CONTEMPLATIONS
DISCLAIMER: Well, they sure aren't mine, because we all know what wouldn't have happened if they were...
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I tried to write fluff to cheer us all up. It turned out rather more angstier than I intended, but it's got fluff in it too.
To say that it's been a bad day is an understatement, because Sara can't remember when she had a worse one.
Of course, she thought the same thing yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. If she was to be technical or specific about it, for a great many days-before-that. Her days had stopped being merely bad weeks ago.
She slams the front door behind her, in a futile attempt to make herself feel better, collapses onto her sofa, and drops her head into her hands. For endless minutes she savours the silence of solitude, of her own rhythmic breathing, the silence around her in stark contrast to the lab where nothing, ever, was silent.
Silence. That was what she wanted most. Silence, and peace, and warm sunshine in a soft breeze instead of the harshness of Nevada's climate. She wanted to laugh and relax and swim in the sea, and forget about serial killers and grumpy colleagues and horror.
The gentle click of a key in the lock - Nick's voice calling from the hall.
"In here."
The sound of his footsteps, approaching her, his presence solidly in front of her.
"Two weeks, Sara."
"I know." She lifts her head to smile at him, and stretches out a hand. She doesn't know what, exactly, she means by that, but Nick sits down next to her and lets her drop her head onto his shoulder. "Two weeks," she repeats, wistfully, closing her eyes and thinking of the sea, feeling him put his arm around her, feeling his chin on her head.
"Bad day, huh?"
Sara smiles ruefully. "As bad as yours."
"Mmmm."
She doesn't bother to ask him what this means - agreement or tiredness or contentment or just sheer laziness, because it could be one of them or all or nothing. Instead she reaches out with one hand and starts tracing gentle patterns on his knee with a finger. Nick captures her hand, squeezes it, and they lapse into idleness and concentrate on just being still after going all night.
Going - but getting nowhere - because they are both working the case of a serial killer who has Vegas in the grip of terror. Six weeks and five victims and no killer. They have been working with this case for so long they don't seem to be able to stop thinking when they go to bed, constantly going over evidence and theories and their far too few clues. Sometimes Sara thinks that this case will be the one to drive her slowly mad, and Nick too, and maybe even Grissom who clearly doesn't like to think that this killer is smarter than he is. Truth be told they all hate it.
They are trying to float away into a lazy dreamland when their pagers beep sharp, ugly beeps at the same time and bring up identical messages. They have another victim; a sixth body. Sleep, it seems, and the forgetfulness that it brings, are to be postponed once more for the realities of death and emotion.
Nick kisses her as they stand up and gather their keys from the table by the door and for a few moments she gives herself up to the sensations, to the feeling of being alive and not just a shell of a person. Like clues, though, there are not enough of these moments, and all too soon Nick is kissing her forehead briefly and saying he'll see her at the crime scene. She releases him and instantly misses him, and watches him open the door and when he steps through it she says, "Two weeks" and he smiles and nods and shuts the door behind him. Sara stands in the hall, alone and lonely, and gives him a two minute head start, during which time she tries to concentrate what remains of her creative and intellectual energies on the job at hand.
The job of death.
She heads out the door and can't help thinking longingly of the rarefied air of Harvard. She could have stayed there, gotten a Doctorate, spent her days wrangling with problems that didn't bring with them the stink of death.
Two weeks.
Those two weeks - those fourteen days - pass agonisingly slowly as they continue their battle of wits - their battle of life and death - with Vegas' latest serial killer. At both their apartments, before and after work, they pack their lives into carefully labelled cardboard boxes until two days before when the apartments stand empty and sparkling clean and they both feel somehow less than themselves as they look around.
"This is it," says Nick, as they weave their way around the boxes of books at Sara's and step outside to go to work for the last time, the dimness of evening enveloping them as they throw caution to the winds and take one vehicle instead of two: the pretence has worn thin as paper these last few weeks.
They drive through the much seen but rarely noticed streets in their own silence, their own thoughts, because this is the last night and it means something different for each of them, and something immense for them together.
Each of them tries to walk the familiar corridors of the lab nonchantly, as if there is nothing special or final about tonight. About three steps in they fail, and find themselves looking around, scanning, trying to remember things without dwelling on the thoughts of the end.
