Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended at all (not even respecting the chapter's title).
Author's Note: Well, this is short and just like somebody said, an old idea re-written and (hopefully) perfected according to the actual backbone of the show.
Thanks to those who chose
to review. I don't know where this is going, but I can promise this is
not the kind of story where Nick and Sara get together in the first chapter
and live happily ever after. Then again, I already kinda got them together
in the first chapter, didn't I? My bad. Will amend sometime soon *evil
grin*.
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Chapter 4: Behind Enemy Lines
"And God said: when I made
the woman she had to be something special. I made her shoulders strong
enough to carry the weight of the world, but at the same time soft enough
to comfort those in need of comfort. I gave her a great deal of inner strength
to bare the pain of giving birth and even the rejection that sometimes
comes from her own children. I gave her a strength that allows her to go
on and take care of her family despite all sickness and exhaustion, without
complaining even when others give up.
I gave her sensibility
to love her child under any circumstances, even when the child may hurt
her deeply. The same sensibility that makes any sadness, tears or pain
in her child's heart go away and makes her share the anxiety and fears
of adolescence and even adulthood... I gave her enough strength to be able
to forgive her husband's weaknesses and I made her out of one of his ribs
so that she could take care of his heart. I gave her wisdom to know that
a good husband would never hurt his wife, and sometimes I put difficulties
in their way to measure her strength and determination to remain at his
side in spite of it all.
I gave her real tears
that appear exclusively when she needs to express herself beyond words.
That is her only weakness... tears that ask for forgiveness for the mistakes
and hardness in the heart of mankind."
~ Anonymous.
He was waiting for her. Warrick had warned him about their case together that night and her extremely emotional reaction to it.
Showing up at each other's doors unexpectedly had slowly become a matter of habit. They would drink some tea and talk for hours, and then maybe he would just hold her until the world seemed to rotate in the right direction again.
That apparently soothed the inner turmoil rather successfully; hers, and his as well. He couldn't remember who had been the one to initiate the tradition but it didn't matter anymore.
Because as long as she was tangled up in his embrace nothing could touch either of them.
On the other side of the door her arm was raised, still rather hesitant to do what was no longer unusual. This time there was something different though.
But she still took a ragged breath and knocked twice.
After all the warnings from his friend and all the nights the same scene had been replayed, he wasn't ready for the image of her in front of him.
Sara Sidle, the strongest woman he knew, was crying.
She wasn't even sobbing loudly and yet the tears managed to make their way down her cheeks. Her arms hugging the tiny frame of her body, that craved for protection.
Her worn out expression revealed that he hadn't been her first choice. Her red and puffy eyes said she had been crying for a good time before heading to his place.
And she had wondered the whole way if she would regret that decision later. She was feeling embarrassed and extremely self-conscious, uncomfortable in her own skin.
They were friends above all things, but she worried about being the first of the two to wear her heart on her sleeve. It required an amount of trust she didn't know she was capable of.
Her reluctance was understandable because her emotional state implied a deeper need of comfort and commitment than what their little arrangement provided. Uncertainty was written all over her face.
Uncertainty that he wiped off with an almost imperceptible gesture that motioned her to come in.
Nick was scared, terrified at the sight of her haunted eyes that always seemed to be hidden behind sunglasses. He had had a glimpse on the truth they could hold during their previous times together, but never anything like that.
He was aware of the engagement it represented and he accepted her confidence gladly, which didn't mean he knew what to say to make everything right again.
So he did the only thing he knew. He just held her.
The warmth of his body became the balm she was longing for and she broke down then and there, shattering his heart in a million pieces. This time the sobs wracked her body as he did his best to kiss the tears away.
And yet, she wanted more. Tonight, of all nights, she needed more.
But she never stopped crying.
**************
"...and that is the reason why these kind of cases affect me so much."
She continued drawing patterns on his chest, trying to pretend that pouring her heart out to him wasn't a big deal. His kiss on her forehead was reassuring enough and, relieved, she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
"That explains a lot." He commented lightly. "As over it as one might be, memories can't be helped"
"Yeah, but I can't let it affect the way I do my job"
He tried to chuckle softly, but the sound that came out was strange and unnatural in him.
"It'll affect you anyway, Sar. That's a battle you can't win. What you *can* do is try and control it. Use the drive." She looked up too meet his eyes, but his gaze was distracted and somehow lost.
"Well, thanks for telling me I'll never be as good and objective as a CSI as I could have been if nothing had happened." The irony in her voice made him react.
"Look at us! Number two crime lab in the country: former stripper/addict, compulsive gambler... Here's my theory: to be a good CSI, you must have been on the other side."
She frowned, not liking the implications of his statement. Or the cynicism that had taken over the conversation.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Sara shifted to face him completely but he was avoiding her eyes, again.
"I mean... I mean that perhaps the reason why we're so good at what we do is because our quest for the truth is driven by the thirst for justice. We don't want the truth for the victims or their loved ones, we want it for ourselves, because at least for a moment we have been them."
"You're scaring me" She whispered, half jokingly.
"One way or the other, we all have been in their shoes." He finished.
Their eyes finally met, and she noticed that his were filled with tears. But most of all, they were pleading with her for a release that she had experienced only a few minutes before.
It was her time to fear the haunted eyes in front on her and the implications of story they told.
It was her time to commit with their friendship the way he had by motioning her to come into his place.
"Nick, is there anything you're not telling me?" She absently licked her lips, and he bitterly smirked, nodding.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He looked away, hating to be in that position. Hating to put her in that position where she probably felt compelled to show the same attention he had previously shown. No, he couldn't give in to the urge of spilling his guts to her.
Being a man sometimes sucked.
And yet, with a soft caress of her hand his eyes were placed on hers again. Eyes that held his gaze with sincerity, compassion and gentleness: the same way he had held her hand as she told her story.
"It all happened when I was nine..."
- END OF CHAPTER FOUR.
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Written by Mary S. HUGE
THANKS TO DUCK!
Short, I know, but it
needed to be told.
