Writing on a Blank Slate
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI.
Rating: M for content of other chapters.
A/N: Once again, thank you for all the reviews. They make me so happy!
Chapter 13: "I think I can handle that."
Half awake, Sara snuggled closer to the warm body lying next to her. She had fallen asleep with her head resting on Nick's chest and his arm wrapped tightly around her. Sleep had loosened his grip, but it tightened again as he felt her move, and he rolled towards her.
"Mmmm, Sara," he murmured, even less awake than she. In that position she could feel that, awake or not, he was more than happy to be there. She blushed.
"Nick?"
"Hmm?" He opened his eyes, disorientated for a moment until the memory of the night before returned.
He pulled back slightly to look at her, brushing her hair away from her face.
"Hey. You sleep okay?"
She smiled. "Pretty good thanks. How about you?"
"Pretty good." He hugged her close then reflected that, given her recent revelations, she probably wouldn't be in the mood to have a hard-on shoved up against her. He released her and rolled over, swinging his feet onto the floor. Sara smiled, amused now that her initial embarrassment had passed.
"You, uh, want to take first turn in the bathroom?" she asked, flicking a meaningful gaze down his body. "I can wait."
He blushed at the implication. "Might be an idea," he agreed.
"How's your hand?" she called after him, regretting her choice of words as soon as they were out of her mouth.
He turned back to her with a smirk.
"Good enough."
Nevertheless, she insisted on examining it before they went looking for an auto-parts store, wrapping a light gauze bandage over it to prevent infection as the dead, damaged skin sloughed away to leave the tender, weeping skin beneath exposed. He still refused to see a doctor.
At the auto-parts store Nick insisted on paying, saying that he was serious about wanting a share in the car. Seeing that he wasn't going to be dissuaded Sara agreed, but refused to let him carry anything with his injured hand.
They wandered back towards the motel side by side. Nothing more had been said about the night before, although Nick had to fight the urge to ask her for the names of her foster-brother and that frat asshole, just so he could be sure he wouldn't miss the chance to beat the crap out of them if they ever crossed his path.
Sara, meanwhile, was enjoying a newfound sense of peace. She had never voluntarily told anyone all the details of her past before, and even Grissom and her PEAP counselor hadn't been given the full version but rather just enough to keep them off her case, so the fact that Nick knew, and that he hadn't rejected her, was a huge weight off her mind.
They passed a diner, and the smell of food reminded her that she hadn't eaten anything except motel coffee and a couple of cookies that day.
"Mmmm." She turned to Nick. "You feel like pancakes? 'Cause I feel like pancakes."
Nick chuckled at the almost childish expression on her face.
"Yeah," he agreed, "pancakes sound good."
She wouldn't allow him to have anything to do with the repairs either, pointing out that even though his hand was bandaged he shouldn't be doing anything that might get it dirty or risk further injury. Working alone, it took her most of the afternoon, but at last she had him turn the engine over and was relieved to hear it purr, if not exactly like a kitten then at least like a relatively contented big cat.
Nick grinned at her. "You are one talented lady," he told her, enjoying seeing her blush. "So," he went on, "what do you want to do this evening?"
She looked down at her grimy hands and oil-stained jeans.
"Honestly? I know it sounds really girly, but I feel like putting on a pretty dress and going out for dinner."
His grin widened. "I think I can handle that."