A Shoulder to Lean On

Part Six

Notes and disclaimers in part one

He was woken up not too long later by the ringing of the doorbell, pressed with the insistent force of someone who not only has been ringing for a while already, but one who's not going to be easily put off. Glancing down at Sara, he realised with equal parts amusement and worry that she hadn't stirred; quite a feat for someone who got by on four hours sleep a night, if that. "Must be some drugs," he thought to himself, sliding himself off the bed carefully, so as not to wake her. The doorbell rang again as he moved, and he cursed whoever it was silently, pausing only to grab his shirt from the chair and slipping it on, stopping short of buttoning it up. He figured he didn't have time to worry about that before the next blast of the doorbell would sound, and he figured right too, the noise coming just as he was a step away from the door.

He set his jaw as he wrenched it open, ready to give whoever was on the other side an earful, something about not disturbing people when they're sick, but when he saw who was standing there, all such thoughts went out of his head.

Others, far more violent, rushed in to take their place.

Standing there, looking as surprised to see Warrick as Warrick was to see him, was none other than Hank Peddigrew, and Warrick felt a rush of anger course through him. "What do you want?" he demanded, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Sara.

"Warrick?" Hank asked, surprise turning to confusion, and Warrick had a sudden vision of what this must look like to Hank; him answering Sara's door barefoot, shirt undone, looking sleep-interrupted and slumber-rumpled. The direction that Hank's thoughts were taking was perfectly clear when his eyes narrowed, looked beyond Warrick into the apartment, taking in every inch they could. "Is Sara here?"

The question was laced with suspicion, asked as if he had every right to, as if it was all right that he was there after the way he'd treated Sara. It was enough to raise Warrick's blood temperature several degrees. "She's sleeping," he said curtly, and to hell with what Hank thought that meant.

Which soon became perfectly clear. "Alone?"

At the sharp tone in Hank's voice, Warrick felt himself using hitherto unknown reserves of willpower to stop himself knocking the other man into the middle of next week. "Yes." Which wasn't exactly a lie, he told himself, but Hank didn't have any right to the truth either. "What do you want?" he asked again.

Hank swallowed hard. "To see Sara. I heard… I mean… Is she… is she ok?"

Warrick narrowed his eyes, glaring at Hank. "None of your damn business," he hissed, stepping closer to Hank, almost enjoying the way the other man took a step back, at least, until Hank began speaking, holding up a hand.

"Look man, I don't know what you've heard…"

"All I need to." Warrick didn't want to hear any of his excuses, knew that if he did, Hank would end up picking himself up off the floor. "And enough to know she's not going to want to see you. So why don't you just-"

"Warrick?"

He stopped talking and spun around at the sound of Sara's voice, but not moving quickly enough to miss the flash of concern and something else on Hank's face. He figured out quickly that the something else was very like dismay, but by the time he did, he was more concerned with Sara, was moving towards her. She was leaning heavily on the kitchen counter, as if it was the only thing holding her up, and Warrick didn't doubt for a second that it was. If anything, she was even paler than she had been when he'd brought her home from the hospital, and he didn't know if it was the exertion of moving or the shock of seeing Hank that had her that way. Either way, he was by her side in an instant, helping her on to one of the stools at the counter, his hand resting protectively on her back, and to hell with his reluctance to touch her of earlier on. Then he'd been afraid that she would break if he laid a hand on her; now he thought that she needed a reminder to that he was there for her. If it served also as a warning to Hank, well then, so much the better.

Hank, meanwhile, had taken advantage of Warrick's preoccupation with Sara to step into the apartment, letting the door close behind him. "Sara…" he began, sounding shocked, his voice trailing off, and while Warrick was all ready to throw him out, closed door or no closed door, Sara's voice stopped him.

"What do you want Hank?" She didn't sound angry, just weary, and Warrick didn't miss how she was leaning towards him, stepped just a bit closer to her in response.

If the look that Hank gave them was anything to go by, he didn't miss it either. "Jimmy told me he saw you in the ER earlier," he replied, looking ill at ease. "Said that you looked in pretty bad shape…"

"I had a miscarriage." Sara's words were blunt, her voice strong, but Warrick's hand was still on her back, and he could feel her shaking, knew the effort it was costing her to stay in control. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

Hank's jaw dropped, and he looked down. "I'm sorry," he began, but that was as far as Sara let him get.

