Title: By Sunset
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Sara/Warrick
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 677
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Archive: At my site, , Anywhere else, please ask.
Summary: This isn't the kind of wedding that Warrick pictured for himself.
Author's Notes: For the LiveJournal Multifandom1000 "Wedding Day" challenge.
This isn't the kind of wedding that Warrick pictured for himself.
Not that he's spent a huge amount of time picturing his wedding, because, until her, he's never met anyone that he could see himself spending the rest of his life with.
And it's not even that he's exchanging vows with Sara, something that, after they first met, those few months where she barely tolerated his existence, he would have said was about as likely as pigs flying.
It's just that he's always thought that, when he did get married, it would be in a church, or at the very least some kind of chapel, though without the neon and Elvis impersonator, Vegas native or not. He pictured himself in some kind of penguin suit, waiting for his bride's father to walk her down the aisle, pictured the cake and the photographer and the reception with the cast of thousands, the whole nine yards.
He never thought that he'd be getting married in California, much less on a beach at sunset. The penguin suit has been replaced by black trousers, a simple white shirt, not tucked in, more than one button open at the neck. Sara's not wearing a traditional wedding dress, though she is wearing white, a linen shift dress that falls to just above her ankles. She is barefoot, as is he, and she's left her hair loose, unstraightened, so that it curls around her face in soft waves. The slight breeze catches a lock, blowing the thin strands across her cheek, the dark of her hair a contrast to her skin, painted shades of gold by the setting sun. She looks beautiful, and he wants to tell her so, but he can't seem to get anything bar "I do," past the lump in his throat. He settles for reaching up, tucking the hair back behind her ear, the way he's done so many times when it's just the two of them, and she smiles up at him as someone captures the moment on film.
Being caught in the act like that is something that would ordinarily embarrass him, but it's not as if there's a cast of thousands here to witness it. On the contrary, including him and Sara, there are seven people gathered on the beach – the happy couple, the Justice of the Peace, Sara's parents and brother, and Nick, in his capacity as Warrick's best man.
It's a small affair, without all the hoopla that usually accompanies a wedding, but Warrick can live with that.
What he can't bear, what makes his eyes fill with tears as he slides a familiar looking gold ring onto Sara's finger, is that Grams isn't here to see this. She spent so long fussing at him to find a nice girl to give her great-grandchildren, and when he did, scant weeks after proposing to her, weeks filled with the three of them making wedding plans, Grams went to sleep one night two months ago and never woke up.
That's part of the reason why they're having such a small wedding, also part of the reason for the haste – neither of them had wanted to waste any more time.
He knows, though some people might think, and do think, that it's too soon, that this is right, that this is what Grams would have wanted for the two of them.
He just wishes that she were here to see it.
He hears the words, "You may kiss the bride," and leans forward to brush his lips across Sara, dimly registering the quiet applause from the congregation. It's only when he pulls away that he sees that Sara's eyes are shining with tears too, and she slides her right arm around his neck, pulls him into a hug. His arms slide around her waist, rest on her back, and he knows that to the rest of them, they're enjoying their first moments as man and wife.
They don't hear what he whispers in her ear.
"I wish she was here."
Nor do they hear her reply.
"She is."