Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Really. Especially not the premise lifted from the tv show.
Summary: A follow-up to to New Hobby – Part two of the three-part New Life series. Starts immediately after New Hobby, but you don't have to read it to understand this one. Sara continues to move on with her life after the DUI. Based on Season 4, not Season 5. W/S, B/S friendships.
Ps. I've gone back to this story for guess19, who reviewed New Hobby long after it was done to ask for more.
xxx
The KitchenSara and Warrick were the last to leave the diner that morning. The conversation had turned to boxing, a long detailed discussion of techniques and strategy that quickly bored Catherine, who begged off after eating almost immediately to spend time with Lindsey. Grissom followed, although it seemed less the topic of conversation than the animated way Warrick and Sara chatted. Nick and Brass hung around the longest, on the periphery. Brass left them sitting there in the large corner booth after extracting a promise to see Sara the next day at the shooting range. At the door, he had paused, taking in the way Warrick was leaning close, his arm along the back of the booth behind her shoulders and Sara's huge grin, and then left with a secret smile.
A sudden, huge yawn cut off her words, and Sara looked at Warrick, embarrassed. "Sorry. It's not you." He glanced at his watch, amazed at the time. "Wow, we've been here for hours." He chuckled. "No wonder the waitress has been glaring at us the last couple of refills."
Sara's knees buckled as she tried to stand, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over her. "Damn,' she said as she staggered back, her hand grabbing at the table behind her. Warrick's hands were already there, one catching her elbow and the other sliding around her waist to steady her. "You ok?" His eyebrows were drawn together with concern as he supported her weight.
"Yeah." Sara shook her head in embarrassment. "I'm wiped out," she told him as she sagged a little in his grasp. The warmth and solidity of his body was strangely reassuring, and she rested a minute against his muscular chest before leaving it reluctantly, moving away from him and making her way to the exit.
Warrick hurried out the door after Sara, who was already halfway to her car. "No way," he said, catching up with her and pulling her toward his SUV. "I'm driving you home." She opened her mouth to protest, an automatic reaction to any offer of help, but the frosty look in his green eyes stopped her. "I'm not going to have you fall asleep at the wheel," he stated, a stubborn, yet concerned, look on his face. The flinty green of his eyes warmed as Sara relented, giving him a small smile and letting him lead her to his car, his arm still around her waist.
Her eyes fluttered closed as soon as her head hit the headrest, and Warrick found himself taking advantage of the opportunity to glance at her slumbering figure regularly, marveling in the changes that had taken place in the last months. It wasn't just the physical changes in her body from her new exercise regime, or the tan that indicated she spent a lot more time outside than before, but also her ability to loosen up and have fun. She had smiled and laughed more over breakfast than he ever seen before. And all the time he, Nick, and Catherine had been watching her for signs of weakness or a recurrence of the drinking, she had been becoming stronger than they ever anticipated. He also reveled in the chance to see her face soothed in sleep, the hard lines relaxed and warmed by the sun coming through the dusty windshield. Even though her mouth had fallen open and a quiet snore rumbled through the quiet cab at regular intervals.
When he pulled up to her apartment building, he realized his dilemma; as hard as he tried, Warrick couldn't wake her. He had seen this a few times at work when she had crashed in the break room; after pushing herself past a certain limit, her body would collapse and put her under for a couple of hours. The first time they couldn't wake her up from a nap, she had scared Catherine near to death, but since then it had become almost commonplace and everyone knew you couldn't wake Sidle from one of her comas. Warrick measured the stairs with his eyes and figured he could make it up them carrying her, but he didn't know how that would look to her neighbors, or how he would get the door open. Girl can't carry a purse like every other female on the planet, he thought ruefully as he eyed the tight jeans she had changed into after shift and the slight crease deep in the front pocked that was probably her keys. Making a quick decision, he started the car again and pulled out.
Much better he thought ten minutes later as he parked his SUV in his garage, picking Sara up and carrying her into his house away from prying eyes and three flights of stairs. He managed to get her up the single flight of stairs in his house and into his bedroom with some exertion; as a dead weight, she was heavier than her slight frame would lead him to expect. After slipping off her shoes, he paused, and then worked her jeans down over her hips in an effort to make her more comfortable. Covering her with the duvet, he surveyed his handiwork, and the peaceful expression on the sleeping brunette's face, before he slipped into the guest bedroom to get a few hours of sleep himself.
