A/N: Sorry this took so long, but both my brothers graduated this past week, and then there was their party and all the tiring things that throwing a party entails. I finally got a chance to sit down and start typing Wednesday. Anyway, this chapter hasn't been beta'd, although Sunset did do a quick read-thru, and I thank her so much for that. I didn't want to make ya'll wait too much longer, so if there are any glaringly obvious mistakes feel free to poke me with a sharp stick. Other wise, enjoy the chapter.

Chapter Eighteen: Torn

The ride to Sara's apartment was a silent one and she didn't mind one bit. Despite her adamant protests, she really was quite tired. And Grissom's ordering her around had sufficiently pissed her off. Where did he get off, anyway? Bossing them all around, including Sam and Lily, telling them they should go…

Sara took a deep breath, stopping her thoughts before she worked herself into a mental frenzy. It was the stress, the exhaustion messing with her head. Logically, she knew that somebody had needed to take charge, and that Grissom was—again, logically—the best person to do so. But what one thinks logically and feels emotionally rarely agree and his actions continued to irk her.

She closed her eyes, hoping to preempt the tension headache that was throbbing lightly at the base of her skull. She didn't open them again until the car pulled to a stop.

The dark façade of her apartment building greeted her as she opened her eyes, the walls a dark blue-gray in the moonlight. The night was still and a chill hung in the air. Not enough for a down-filled coat but enough that she pulled the light jacket she wore tighter as she climbed from the truck, her breath white puffs evaporating into the night air.

She rounded the hood of the Denali, unsurprised to find Nick waiting for her on the walkway.

Ever the southern gentleman, she thought with a smirk.

Neither spoke as they entered the lobby and, bypassing the elevator, took the stairs to the second floor. They stopped in front of her door and she dug in her bag for her keys.

She slipped the key in the lock and opened the door. "Thanks for dropping me off."

Nick nodded. "Hey, no problem. I was coming this way anyway."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Nick…you live three miles in the opposite direction."

Nick shrugged. "Ok. How 'bout I promised to bring you back so I did. I had to keep you from throttling Gris. That would've been bad."

Sara rolled her eyes, before casting a glance down the empty hall, ignoring his comment. "I'm tired, but there's no way I'm gonna get to sleep tonight without at least one drink under my belt. You want a beer?"

Nick shrugged. "Sure."

She led the way into her apartment, heading straight for the short hall that lead to the bedrooms and bathroom. "You know where everything is. I'll be right back."

Nick helped himself to a Corona from the fridge and settled on the couch, flipping on the TV.

Sara returned five minutes later, dressed in a pair of worn, loose-fitting gray jogging pants and a black shirt that read 'Got Soy?' across the chest.

Nick glanced at her. "No fair. You got all relaxed and comfy."

Sara flashed a grin as she headed for the fridge. "You want a pair of my jogging pants and a t-shirt, be my guest," she said. Nick gave her an incredulous look as she made her way to the couch, flopping down with her beer in hand. "Besides, if I really wanted to get comfy, I'd have taken a shower."

Nick leaned over and gave her a sniff. "You don't stink. 'Least not like the time with liquid man from the gully."

Sara's eyes narrowed and she gave him a raised-eyebrow-glare that would've sent most men back-peddling. Nick just gave her a cheeky grin.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Stokes."

He looked thoughtful for a moment and shook his head. "Mmmm, no."

Her eyes narrowed further and she punched him square in the arm.

"Ow," he said mildly, chuckling and rubbing his bicep.

"You didn't smell so hot during that case either."

"True," he conceded. "But you're the one who gets all bent out of shape about it."

She rolled her eyes. "Most women don't like being told they stink, Nick."

"That's what makes it funny," he chuckled again, and got up. "Want another?" he asked, wiggling the empty bottle in his hand.

Sara downed the last of hers and handed him the bottle. "Yeah."

An hour, and two-thirds of a twelve pack later, the pair were sufficiently tipsy from a combination of fatigue, stress, and alcohol. Not drunk. Just tipsy. An old black and white film played on the screen, though neither was paying much attention to it. It could've been Abbott and Costello or Psycho for all they knew.

Sara gazed at the amber liquid pooling to one side of the bottle, mesmerized. "I've only had four, right?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah. Same as me. Why?"

Sara shrugged. "Just checking. Don't wanna go overboard."

"Oh. Four is nothing."

"Yeah…I must just be tired then."

"You're feeling the beers, huh?"

"And you're not?"

He shrugged. "Not really."

She raised a brow.

"Okay. Maybe a little."

"You shouldn't drive. You can sleep on the couch."

"I'm fine to drive. I've driven after pulling a triple. This is a cake walk."

"You're saying things like 'cake walk' and trying to convince me you're sober?" she shook her head. "You're sleeping on the couch."

She rose and headed toward the hall closet, where she stored her extra linens.

Nick stood and went after her. "Sar' I'm fine. Nice that you're worried about me and all, but I'm fine."

Sara ignored him and pulled open the closet door. Nick straight-armed it shut. She turned to glare at him, but for the second time that night it had no effect.

"Sara," he said slowly. "I'm fine."

His breath was hot on her face and smelled of beer and some Cheez Doodles he'd found lurking unopened in her cabinet. The light from the table lamp in the living room didn't reach all the way into the hall and the shadows played across the planes of his face.

He was close. She could feel his body heat, and the arm he'd used to close the closet was directly above her right shoulder.

