Disclaimer: I don't own CSI although I wish I did.
Rating: PG-13 to be on the safe side for language and subject matter
They come without warning, shattering the peace and disrupting the calm. There is no pattern to them, well not one that he can discern and no predicting when one will hit. He hates the nightmares and what they do to her. He remembers the first one he witnessed as well as he remembers his own name; the kicking, the thrashing, the unintelligible murmuring and the heart rending screams that marked the crescendo of the beast haunting her subconscious. He remembers the terrified look in her eyes when she finally jolted herself away from the insidious grasp of the demons in her dreams, the clammy cool touch of her skin and the dampness of her hair as he brushed it out of her face and stroked it in an attempt to soothe her. An act oft repeated since that first night.
He can still recall the imperceptible shake of her shoulders as he wound his arms around her and pulled her flush to his chest. However, the one thing he remembers above else is the feeling of helplessness. He can protect her when she is awake, he can keep her safe and he can attempt to slay the dragons that wander in her path but he can't control her dreams. He is not a man taken to flights of fancy or irrational want but if he could have anything in this world, anything at all, he would wish to be able to prevent her night terrors. The only thing he can do, however, is comfort her the best he can but this often does not feel like enough. On the worst nights it is impossible to comfort her. Wiping away her tears becomes an exercise in futility. This is when he feels truly impotent. There is no greater pain than seeing someone that you love suffer and not being able to stop it.
When he asked her what she dreamt about, she reminded him of a conversation they had not so many years ago. "You want to sleep with me?" the conversation began with this somewhat loaded question given the nature of their flirtatious relationship back then, a relationship that was sparking with sexual tension. He remembered being taken aback, not too sure how to answer her. It was not the first time he had been rendered speechless by Sara Sidle but this encounter was different. "That way, when I wake up in a cold sweat under the blanket hearing Kaye's screams, you can tell me it's nothing. It's just empathy.". He knows full well now that it's much more than empathy. Sometimes when the nightmares hit, he wonders which tragedy is invading her psyche this time – Linley Parker's, Pamela Adler's, Kaye Shelton's, Susanna Kirkwood's or her own.
Yes, her own. It was not long after they crossed the line from being friends and colleagues to lovers when she revealed a little bit of her past in answer to the question of why she required so little sleep. She told him first of the nightmares and then told him of her own nightmare past, of the footsteps in the corridor outside her room that foretold his appearance and his warm breath tickling her ear, telling her not to say anything to anyone, that it was their secret and that no one would believe her anyway. She was sixteen years old, an innocent no longer after her brutal introduction into the underbelly of the world courtesy of a guest who thanked her parents profusely for a wonderful stay when he left a week later. She never did tell until that moment. He hates the poor excuse for a human being who did this to her. Bastard.
He had hoped at the beginning that the nightmares might become less frequent with him sharing her bed, that she might feel safe in his arms. He realises now that it was just wishful thinking. She is too sensitive a soul to go home at night and bury the death and destruction she deals with everyday in a little compartment in her brain. She continues to live it. He worries that she will burn out, that this is not the right job for her. However, he knows that it would be futile to broach the subject of a change of career as she's too stubborn, too caught up in her job, too determined to make a difference, too determined to catch other people's rapists in what he suspects is the vain hope of burying her own ghosts. He is the only one that sees this side of her, the vulnerability, the tears and the naked fear. To most people she is Sara Sidle, owner of the death glare, sharp tongue, razor wit, wicked humour and that amazing, wonderful smile. He is the only one privileged with her trust and for that he feels truly blessed. He will be there behind her to catch her in case she falls. She probably won't, being cut from the same cloth as the greatest warriors, but he will be there regardless.
Rating: PG-13 to be on the safe side for language and subject matter
They come without warning, shattering the peace and disrupting the calm. There is no pattern to them, well not one that he can discern and no predicting when one will hit. He hates the nightmares and what they do to her. He remembers the first one he witnessed as well as he remembers his own name; the kicking, the thrashing, the unintelligible murmuring and the heart rending screams that marked the crescendo of the beast haunting her subconscious. He remembers the terrified look in her eyes when she finally jolted herself away from the insidious grasp of the demons in her dreams, the clammy cool touch of her skin and the dampness of her hair as he brushed it out of her face and stroked it in an attempt to soothe her. An act oft repeated since that first night.
He can still recall the imperceptible shake of her shoulders as he wound his arms around her and pulled her flush to his chest. However, the one thing he remembers above else is the feeling of helplessness. He can protect her when she is awake, he can keep her safe and he can attempt to slay the dragons that wander in her path but he can't control her dreams. He is not a man taken to flights of fancy or irrational want but if he could have anything in this world, anything at all, he would wish to be able to prevent her night terrors. The only thing he can do, however, is comfort her the best he can but this often does not feel like enough. On the worst nights it is impossible to comfort her. Wiping away her tears becomes an exercise in futility. This is when he feels truly impotent. There is no greater pain than seeing someone that you love suffer and not being able to stop it.
When he asked her what she dreamt about, she reminded him of a conversation they had not so many years ago. "You want to sleep with me?" the conversation began with this somewhat loaded question given the nature of their flirtatious relationship back then, a relationship that was sparking with sexual tension. He remembered being taken aback, not too sure how to answer her. It was not the first time he had been rendered speechless by Sara Sidle but this encounter was different. "That way, when I wake up in a cold sweat under the blanket hearing Kaye's screams, you can tell me it's nothing. It's just empathy.". He knows full well now that it's much more than empathy. Sometimes when the nightmares hit, he wonders which tragedy is invading her psyche this time – Linley Parker's, Pamela Adler's, Kaye Shelton's, Susanna Kirkwood's or her own.
Yes, her own. It was not long after they crossed the line from being friends and colleagues to lovers when she revealed a little bit of her past in answer to the question of why she required so little sleep. She told him first of the nightmares and then told him of her own nightmare past, of the footsteps in the corridor outside her room that foretold his appearance and his warm breath tickling her ear, telling her not to say anything to anyone, that it was their secret and that no one would believe her anyway. She was sixteen years old, an innocent no longer after her brutal introduction into the underbelly of the world courtesy of a guest who thanked her parents profusely for a wonderful stay when he left a week later. She never did tell until that moment. He hates the poor excuse for a human being who did this to her. Bastard.
He had hoped at the beginning that the nightmares might become less frequent with him sharing her bed, that she might feel safe in his arms. He realises now that it was just wishful thinking. She is too sensitive a soul to go home at night and bury the death and destruction she deals with everyday in a little compartment in her brain. She continues to live it. He worries that she will burn out, that this is not the right job for her. However, he knows that it would be futile to broach the subject of a change of career as she's too stubborn, too caught up in her job, too determined to make a difference, too determined to catch other people's rapists in what he suspects is the vain hope of burying her own ghosts. He is the only one that sees this side of her, the vulnerability, the tears and the naked fear. To most people she is Sara Sidle, owner of the death glare, sharp tongue, razor wit, wicked humour and that amazing, wonderful smile. He is the only one privileged with her trust and for that he feels truly blessed. He will be there behind her to catch her in case she falls. She probably won't, being cut from the same cloth as the greatest warriors, but he will be there regardless.