know this is difficult, but we need to know who attacked you," Nick began, turning on the recorder.

"Have you ever been attacked, Mr. Sark?"

Nick's eyes hardened, and he cleared his throat. "This is about you, Mrs. Shepard."

"I know a victim when I see one," Isabel leaned forward. "And I know vulnerability when I see it, now, too. And I realize how very vulnerable I'd been all that time and not even known it."

"You couldn't have known what was going to happen to you, we can't live our lives in fear of what may never happen."

Isabel smiled bitterly, "but we can be prepared."

"That's true. We can be prepared. We just can't worry about everything."

"My mother always said, it's the people you trust the most that betray you. I always thought it was a riddle. Now I see. If you don't love, there is no disappointment."

"Mrs. Shepard, please...who has betrayed you?"

Sara picked out a baguette and then had to run back for a marinara dipping sauce. She chose a salad dressing at random, not sure if there was any back at the apartment. On her way up to the counter, she stopped short. She wondered if she should get meat. Could she even cook it? What if she just got the bottled sauce with meat already in it? Deciding Nick's arteries didn't need to be clogged anymore than they already were, she began walking again.

"Why Max, of course. I told her not to do it. I told her it was too dangerous, that he would come for her too. Of course she didn't listen."

"Who would come for her?"

Isabel looked up, as if surprised. "She never could take my advice, or take a hint. We were both so stubborn. Only she was so much stronger than I was. She stayed behind, knowing he was here."

"Who?"

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't just spit out the name you want, Mr. Sark. You may have forgotten that I was given The Choice. I didn't take it lightly then, and I certainly won't take it lightly now."

Nick sighed, outmaneuvered for the time being. "Okay. No names. Let's just start by talking about The Choice."

Sara paid for the groceries and swung her bags cheerfully on her way out to the parking lot. She couldn't imagine anything more enjoyable than a nice dinner, a movie, and a night alone with Nick. They would drink the wine, make out during the movie, and then with any luck, they'd end up in bed. And sleep would be hours away...

All Sara could think about was Nick's hands on her body, stoking her fire, making her sweat and writhe and cry out. His fingers and tongue were like magic wands, making her feel—much more than she ever thought she could. She'd had limited experiences with men, and hadn't been too impressed. Until him. She sighed dreamily.

Isabel finished her story, looking at Nick with wide, frightened eyes. Nick was breathless, sweating, and aching with new knowledge. He saw the apprehension in her gaze, and she leaned back to protect herself by wrapping arms around her torso once more. He understood. He believed her. She'd been given the Choice. The most terrible choice he could ever comprehend, and she'd been so brave.

He'd been listening to Sara all afternoon on his earpiece, listening to her rustling around, humming, buying groceries. And now nothing. It could be nothing.

"It won't be too hard to find him. And you have my testimony," Isabel leaned forward and put her hand on Nick's. "I have nothing left to lose."

Nick's heart stopped in his chest when he heard Isabel's chair creak. The line in his ear had gone completely silent. She was still regarding him fearfully. He stood quickly.

"Mrs. Shepard, take my phone. Call your husband to come and get you. Don't let anyone else in this room"

She was bewildered to say the least. "Where are you going?"

Nick's voice broke, "I can't hear my wife."

Sara made her way over to the car and unlocked the passenger side door, loading the groceries into the tiny front seat. What she wouldn't give for her Tahoe right about now. She couldn't wait to get back to Las Vegas, to Catherine and Warrick and Grissom and her apartment, and her orchid, she hoped Cath was watering it, and feeding her fish. She never thought she'd be able to breeze by Grissom's name without a lump rising in her throat and making it impossible for her to speak. Now, it was like water off a duck's back. She smiled, smiled at the very thought of it. Smiled as she closed the door, and immediately stopped when she saw the reflection in her window. She quite suddenly knew who had been raping the officers of Reno.

TO BE CONTINUED, without a doubt. My little lamb chops.