"Why? You couldn't be sure it was yours, isn't that what you told me? And that you didn't want to know?"

"Looks like I had good reason," Hank flared, and while Warrick was all ready to jump in, Sara beat him to it.

"Don't." Her head snapped up, her cheeks red, eyes burning with anger. "Don't you dare put this on me. Warrick is here because I needed him." She swallowed hard, took a deep breath. "The baby was yours, Hank. And you know it was."

Hank, looking suitably chastened, dropped his head, a move that Warrick took as tacit confirmation. "I said a lot of things," Hank finally said quietly. "Things I shouldn't have said." Which Warrick thought was possibly the understatement of the century, and he bit his tongue, looking heavenward. "But you've got to understand Sara, I was freaked out…"

 "And I wasn't?" Sara sounded incredulous. "I went to you because I thought you deserved to know… and because you were the only other person whose life would change. I thought you'd understand… and you as good as called me a whore."

It was stronger language than he'd ever heard from Sara, but if Warrick was shocked, then Hank was more so. "I didn't mean…"

"You never do." Sara's tone was contemptuous, dismissive. "But you did… so you don't get to come here and throw around accusations…" She shook her head, looking away. "Just go Hank… I don't want you here."

That was all Warrick needed to hear. "You heard her, man," he said, stepping towards Hank. He half expected Hank to resist, but he just shot Warrick a look, then looked past him to Sara.

"If I can do anything-" he said, five words that had Warrick's hand clenching in a fist. Only Sara's next words stopped him doing anything he wouldn't regret.

"There is." Warrick and Hank turned surprised gazes towards her, though Warrick's transmuted quickly into suspicion. "I don't know what you told Jimmy, and I don't care… but I was waiting to tell people…" Her voice broke, and she had to clear her throat audibly before she could continue. "Warrick's the only one who knows." She glanced quickly at Warrick, then back to Hank, but he was already nodding.

"I'll take care of it."

"Good."  Evidently Hank knew goodbye when he heard it, because he nodded once more, turning towards the door, and Warrick watched him go. It was only when the sound of the door closing echoed through the apartment that he turned his attention back to Sara, getting to her just in time for her to collapse against him, her arms going around his waist.

He held her tightly for a long moment before pulling back, raising her chin so that he could look at her face. He could feel her shaking, but her eyes were dry, and he sighed. "You should be in bed," he told her, and she sucked in a deep breath, shaking her head.

"I heard you talking…" Her voice was barely a whisper, had Warrick scooping her up in his arms, carrying her back to bed.

"Don't talk," he told her as he walked, and she obeyed, a sure fire measure of how lethargic she was feeling. Laying her down on the bed, he kneeled down beside her, taking a chance that brushing her hair out of her face wouldn't be out of line, letting his hand linger there when she didn't move away. "You want me here, or the couch?" he asked her, perfectly willing to accept either, whichever she was more comfortable with. His answer came quickly, not in words, but in the beseeching brown eyes that stared up at him, the cold hand that closed around his wrist.

"Don't leave me," she whispered, closing her eyes tightly. "I know it's stupid…"

"Hey…" He gently disentangled her fingers from his wrist, only for as long as it took him to walk around to the other side of the bed, to lie down beside her on it. "It's not stupid at all," he told her.

She didn't say anything, but she did move slightly, shuffling closer to him on the bed so that they were lying side by side, both staring up at the ceiling, the right side of her body warm against his left. Closing his eyes, because he, at least, had to get up in a few more hours, he was all ready to get some sleep, was sure she'd want the same. His eyes flew open almost immediately though, at the sensation of her hand closing over his. Turning his head towards her, he saw that her eyes were closed, but that one solitary tear was rolling down her cheek.

Moving his hand, he threaded his fingers through hers, squeezed tightly, smiling when her lips turned up in a small smile.

Both were asleep within minutes.

At the sound of a soft whimper, his eyes flew open, and he was instantly wide awake. A quick glance at the bedside clock told him that Sara was overdue for her meds, that she must be in some kind of pain by now, the noise that had woken him an indication of that. Even as he realised that, there was another of those little noises, and he realised with a shock that while Sara might have fallen asleep at his side, she hadn't remained there. Now, she was lying practically on top of him, having turned in her sleep, buried her head in his shoulder, thrown her arm around his waist. It was just as evident that his sleep-soaked mind had not only acknowledged her actions, but welcomed them, because his arms were wrapped around her, holding her securely in place, errant strands of her hair tickling his chin.

