DISCLAIMER: Hey, guess what? I don't own them and I'm not making any money from them. Anyone surprised?
The view of Las Vegas from their third-floor apartment wasn't great, but Sara stood there anyway, gazing at what she could see of the city in the almost unfamiliar light of morning. Somewhere out there, someone had to know something about how the battered body of a four year old boy had turned up in a city park. This child didn't have a name yet and Sara still reeled from the anonymity of that tiny body, first where it lay in the park half covered in leaves, then on Doc Robbins' cold metal slab. She hadn't wanted to come home, not without some knowledge, some clue as to what had happened to that child, but Warrick had insisted that they both go home... "Fresh eyes."
Lost in her recent memories she almost heard the door onto the balcony open, and turned to the sound of Nick's voice. "Heard about your case," he said sympathetically. It was almost a departmental catchphrase, said by one member to another when there were no other words of help or comfort to be given. "Rough night, huh?"
Sara nodded.
"Oh, come here," he said gently, half requesting and half commanding. Before he'd finished the sentence she was there, feeling his arms wrap around her, resting her head on his shoulder, breathing him in as if his presence might be enough to block out the world. "Want to talk about it?"
"No," said Sara. It would do no good. She and Warrick had talked it over from every angle, and though the words she had expended were those of science and not of emotion she didn't feel inclined to go over it again. What she needed now was what Nick could most easily give: his comforting physical presence.
"Okay," said Nick, and he knew, anyway, all that she could have said. Instead he held her tighter, rubbed circles on her lower back with one hand and waited for her to make the next move.
They stood there on the balcony as morning moved on and the city that didn't sleep began a new day that they wouldn't be part of. "You know, this isn't how I pictured my life turning out," Sara muttered eventually.
"What do you mean?"
"I just never planned to sleep all day when normal people are at work and spend my nights investigating the murder of children." To shut out light and reality Sara buried her face between Nick's neck and shoulder and wished, just once, that he really could make it all go away. "Times like this I wonder why I'm doing this job."
"But it's times like this you know why you're doing this job," Nick pointed out reasonably and honestly.
"I know that. It just doesn't feel that way, you know."
"I know," said Nick, pressing his lips to her head.
And it was true. They all felt that way, felt the frustration and the anger and the sadness that could never be allowed to overtake them. They worked this job to make criminals accountable and bring justice to families, not to see the damaged bodies of small children or any of the other things of nightmares which they saw, all too regularly, during their waking hours. There was no real comfort to be taken from this, nor from counselling or the bottom of a bottle or even, really, in someone else's arms. They all stayed walking that long dark road in full knowledge of the real yet intangible cost, because they all had their reasons for each step they took.
"So," Nick asked lightly, but still in acknowledgement of Sara's words and the essential meanings behind them. "What did you want to be when you grew up? I guess you didn't plan to do this job. No kid does - well, except maybe Grissom."
"Grissom was never a child."
"Probably not in the normal sense of the world. Now, tell."
His voice was soft, but Sara knew how persistant he could be. "An astronaut," she confessed into his shoulder.
If Nick wanted to laugh, he showed no signs of it. "Why an astronaut?"
Feeling that she couldn't bear to tell him in this wonderful but overwhelming closeness, Sara extricated herself from Nick's embrace and walked the few steps to the balcony railing. With her back to him, and the words which could never adequately describe childhood dreams gathering in her mind, she asked if he'd ever looked up into the stars as a child.
"Well, yeah."
"I did, too. All the time. Sometimes at night I'd climb out my bedroom window onto the kitchen roof just to look at the stars. I'd think about being up there among them, maybe even walking on the moon. I was going to be a famous astronaut and cruise from planet to planet alone in my spaceship, discovering new worlds and new civilizations."
"So what happened?"
Sara sighed and looked up into the clear blue Nevada sky. "It was never a real dream. I just wanted the romance of it - the beauty of the stars and the isolation. That was what I really wanted. Just to get away." She heard the wistfulness, the regret in her own voice, and wondered if there was more truth than what she'd told, if there had been real substance to the old dream. Knowing him as she did she was unsurprised and even a little relieved to feel Nick slip his arms around her from behind. "I think my dad was the only one who ever really thought I could be an astronaut. At least, he always said he thought so and I believed him. My mother just thought I was weird. She was very counter-culture and thought all things mainstream were cold and soulless, but I was different in a way she didn't understand. She's calmed down a lot now."
"So when did you change your mind?"
"When I was about fourteen and I realised there are some things you can't ever get away from. I stopped thinking I could be an astronaut." Now she was grateful for Nick's embrace, for his chest rising and falling steadily against her back, for his breath creating a gentle breeze against her hair, for the soft kiss of understanding he dropped against her ear. "What about you? What did you want to be?" she asked, both from curiousity and from the sudden urgent need to change the subject.
"A policeman. Fight the good fight and all that."
"And that didn't work out either."
"Not really."
"You know what my Dad always used to say?" Sara asked after a few thoughtful minutes.
"I will if you tell me."
"If you always shoot for the moon, Sara, even if you don't quite get there at least you'll land among the stars."
"Yeah. I've heard that."
"I wrote it inside all my journals. I've never forgotten it." To escape from memories too strong to be forgotten Sara turned round and hooked her arms around Nick's neck.
"If it's any consolation," he said, almost whispering, "I'm quite glad you didn't become an astronaut. I happen to like you here with me on planet Earth."
"I like that too." She thought about, but didn't mention, all the varying paths their lives could have taken, and about how lucky they really were that those paths had intersected in the most unlikely of places. No one could entirely block the memories that haunted her, but Nick could make her feel almost normal, just as she could reach into the places he kept hidden away.
Sara stroked his cheek with one hand, feeling suddenly just how much she loved him and how alive she became in his presence. She'd searched desperately, in so many places, for what only Nick could give her. She kissed him slowly and it was like coming home in its' familiarity, but exciting and joyous as well as he responded in kind.
When Nick pulled away after long blissful moments he whispered, "So did you, Sara? Land among the stars?"
Sara looked at him, looked into the eyes which, like hers, knew too much. She could feel the memory of the night's events prodding at her consciousness like malevolent shadows. She wouldn't acknowledge them, not now, because now was about peacefulness and happiness and Nick. "Yes," she answered, her back to Las Vegas and all that it meant.
"Good," Nick murmured, and while the taste of him still lingered in her mouth he took her hand and lead her inside.
THE END