We are at my house. She rented a variety of action movies that I know she doesn't like; they all happen to be ones that I have raved about when we go to rent movies. I didn't think that she was listening, but I guess I was wrong . . . that or she is looking in her crystal ball again.
Her head is against my shoulder. She's been asleep for over half of the movie. I haven't watched much of the movie. I've been watching Sara sleep. She looks so innocent when she is sleeping. She looks content. It's not unusual for her to fall asleep during the movies we rent; it is pretty abnormal for her to stay awake through an entire movie. It's abnormal for me to fall asleep.
It's already noon. I'm tired, but I don't want to risk waking her. I close my eyes and try to fall asleep. Sleep doesn't come. Sleep has never come easily for me. I spend hours thinking; my brain thinks so loudly that I have frequent sleepless afternoons. My brain is screaming at me to wake her up and tell her that I'm sick of purgatory. Another much more reasonable part of my brain is telling me to carry her into my bedroom so she can get enough sleep before we have to go back to work. It tells me to sleep on the couch and behave myself. I always listen to the very reasonable part of my brain.
Her sleeping form is light in my arms. Despite her drowsiness, she tucks her head against my shoulder as I try to maneuver us down the narrow hallway. I place her in my bed. I cover her with a light blanket making sure that she is comfortable before I try to leave the room.
I watch her for a moment. Her chest is slowly rising. I try to restrain from waking Sara just to tell her that it's her . . . it's her that I was talking about this morning. I try to satisfy myself by pushing a few strands of hair off her cheek. Her skin is like fine china; it's soft and a beautiful shade of ivory despite all the sun in Las Vegas. Each time I touch her, waves of electricity run through my body. It only reinforces my desire to wake Sara.
I retreat to the couch. I pace the room before I decide that I must at least make an effort to sleep. Like normal, sleep doesn't come. I think about how I feel when I touch her. I think about how it is very possible that I love her without even having her as my own. Besides my family, I had never allowed myself to love a woman. I saw how unhappy loving my father made my mother. My father's problem is that he allowed himself to love too many women. Love made my mother a miserable, desperate woman. At a young age, I learned that love did nothing but make people do crazy things. It made my mother sit up every night waiting for my father to return home from a 'business' dinner. It made my father harbor woman in various apartments across the city.
My eyelids begin to lower, but I hear movement in what should be my very quiet house. I sit up to see that she is standing in front of me. It must scare her because she jumps backward with a startled gasp. She looks at me as if she's trying to decide whether to laugh or hit me.
"Where are you going?" I ask in a groggy voice. I'm hoping that my hoarseness is due to a few hours of sleep that I don't remember getting.
"We have to go to work in about an hour," Sara says. Now, I'm praying that I got at least an hour of sleep. I let myself fall back into the couch at a faster velocity than I anticipated. "You feeling okay?" Sara asks as she instinctively puts her hand to my forehead.
"Just exhausted," I reply.
"How do you feel about playing hooky?" Sara asks with a devilish grin.
"How do you feel about being unemployed if Grissom finds out?" I reply. Sara shakes her head. I should have guessed that she was a bad influence in high school. Sara smiles as if she is able to read my mind.
"He's not going to find out. Do you really think he'd fire his favorite CSI?" Sara teases as she runs her fingers through my hair.
"It's great that you'll be able to keep your job, but what about me?" I reply. Sara laughs.
"Come on, Stokes. Let's have a little fun. I haven't had a night off in about two weeks . . . since Catherine went on vacation," Sara begs.
"What did you want to do?" I ask. I can't believe that I'm actually considering taking the night off. I rationalize that we have all been over worked since Catherine and Warrick mysteriously took vacations at the same time. They were going to be back at work tonight; Grissom would never have to know.
"I've never watched the water show at the Bellagio," Sara suggests.
"You've lived in Vegas for over four years. What else haven't you done?" I ask as sit up. She's laughing at me.
"I've spent too much of my time trying to impress Grissom . . . I know more about insects than is healthy. Show me Vegas, Nicky," Sara says as she sits next to me, "Take me home so I can shower . . . then show me Vegas." Her lips are only inches from mine. I don't know if it's an invitation or . . . I don't know what else it would be. My heart is racing.
"You're calling Grissom," I reply after drawing in a deep breath.
"Fine," Sara says as she pulls out her cellphone and dials, "Griss, yah it's me. Nick and I won't be in tonight. Food poisoning at this steakhouse downtown. Yah, really bad. Sure. Okay. Yah."
"Grissom says that we should take Pepto Bismol and drink a lot of water," Sara says with a smirk as she turns off her cellphone, "Go shower so we can hit the road."
In my mind, I begin to plan events that for once Sara will see as events.