Sara stretched luxuriously on the bed, throwing her arms above her head and pointing her toes for a full-body stretch before opening her eyes to the late afternoon sun breaking through the shades, the yellow light bathing the room in gold. When the surroundings penetrated her sleep-drowsy mind, she shot straight up in the bed –not her bed –and stared at the alarm clock—not her clock—and tried not to panic as she drew a blank on where she was or how she got there. Taking stock of the room, she saw her gun and badge on the dresser, her jeans draped over a chair in the corner, and a picture of Warrick and an older woman on a mantel over a wood-burning fireplace. Ok, she thought as she got out of bed and slipped on her jeans, I'm at Warrick's. One mystery solved. Still not sure how I got to Warrick's or how I ended up in his bed half-dressed, though, she thought as her mind worked overtime to remember these details.
She made her way through the hallway, pausing at the door to another bedroom with the bed rumpled, before heading downstairs. The smell of coffee and the sound of Coltrane led her to a spacious kitchen at the back of the house where she found Warrick cooking what looked like pancakes. He was standing with his back to her as he worked, in a white tank and jeans, dipping his head in time to the snap-drum on the track. She folded her hands across her chest and watched as he handled the skillet as skillfully as he handled an electric saw, the muscles in his broad back working as he flipped the pancake.
"Enjoying the view?" His low voice rumbled over the music and Sara chuckled a little at being caught in her unabashed staring. "Umm, yeah," she replied, eliciting a chuckle in return, and she managed to meet his gaze when he turned only blushing a little bit. "Of course, I don't think I undressed you while you were sleeping this morning…" She shrugged a shoulder, the grin she was trying to repress slowly making its way across her face as Warrick looked increasingly embarrassed and uncomfortable. "So I guess we're even," she finished as Warrick caught her widening smile and laughed self-consciously.
"Hungry? I'm making pancakes." He turned back to his cooking and she leaned against the counter beside him, watching him pour batter into the pan. "Can I help?"
"Nope, this is the last one." He gestured toward the coffee maker. "Pour us each a cup, will ya?" Nodding, Sara slid behind him to get to the coffee pot, splaying her hands lightly on his back as she went by, finding the mugs on her second try. Warrick was already sitting at the table, beautifully made up with old china and a vase of flowers by the time she turned around.
"Wow," she said as she set their cups in the saucers already on the table. "You set a table like this every morning?"
Sliding two pancakes onto her plate, he shook his head in amusement as she checked out her surroundings with a criminalist's eye. "Grams always used her good china, for every meal. Nothing was allowed in her house that wasn't for everyday use, she used to say." His eyes glowed and his smile softened as he recalled some memory and he glanced over at Sara who was watching with interest. "I kept up the habit, I guess."
"This is her house?"
"Yeah. Where she raised me." He spooned some slices of banana onto her pancakes and poured both maple syrup and chocolate syrup on top before setting the plate in front of her. She eyed the combination skeptically. "It's Grams' favorite pancake topper," he said, indicating her plate. "Try it. You'll like it." She watched as he fixed his own pancakes the same way before trying a bite of her own. His questioning look was answered with a blinding smile that made the room seem a hundred shades brighter than it already was. As she dug into her pancakes with a hearty appetite, Warrick found himself committing that dazzling smile to memory.
"So, um, I don't want to seem ungrateful," she began as she stacked their dishes in the sink and brought the coffee pot over to refill their glasses, "but how exactly did I end up here anyway?" Warrick watched as she moved around the kitchen as if she had been there a hundred times before, falling easily into a rhythm that seemed like habit, and he found himself smiling broadly as her body moved almost subconsciously to the music. A woman who likes jazz.
"I'm Old Fashioned."
"Huh?"
"That's the song you are swaying to,' he explained, amusement coloring his voice as Sara looked off to the side, embarrassed.
"It's beautiful."
"Yeah," he replied, his eyes still on her slightly swaying form. "You fell asleep in the car and I couldn't wake you." Her embarrassed expression deepened, as did the blush on her cheeks. "And it was either I sling you over my shoulder and carry you through the hallways of your apartment complex, or I bring you here. I thought this was the best option."
Sara imagined the scene he had just painted, and laughed in agreement. "Yeah. Mrs. Paulie would have called the cops on you for sure, and explaining it Brass would have been no fun whatsoever." She finished her coffee and placed the cup in the sink, turning back to Warrick, "Thanks for, uh, taking care of me."
"Anytime."