Title: Once a Year
Author: snowyplains
Rating: no more than PG at most
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and I think CBS/Alliance Atlantis/Jerry Bruckheimer does
Note: I hope this isn't too cheesy, since I already know that the setting for this story is such a cliche. And it's extremely short. Don't be too harsh on me =)

Once a Year

Once a year, I get to hold Sara Sidle.

It's the same day a year when Greg actually shows up in something other than a lab jacket and a loud shirt.

That one day a year where Warrick is actually smooth with the ladies (I'm going to get from him for this one).

It's the one day a year when our presence is requested at the civil servants' formal, or required, if one desires advancement in their career.

Predictably, Grissom didn't come. He was never one of this sort of thing anyway. And I'm the odd man out. Even Doc Robbins is with his wife. Warrick and Catherine are schmoozing, dazzling the powers that be with sparkling conversation and wit, and right now, Sara's dancing with Greg. Horror of horrors, I watch as he whispers something to her, and she chuckles.

I grin at my own cheesiness. Greg's my buddy, and I honestly don't mind in the slightest if Sara laughs at his jokes.

As long as she laughs harder at mine.

I keep staring at her. She's a little underdressed for the occaision, only wearing a black cocktail dress and something to hold her hair back, especially compared to catherine's dramatic floor-sweeping red gown. But then again, Sara could be wearing a trash bag, and I'd still think she looked amazing. I sigh, and occupied myself with the wine glass, draining it dry.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Catherine approaching Greg and Sara, and cutting in. Greg has a dopey smile on his face, now having had the opportunity to dance with both ladies, and Sara mock hits Cath before retreating and searching out Warrick, and it's obvious that she doesn't mind at all.

I'm beginning to wonder if anyone still remembers that I'm still sitting here at the table by myself, nothing but a half eaten plate of grilled fish to keep me company.

"Hey Nick, no one to dance with?" I look up to see Sara, who apparently, wasn't off looking for Warrick.

I grinned at her, standing up and offering her my arm. "Not anymore."

We walk onto the dance floor, and she slides her hands up my arms, and rests them on my shoulders, and I could have sworn she had been trying to prolong the moment.

And the for next three minutes, everything becomes a blur.