Title: In the Living Room

Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

Rating: PG

Pairing: Sara/Warrick

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.

Notes: Third in the Familiar Places series, following On the Floor and In the Car. I know it's been a while, but I have a plan of sorts, so I should be able to be a bit more timely with the next one. glares at friends Who was it said I'd not done a CSI series yet?

***

I make sure that I'm out of the lab as quickly as possible when shift ends; the last thing I want to do right now is get stuck pulling a double. Though, if I were to put in time with Sara, I'm not sure I'd mind so much.

Except of course, that the journey back to the lab wasn't the most comfortable experience of my life, and I realise yet again that she was right. We do need to talk about what happened at the crime scene, we do need to figure out where we're going with this, if we're going anywhere at all, which I really hope we are.

My directions were fairly idiot-proof, so baring disaster or Grissom corralling her into overtime, it shouldn't take too long for her to get here. Which should leave me with just enough time to make sure that the place is passably clean, and put on a pot of coffee. I get the feeling that we're going to need lots of coffee for this discussion.

In point of fact, I've time enough to get the place more than shipshape, and change my clothes before I hear the doorbell chime. I don't hesitate to answer it, because I'm not so sure that she's not going to turn tail and run on me, and when I open it, see that bottom lip once more caught between her teeth, I know that I'm right. And I'm also pretty sure that the fact that she took her time getting here was nothing to do with the fact that she couldn't follow my directions, or that Grissom snaffled her, and everything to do with her confusion about what's happened between us today.

"Hey," is all I say, stepping aside to let her in, and she gives me the faintest hint of a smile, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Sorry I'm late," she says, stepping by me, and I shrug easily.

"You're worth the wait," I say, keeping my tone as light as possible, but I don't miss the way she hesitates before continuing on her way, dropping her purse and jacket on a chair before sinking down on the couch. She doesn't looked relaxed though, doesn't lean back on the couch. Instead, she sits right on the edge, as if she's poised to run at any moment, her hands joined on her knees as if in prayer. "Can I get you anything?" I ask. "Coffee, juice…?"

She shakes her head, looking up at me, and while her smile was distinctly nervous, it vanishes completely as she tilts her head and narrows her eyes, eyeing me up as if I'm some specimen in the lab that's not doing what she wants it to. Which mightn't be too far from the truth. "You're wearing glasses," she says, stating the obvious and I look away as I sit down close to her, so I don't see her face when she continues, "I've never seen them before."

"Yeah," I reply, understanding her surprise, because unless I absolutely have to, I don't wear my glasses around the lab; call it vanity, call it the remnants of high school, and the names that were hurled at a skinny, bespectacled bookworm. "I wear mostly lenses for work…it's easier." I would have kept wearing them now except for the fact that the sterile water at the crime scene evidently didn't do its job, because by the time I got home from work, my left eye felt like a thousand grains of sand were lodged there.

I chance a look at Sara now, only to see her looking at me, eyes narrowed, but this looks like concern rather than curiosity. "Your eye's all red," she notes, reaching out a hand to touch my cheek, turning my head so that she can see better. The touch lasts for only an instant; I get the feeling that she realised what she was doing, and thought she might be crossing a line. Whatever the reason, she drops her hand as if she's been burned, and maybe that's how she felt, because I know I can still feel her touch on my skin, even after her hand is on her knee again.

"You're the one who wasn't sure I should be cleaning the lens with sterile water," I remind her. "Turns out you were right."

I threw that last bit in, in the hope that it would stop her chewing her bottom lip again, and it works, a genuine laugh escaping her. "Aren't I always?" she retorts, looking me right in the eye, and for a moment, we're back to normal, bantering with each other the way we've done a thousand times since we've been working together.

But it's just for a moment.

Then she looks down again, and I fight back a sigh, because I'm not so sure where we're going to go from here. I have my own ideas about where I'd like us to go, but that's neither here nor there, not with the way she's feeling. "I like them," she says, and I blink, not sure what she means, and one shoulder rises and falls in a shrug as she looks up at me. "The glasses I mean. They suit you."