He was holding Sara Sidle in his arms, and it didn't feel wrong, or strange, just strangely right. Such thoughts should have alarmed him, but they didn't, and in any case, they were pushed aside when Sara whimpered again. This one was accompanied by her moving against him, burrowing her head into his chest, her free hand clenching on the white cotton of his undershirt. Frowning, he tightened his grip on her hand, moved the other up her back until it rested on the back of her head, threaded through her hair. "Sara," he murmured, keeping his voice low, trying to make her awakening as little of a shock as possible. "Sara… come on… time to wake up…"

She shifted against him again, fighting sleep. "Warrick?" she mumbled, and he half-expected her to bolt upright, ask him what the hell he was doing there, but she didn't, just burrowed closer. "What time is it?"

"Early," he told her. "You've only been out a few hours." He neglected to mention Hank, hoping that the brief interlude in a drug-induced sleep would be dismissed as a nightmare. "How you feeling?"

She made a move as if to roll off him, but she only succeeded in propping herself up a little before she drew in her breath with an audible hiss. Then she collapsed against him, returning her head to its pillow. "It hurts…" She sounded almost childlike, and he cupped the back of her head, pressed a kiss to her crown, belatedly wondering what the hell he was doing.

"I know baby." The words came automatically, and he wanted to bite off his tongue when he heard the endearment, but Sara didn't react. "I'll go get your pills…" He moved as slowly and carefully as he possibly could, but he knew from the sound of her breathing that he caused her pain anyway. In the living room, he found the pills where he'd left them, filled a glass with water, and when he came back, he found her lying on her back, eyes closed, dark circles in a pale face. "Here you go," he said, holding out two tablets, sitting down beside her on the bed and supporting her into a sitting position when it became clear that she wasn't going to do it herself. He made sure that the pills were swallowed and that half of the water was drained before reaching over to the bedside table, handing her the phone. "You need to call Grissom," he told her, and she nodded. He made to move, to give her some privacy, but she stopped him, her hand closing around his wrist, her eyes looking up at him in pleading question. He didn't need to see anything else, just dropped back down on the bed, making himself comfortable, back against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankle, his arm around her shoulders.

She pressed in the numbers to Grissom's cell phone, and thanks to their proximity, Warrick was able to hear both sides of the conversation, starting with Grissom's greeting, an austere, not too friendly sounding "Grissom".

"Grissom, it's Sara," was Sara's opening salvo, and Grissom sounded mildly concerned when he replied.

"You sound terrible."

A very pale ghost of a smile crossed Sara's lips. "Yeah… look, I'm not going to be able to come in tonight… probably for the next couple of shifts."

"You're sick?"

Sara nodded, eyes trained on the ceiling. "Stomach flu," she said, weighing each word carefully. "It's… it's pretty ugly around here." Warrick could see cracks emerging in her composure, wondered if Grissom could hear them too, and he moved his hand from his shoulder to her back, making wide sweeping circles against the material of her blouse.

"That's fine Sara… we'll see you when you're better."

"Thanks Grissom. Bye." With that, Sara hung up the phone, handed it to Warrick who threw it on the bedside table. As he was doing that, she moved to a lying position, scooting down so that her body was pressed against his, his arm still around her.

"You ok?" Warrick asked her after she'd been silent for a long moment.

"I think the drugs are starting to work," she replied, tilting her head up towards him. "And Grissom didn't ask too many questions…"

Warrick snickered. "Mark that date on the calendar," and a flash of humour sparked in her eyes. "You're gonna take your time coming back to work, right?" he asked, just to make sure, because in the two and a half years he'd been working with Sara, he'd seen her come in dog tired, nearly sick, just over sickness, while still sick… he didn't want to see that again.

She rolled her eyes. "Trust me," she said. "I'm in no hurry to get back." A rueful smile, devoid of humour, lit her face. "Guess we should mark that on the calendar too huh?"

