A/N: Thank you all for your kind reviews. I'm having a blast writing this. It's nice to write something sweet and sexy for once (rather than the dark, heavy pieces I normally write). Thanks again for all the reviews :) -Jac
Without even trying she is beautiful. She only made me wait for forty-five minutes, but she came out of her bedroom looking like she had spent the entire day planning what to wear and how to wear her hair. I tell her that she looks nice; she blushes as if she has never had anyone tell her that before.
I did as I promised. I showed Sara how Vegas can glitter against the black velvet sky of the Nevada desert. Sara even said that 'this' Vegas' is so different from the Vegas that we see on a daily basis. I swear to God that Sara managed to loosen up and have fun. She is smart, brilliant, and funny when she begins to loosen up and forgets the faces of the victims. It's a 'Sara' that I know I will miss come morning.
We stand near the Bellagio fountains watching the water dance to Italian love songs. She stands in front of me. Sara leans back slightly against my chest. She's shivering so I wrap my suit jacket around her and gently rub her arms in an effort to warm her up. She relaxes a little more causing her to lean against me a little heavier. Her hair smells of lavender.
"Why haven't we done this before?" Sara asks as the water continues to dance against the backdrop of the ornate Italian architecture.
"I don't know," I reply. No one ever said that Sara was a subtle girl.
"Thank you. I don't think I have thanked you for showing me what goes on at night besides murder, rape, and all the other things that we see," Sara says with a sigh, "I wanted you to be talking about me this morning . . . it sounds stupid because I'm me and you could do so much better."
Sometimes, her insecurities are blinding. There are brief moments when I remember that Sara puts on a grand act at work. She pretends to be tough and detached from the cases. Sara pretends that things aren't personal. In the last two years, the façade has been fading. There have been brief moments when I see her insecurities, her fear, her passion. I don't think the others see this; I don't think she lets her guard down in front of them.
"Sara, I think I'd be lucky to have you. I think you are silly to assume that it wasn't you because it's always been you," I ramble. I wrap my arms around her waist and draw her closer to me.
"You don't have to lie to me," Sara responds. It is the response that I was expecting. She spent so much time trying to pursue a man that did nothing but turn her away. He whittled down her self-confidence to nothing more than a sliver. She believes that she is not worth a man's time. Hank didn't do her any favors either.
"I'm not lying to you. I could never lie to you," I whisper in her ear, "I'm glad you talked me into playing hooky."
"Nick, are you sure?" Sara asks.
"I'm sure," I reply. My heart is pounding because I know that she is probably having second thoughts. It's Sara's nature to have second thoughts. It's her nature to constantly doubt herself and others.
"The show is over," Sara says with a tinge of sadness in her voice. The people around us are disbursing to wherever their next stop is. I'm still holding Sara. I'm reluctant to let her go.
"I know. I should get you home," I reply.
"Nick, I don't want to be alone tonight. I'm sick of always being alone," Sara whispers so softly that I can barely hear her. For a moment, I wonder if her confession is prompted only by loneliness and isolation. I wonder if it was well thought out I like mine, but it feels as though she's let her body rest in my arms. Maybe it's that I provide her with a security that she's never known . . . a place where she doesn't have to pretend anymore.
"Where do you want to go?" I ask as I finally release her from my arms, but she doesn't move.
"I don't know," Sara says. There is so much sadness in her voice; there is so much fear.
"Discovery channel at your place?" I offer.
"Sure, that sounds good," Sara says as she turns around to face me. I instinctively push a few of her curls behind her ears. Sara has a look of complete terror plastered on her face. I don't even know what to say to tame that terror. I know she's afraid of being hurt. She's been hurt so many times before.
"Hey, stop that. I'm not going to hurt you, Sara. I'm not going to be like Grissom or Hank," I say before I realize that I am talking. She looks up at me and tries to smile, but I can still see the fear in her eyes.
"I know . . . I know you wouldn't hurt me," Sara stammers. Again, her insecurities blind me.
"You're cold," I say awkwardly, "Come on. We can pick up hot chocolate on the way."
She smiles. She tells me that I'm a good man. Sara thanks me again. I'm not sure what she is thanking me for, but it's better than the awkward silence that I was expecting. My heart is still pounding because I am still wondering what Sara is thinking. My best guess is that she is wondering if she is still sleeping . . . if this is a dream. She probably wasn't expecting me to say that I was talking about her this morning. She was probably expecting me to turn her down just as I was expecting her to do the same.
My hand is trembling slightly. My heart is still racing. I begin to wonder if this is all some sort of colossal mistake. I begin to wonder if I'm wrecking what has always been a good friendship. In a lot of ways, Sara is the best friend that I ever had. I don't want to lose that, but I don't know if I could have left it as only a friendship forever. I'm guessing that Sara is thinking the same thing.
The drive back to Sara's apartment is filled with excruciating silence followed by awkward conversation. I'm grateful for the monotonous blare of the television. I'm grateful that Sara rests her head against my shoulder like she always does. I kiss the top of her head and tell her that I had a great time tonight. I tell her that she looks beautiful. Sara sits up and smiles. She asks if I'm mad at her. I know it is because Grissom had taken a very passive aggressive approach to her feelings for him. I tell her that I'm not mad; I remind her again that I'm not like Grissom. She smiles as she relaxes a little more. I'm sure she's repeating those words to herself . . . he's not like Grissom.
I kiss her. Her lips are soft as rose petals against mine. My heart is racing so fast that I'm sure I'm going to have a heart attack. She places a hand over my heart and tells me to relax. I wonder if her heart is racing the same way mine is. She's almost a completely different person when she begins to forget about Grissom. Sara becomes a quiet, feminine woman that seems to want nothing more than to be wanted by someone. I've always felt the same way about wanting to be wanted.
She moans as I gently kiss the line of her jaw. Her voice is throaty as she whispers my name. The scene is reminiscent of being a teenager again as I hungrily explore the lines of her neck and jaw. I try to memorize every line and angle just in case this might be a dream or Sara has regrets in the morning.
"Tell me when to stop," I whisper in her ear.