I roll my eyes. "You should see the high school photos," I tell her. "Thick, coke-bottle lenses...not a good look." Which is where the teasing and hatred of wearing glasses comes in, and evidently telling Sara stories at my expense is another way of making her comfortable, because she smiles, the tension in her shoulders easing ever so slightly.

"I so want to see these photos," she says. "Who do I have to talk to?" She's looking around, as if I'm going to have some on display, and her gaze falls on a photo on the mantelpiece. "Is that your grandmother?"

"Yeah." She stands, going to the photo and taking it up, observing it carefully. "It's from a few months ago, at her eightieth birthday party…"

She looks over her shoulder at me, and the smile that she gives me dries up any and all moisture in my throat, stops any further words from coming out. "It's a good picture," she says softly. "You look like her… the eyes…"

I nod, because I've been hearing that my whole life. "You'd like her," I decide, and the words surprise her, if the quick glance she gives me is anything to go by.

"If she'll show me some embarrassing photos of you…" she begins, and I chuckle, because there's nothing surer.

"Then you'll get along fine," I tell her, and she holds my gaze for a moment before turning back to the mantelpiece, placing the frame down carefully.

Neither of us speak for a long moment, and with her back to me, I can see the tension settling back across her shoulders. I'm not surprised when she turns to me, heaving a huge sigh, her jaw set, eyes fixed to the ceiling and over to the right, not looking at me. "What are we doing Warrick?" she asks, cutting right to the chase, and I sigh too, shaking my head.

"I'm not sure," I tell her honestly, because I don't think that now is the time to be anything less than honest with her.

It seems to do the trick, because she smiles hesitantly, tucking her hair behind her ear again, just like she did when I first opened the door to her. "I don't know what happened today," she says, her eyes sliding off me as she begins to pace. "I mean, one minute we were there, and we were talking just the way we always do, and then the next thing I know, we're kissing…" Her voice trails off as she pivots on her heel, looking at me then looking away again. "I've never thought of you like that."

Which isn't news to me, but nonetheless, it stings. "It surprised me too," I tell her quietly.

She continues as if I hadn't spoken, pacing all the while. "And now, it's all I can think about," she admits, which is slightly more like what I wanted to hear. "Except that I don't know if we… I mean… we work together, we're friends, and I don't want to screw that up…" She stops talking abruptly when she literally walks into me, because I stood up when I heard her says that kissing me was all she could think about. She looks up at me in surprise, says my name, but that's all I let her say, because I do the only thing I can think of to stop her babbling, to let her know exactly where I stand.

I kiss her.

I thought that the kiss in the kitchen, while fairly innocent in its way, was also quite worthy of fireworks. This though, is something else altogether, all pretence of innocence or chastity banished, vanished in a combination of nerves and tension and just plain desire. I pull her close to me, and she's holding me just as tightly, pressing her body against mine, hands sliding up and down my back. My own hands aren't idle either, moving across her back, through her hair, and when we finally separate, only because oxygen deprivation is becoming a problem, we're both breathing hard.

She's smiling at me, but it's not a nervous smile anymore. Still, I find myself enabling her nervous habit, loosening my grip on her only so that I can reach my hand up to her cheek, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear. "I don't know what it is we're doing Sara," I whisper, once more being honest with her. "But I don't want to let it go."

The silence that follows seems to last for an eternity before she replies, "Neither do I." That much agreed on, I'd be happy to just bask in the moment, but characteristically, Sara's already moving on to the next step. "So what do we do now?"

The question makes me smile, both in the phrasing, and the fact that I already know the answer. "Well, I do have one suggestion…" I say, letting my voice trail off suggestively.

She leans back in my arms, lifts an eyebrow. "Oh?"

I know what she thinks I was thinking, and I take great delight in pulling the rug out from under her. "I think we need to go on a date," I tell her, and her jaw literally drops.

"A date?" she echoes, and I nod firmly.

"A real date. One where I pick you up, take you out to dinner…where there's good conversation, maybe a little dancing…"

Both eyebrows are now raised and she's beaming. "Dancing huh?" she asks. "I like the sound of that."

My hands trace lazy patterns on her back, and it strikes me that only for the absence of music, we could be dancing right now. "Then it's a date?" I ask, because I have to be sure.

I didn't think it was possible for her smile to get any wider, but it does. "It's a date."