A/N: This chapter is slightly shorter than the last, but since "Inspection" was intended to be a one-shot I suppose it makes sense. Anyway, a thousand "thank you"'s to the reviewers, though since there were so many that it would take an entirely new chapter just to reply to all of you! Though, don't think I'm complaining, it was lovely.

And now, onto the story.


"Revelation"

It was another day at work, another shift of staring at the last vestiges of human life, and yet Sara couldn't stop smiling as she walked into the lab. Some of the night shift had assembled, all going through their rituals. Catherine was reading this morning's newspaper, her light eyes furiously scanning the front page. Greg had his feet propped on the table and appeared to be reading a magazine of some kind. And Nick…well, Sara tried to keep her smile from stretching clear off of her face when she saw the loving look he was giving her. The radiant happiness that spilled from his gorgeous, dark eyes was meant for her alone, and she knew it. He was sprawled out on the couch, and Sara tried hard to keep her mind from simply filling in the spaces of his body, sans clothing.

Greg looked up from his comic book in time to see his mentor wander into the break room with her posture relaxed and a small grin on her face. He, having been around Sara long enough to be acquainted with her moods and facades, knew this smile was sincere. Sara was a talented actress when it came to telling people she was fine, when necessity caused her to convince people that this or that case wasn't getting to her, but Sara couldn't fake a smile. The lab-technician-turned-CSI knew that the glint of satisfaction on Sara's face could not be manufactured. Giving her a smirk he said, "somebody had an good night…"

She stilled, face hidden behind a pane of dark hair, before shrugging and leaning against the counter. Ignoring Nick's look of private victory, one she was minded to share, she turned to face Greg. Jutting her chin out obstinately she said, "So what if I did?"

"Who is he?"

Warrick chose this moment to enter the break room, saying, "Who's who?"

Greg threw him a glance. "Sara's boyfriend."

"You've got a boyfriend?"

Warrick's eyes were a little wider than Sara would have liked, and she said, "Is it so unfeasible to you that I can have a fulfilling relationship?"

"No-" He fumbled in response, "I mean, it's just-"

Sara cut him off with the finality of a knife blade. "I had a good night, yes, and that's all I'm going to say."

Greg, looking affronted, began, "but-"

"No."

"I mean-"

"No."

"Wait-"

"NO, Greg."

Walking in with his nose buried in case files, Grissom handed out assignments and that was the last anyone heard of Sara's new boyfriend for the night.

When shift ended, Sara leaned her forehead on her locker, yawning at the sudden onset of tiredness. The current case was relatively easy when it came to cause of death and possible suspects, but the scene itself was a total mess. The body of a young Asian female had been found bludgeoned and then hacked up on the roof of a hotel. Just finding all of the pieces had taken over three hours. Sara's job, however, had been considerably shortened when the victim's boyfriend, just coming off of a PCP high, had been found in a ditch a few miles south of the crime scene coated in blood. Now that she was alone in the locker room, Sara felt the adrenaline rush that had sustained her slowly dissipating.

"I left my wallet at your house." Nick's strong arms wrapped around Sara's hips and she tilted into his embrace, enveloping herself in the scent of his aftershave. Leaning her head back onto his shoulder, Sara sighed with tiredness. He pressed a kiss to her throat before mumbling against her skin, "you wanna' get some breakfast?"

She gave a short nod, closed her locker, and they exited the building with all the appearance of simple colleagues. That, however, stopped as soon as they reached the restaurant. Sara refused to break skin-to-skin contact with Nick, pressing the length of her thigh flush against his while they sat next to each other in the booth.

"So," said Nick, draining the last of his coffee, "dinner at your house was wonderful."

Sara blushed. "Thanks. I enjoyed myself, too."

Nick leaned closer to her and whispered conspiratorially, "I especially liked the part where you were naked."

The tide of crimson of Sara's cheeks seeped higher up before she replied, "feeling's mutual."

"So, Sara…" Nick began, giving her a sidelong glance out of the corner of his gaze, "how are things going to be? Between us, I mean."

She visibly stiffened, turning to look him in the eyes. Her gaze was honest and fragile and feminine and sad. "How do you want things to be?"

Seeing that she had interpreted his question as an attempt to end their just-budding relationship, Nick backpedaled with unmatched speed. "I didn't mean to freak you out. I just wanted to know if that was a 'one night stand' sort of thing, or a 'let's remain friends but have sex' thing."

He trailed off, seeing a grimace of pain flash across Sara's face. Obviously she had heard this speech before. Her gaze dropped to the table and she bit her lower lip in nervousness and anxiety. "Sara," he murmured, tilting her chin up with one index finger, "Sara, look at me."

She complied, though her beautiful brown eyes were swimming behind a sea of salty, acidic tears. "I really care about you, Sara. I care about you more than anybody else in the lab, and not in a 'let's be friends way', either. What happened was wonderful and amazing and quite possibly the best sex I've ever had. It meant something to me, and I just hope it meant something to you, too."

She kissed him then, the sweetness of her lips and the salt of her tears mixing together in a booth in a diner in Las Vegas. Nick responded, kissing her back and when it ended, wrapping her arms around her, pressing his forehead to hers. "It meant worlds to me, Nicky," she whispered, "I'm glad it meant the same to you."

It was then that Nick Stokes knew that his life, like a leaf swept up in the beautiful, freeing wind that was Sara Sidle, would never be the same again.

He walked her to her car, one arm wrapped loosely around her hips. It felt completely normal for it to be that way, like they were simply meant to be around one another. A simple kiss was all he had in mind for a parting gift of sorts, but the confident Sara he only saw glimpses of had other ideas. Pressing her back to the smooth, cool exterior of the car she gripped his head and brought his lips savagely to meet hers. That was not to say that he refused the meeting of course, as he responded with vigor, leaning in and supporting his weight on the side panel of the car.

As the need for oxygen overrode passion, Sara gasped against his shoulder, her lips imprinted on the fabric of his t-shirt. "God, Nick…" she whispered breathily while he pressed insistent, feverish kisses to her throat. "God…" Her arms went around him, holding onto the sleeves of his shirt like letting go would mean she would totally lose control over her desires.

Nick chuckled in the crook of her neck, mumbling against her skin. "I trust you're enjoying yourself."

Snaking out his tongue he traced a line from the smooth, ivory curve of her shoulder down to the collarbone, satisfied when she jerked against him involuntarily. His grin grew, and Sara gave a little whimper. "Not fair," she breathed, "you get too much control. Not fa-"

She was cut off when he opened the driver's side door and, picking her up bodily, deposited her in the car with Sara sitting in the seat of the cab and her legs loosely entwined about his narrow waist. Unsatisfied with this arrangement she gripped his shoulders and forced him down, the worn, blue denim the shielded his knees colliding with parking lot pavement. Sara ran her fingers through his hair and down his neck, her nails scraping against his skin. He shivered in response and she kissed him, hard. Pulling away with a flushed countenance and kiss-swollen lips she looked him in the eyes and said with demand flooding her form, "Nick. My Place. Ten Minutes."

He laughed even as he tried to regain his breath from her mind-numbing assault on his lips. "Am I…to understand…" he panted, his hands coming to rest possessively on her hips, "that every time you speak in fragmented sentences it means you want sex?"

"That depends," she replied, raking her fingers over the taut muscles of his back, apparent beneath the faded cotton of his shirt, "does using them work?"

He gave a heaving breath. "Every time."


A/N: As always, reviews are wonderful and make my monotonous days worth living. They also inspire me, and seeing as I've got three more chapters written with no real ending in sight, inspiration is good!

The next chapter is entitled "Consumption."