He sighed. "Sara…"

"I never wanted kids Warrick," she told him, and it was from far enough out of left field that it stopped him talking. "I'm not good with kids… with people. I'd see my friends with theirs, and people I worked with, like Catherine, and they'd look so natural at it… but not me. What kind of mother would I make?" She wasn't looking at him any more, her gaze levelled on the wall, unblinking, completely dry. "When I found out… I didn't know what to do. I knew I didn't want an abortion, but I didn't know if I wanted a baby either." She was rambling and he let her, his hand playing idly with the ends of her hair, not interrupting, because she needed this, needed to let it out. "Then the more I thought about it, the more I got used to the idea… it didn't seem so scary." He had a sudden memory of her face as they sat in the diner, eating breakfast in the middle of the case, her hand on her abdomen, the kind of smile on her face that he'd never seen there before, and he knew just what she meant. "OK," she corrected herself with a chuckle. "It still seemed scary… but it was a good scary. You know?"

Her eyes met his then, and he knew that a response was expected. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I know." In point of fact, he thought that he might be understanding the notion of "good scary" rather too well at the moment, because he'd just realised, once again, where he was.

In Sara Sidle's apartment.

In Sara Sidle's bed, with Sara pressed up against him, telling him her deepest thoughts.

It should have felt wrong, but it didn't.

And that, he found, was a very good scary indeed.

Maybe she thought the same thing, because her quiet words brought him back to reality. "Is this weird?" He looked down at her, found that she was looking up at him, her eyes narrowed, forehead creased.

"What?" he asked, playing for time, because he needed to know more about what she was thinking, how she was feeling, before he committed himself to anything.

She lifted an eyebrow in response, a sure sign that she must be feeling better he figured. That was the Sara Sidle of old. "This," she told him quietly, unclenching her hand from his undershirt, moving it around to indicate the room, them. "Us… this…" Her hand returned to his chest, her eyes following it. "I don't know why you're here… why you've been here since you found out…" Her voice seemed to choke slightly, her shoulders shaking as she fought back a sob. "I just don't know how I would have got through this without you."

The words hung in the air between them, and Warrick sighed, his fingers still threading through her hair. "I don't know either Sara," he whispered, and she looked up, dark and doubtful eyes meeting his. "I just… it feels like I have to be here."

Her lips moved, forming a brief, shaking smile. "I'm glad," she whispered.

"Yeah." His free hand reached up, cupping her chin, his thumb rubbing the skin there. Her eyes fluttered closed at his touch, and, after a couple of seconds, his thumb widened its path, brushing across her lips. "Me too," he breathed, and her eyes opened at his words, and for the first time in days, he didn't see confusion or pain or anything like that. Instead, he saw something that made him dip his head, made him cover her lips with his. It was the barest touch of skin against skin, but he felt the effects of the contact all the way down to his toes, and from the way she shifted against him, pressing herself closer to him, he thought that she might be feeling the same thing.

The kiss was brief, purposely so on his part, and when she leaned back into him, seeking his lips again, he actually moved his head away from her. She frowned, narrowing her eyes in question, and the back of his hand moved across her cheek, brushing back her hair behind her ears. "That was nice…" she whispered, and he chuckled, nodding.

"It was," he agreed, splaying his hands on her back, moving them up and down. He didn't take his eyes off her, couldn't, so he was able to see the flicker of doubt – amazed doubt, he thought, but doubt nonetheless – forming there.

"Are we really doing this?" she asked, and he sighed, because he knew the answer to that. It just wasn't one that he was sure he wanted to give, even if he knew that it was the right thing to do.

"I'd like to," he told her, and she grinned. "I'm just not sure we should do this now."

Her smile disappeared, her jaw dropping, and her eyes narrowed in what looked very like a combination of hurt and anger. "What do you-?"

"I mean," he interrupted her, his voice completely calm, "That you've just gone through one of the worst things in your life… and maybe, just maybe, you don't need to make a big decision like this now." Pausing, he let that settle, and when her gaze dropped downward, he knew that she understood. "I want this Sara," he continued. "I just want you to be sure about it too."

She nodded, her fingers playing with the white cotton under her palm, and from her demeanour, he knew that she was totally unaware of the effect that she was having on him. "And what if… what if later on… I don't feel the same?"

Once more, his hand went to her chin, tilting her head up so that she could see him, know that he was being sincere. "Then I'll still be your friend… and I'll always be there for you… no matter what."

Her smile returned, and tears came to her eyes. Swallowing, she laid her head back down against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her, held her tight. "I'm glad you're my friend," she whispered.

"Yeah." He kissed the top of her head, closing his eyes and making himself comfortable, knowing all the while that he could get very, very used to this; knowing that, in time, he would. "Me too."

end