Part of Nick had hoped that tonight would be the night they caught the serial killer in a miraculous 'Eureka' moment, or that they would at least get something conclusive to go on so that they did not leave this last, biggest project uncompleted. The world does not respond in a storybook manner, and they spend the night finishing paperwork, checking countless forms.
He looks over at Sara, watches her bite her lip as she skims through pages of her writing, and wonders what she's thinking as she contemplates all these old cases. He's glad she doesn't have to be here any more, because these haven't been her best years, but she has memories and so does he. He keeps watching her out of the corner of his eye as he goes on with his own work, trying to rid himself of the uneasiness in his heart and stomach. It's normal and he damn well knows that - perhaps it's some survival mechanism, this reluctance for change when the time for one's decision to become real arrives. Knowing one has made a right decision does not always prevent doubt from creeping in, an unwelcome shadow.
Sara hates goodbyes, because goodbyes mean emotion and goodness knows she hates to wrestle with emotion in public, but then she's done it once and she'll do it again.
People are gathering in the break room and she really, really, wishes they wouldn't, because what will this bring but pain? She leans back against the back of a chair, gripping it with white knuckled hands and staring at her feet as Grissom makes a stilted speech of thank you and farewell that seems directed as much to the assorted crowd as to Nick and Sara
Catherine takes over and sounds a lot more genuine (and Sara has no doubt that Grissom meant every word he said), but that is even worse. She makes a brief illusion to their relationship, which everyone but no-one has known about for months, and Sara winces.
Quietly, she follows Nick's cue and makes her rounds of the room, not wanting to look into the familiar faces but unable to look away. There are more people there than she'd thought or expected: the lab techs are together in one corner, Greg Sanders an uneasy link between lab techs and CSIs, a few detectives have come, Doc Robbins and David have ventured out of the morgue, the receptionist stands alone, even a few of the cleaners have come. All have words of farewell and of best wishes for each of them, and Sara keeps swallowing and remembering why she's always thought it's a really bad idea to get too attached to people.
Warrick sweeps her up in a hug that apologizes for everything that ever happened between them, and Sara squeezes back tears and wants both to be out of there and to never leave. Catherine has a hug for her too, and whispers that she thinks Sara is doing the right thing - Sara and Nick - and she is still genuine and that is just what Sara doesn't want. She nods and lets her hair fall in front of her face and fools nobody.
Finally, but too soon, it is all over. Sara has no words at the moment, and so she lets Nick take her hand, for the first time ever in public, and led her through the crowd and their last words towards the break room door. Her eyes, accidentally, meet Greg's, and he grins, a forced grin but one that reminds her of all the times he made her laugh, and her heart rises up into her throat so she has to swallow back up a sob and she grips Nick's hand like a vice.
She bites her lip and swallows all the way back to the parking lot, content to let Nick be strong but all the while knowing it probably isn't fair on him. He holds her hand the whole way back to her place and then they both collapse into bed, amid the boxes, and force themselves to remember why they've made the decision they made.
The next day, when they see their apartments devoid of even the boxes, and close the doors for the last time and drive away from Las Vegas in a stream of ordinary, everyday vehicles, Nick tries to focus on the sense of relief he feels. He feels relief for him, and relief for Sara, though he knows he's going to miss Warrick and Greg and, well, everyone, and for another moment he wishes they could take it all back.
They drive West, as so many people have done over so many years, seeking a new life. The further away from Las Vegas they go the easier the distance gets, although they are both still trying not to prod those spots on their hearts which will be tender for weeks.
Sara is in the passenger's seat, her elbow propped on the open window, her chin on her hand. He can't see her eyes through her sunglasses, but her body language is telling him she's okay.
Nick smiles at this thought: they're okay, both of them.
They beat the moving truck to their new home in San Francisco and stand in the empty living room, planning as they have done so many times before where their things will go. And then Nick grins suddenly, and can't stop himself from embracing Sara, holding her tight, right there in their new home. He lets Vegas go, lets even the serial killer go, and considers the possibilities for their new life, together, and all that that means for both of them.
Sara holds tight to Nick as he hugs her, wondering if she is really feeling the hope and joy in his body, or if she's dreaming. It doesn't matter. She just closes her eyes, seeing in them the rooms of their home, and then she lets herself dream.
THE END