Her glare was long forgotten, and she was now all too aware of his nearness. Their proximity obviously wasn't lost on him either, and he shifted, though he didn't move away from her as she'd expected. Instead, Nick's body was now flush with hers, and she felt her breath catch involuntarily.

His head dipped slightly and she could hear that his breath was at least as shallow as hers. Sara licked her lips, which were suddenly very dry; her gazed drifting from his eyes to his lips and back. They'd been in the hall less than a minute, but it was feeling more like hours.

His head dropped another fraction of an inch and he paused, his face now mere inches from hers, and even in the semi-dark, Sara could see his eyes were much darker than usual.

He moved again, but this time there was no pause, no hesitation, and his lips were on hers. She emitted a sound that under different circumstances she would've denied had come from her. Now, though, she didn't much care and she wrapped her arms around Nick's neck. He took the movement as the invitation it was and moved his hands to encircle her waist, tugging her closer and she moaned again.

Then there was a loud BANG!

They broke apart, both noting absently that the noise must've been a gunshot in the movie. Nick ran a frustrated hand through his hair and backed up a step. Sara leaned into the wall, tilting her head back and shutting her eyes. For about thirty seconds, there was no sound but for their breathing and the muted voices coming from the TV.

"I should go," Nick said, his breathing still not back to normal.

"Yeah….Yeah, you should."

-x-

For the past hour, Warrick and Grissom had sat in relative silence. Lindsey was still asleep and Brass had been called to a scene shortly after dropping Grissom off. The former had left with assurances that he'd get a call as soon as anything happened, the latter had delved into the paperwork he'd retrieved from the lab, leaving Warrick alone with his thoughts, not something Warrick was especially keen on. His thoughts were leading him from one question to another and none of them seemed to have answers. At least none that he could come up with.

He tried in vain to focus on the talking head on CNN, but without the sound it didn't prove much of a distraction. What the hell was the point of having it on with the volume down anyway? Warrick shook his head, chalking it up as another of those unanswerable questions.

He shifted, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders without waking Lindsey, and although the girl didn't wake, the tightness of his muscles didn't lessen. He sighed, or at least he must have because suddenly Grissom was looking at him, his blue eyes impossibly alert for the late hour and the situation.

"Something wrong, Rick?"

Warrick shook his head. "No, I'm alright. Worried, but alright."

Grissom looked as though he didn't really believe him but he nodded and changed the subject. "Is your wife working tonight?"

Warrick's expression turned thoughtful. Had she mentioned she was working that night? He couldn't remember. Yesterday seemed so long ago now.

He shrugged. "I'm not sure."

Grissom's eyebrow quirked, and Warrick couldn't be sure whether it was in acknowledgement or question.

"I could find out," Warrick volunteered, unsure as to why guilt was settling in deeper and he felt the sudden urge to explain himself. Only he didn't know what he'd be explaining.

Grissom gave a short nod. "I'll keep an eye on Lindsey while you're gone. If you go that is."

Warrick nodded and glanced at Lindsey, wondering just how he was going to move without her hitting the floor face first. Grissom gave a small smile, obviously sensing Warrick's dilemma. He got up and moved to the empty seat beside Lindsey. Warrick gave him a quick thank-you nod and eased Lindsey from his shoulder to Grissom's. Lindsey made a soft noise before sighing and settling into her Uncle Gil's shoulder. Both men smiled briefly and Warrick rose from his seat.

"I'll be back," he said.

Grissom nodded, turning his attention back to his paperwork.

Warrick took off towards the nearest bank of elevators. Unless something came up at the last instant, Tina could usually be found in Pediatrics, located on the hospital's fourth floor, just one floor above Surgery.

The shiny metal doors slid open with a soft ping! He set foot on the clean white tiles, finding himself surrounded by brilliant yellow walls with cobalt blue trim, a feeble attempt to give the depressing, sterile place some cheer.

He supposed, as he had almost every time he'd set foot on this floor, that had he been eight he might have found the bright walls and kid-friendly decorations comforting, which was indeed the point. But as an adult he saw past the excellent lighting, the toy box and plastic Little Tikes table in the waiting room, and the nurses dressed in bright, cartoon-laden uniforms.

He saw the ventilators, the IV's, the pale, drawn little faces. Heard the coughs, miserable little moans and sniffles, the blessedly steady beeps of heart monitors. He knew what really went on behind those perky, blue, yellow, and pink curtains, and this knowledge sobered him, as it never failed to do. It was this sobering effect that kept him from fully returning the dark haired, youthful receptionists smile as she asked if she could be of help.

Aside from reception, the corridors, and the waiting area, the floor was dark, all the young patients asleep, or trying vainly to get there. Warrick tried not to think of the poor bedridden kids tucked away behind the curtains as he asked for Tina. His nerves were already raw and irritated and he wasn't sure how much more damage they could take.

The nurse smiled again and pointed down a corridor. "She went to the supply closet. Down that hall, to your left."

Warrick gave her a nod and thanked her, heading down the appointed hall. He'd just reached the door marked with a plastic plaque on the wall that said 'Supplies' in English, Spanish, and Braille. He paused when he heard voices from inside. A man and a woman, both loud, on the verge of yelling.

He was debating whether to just open up and see who was inside when something stopped him cold.

The man was yelling now, his words muffled only slightly by the door. "—You know as well as I do that it could be mine. Hell, chances are better that it's mine."

"David—" the woman's voice—Tina's voice?—broke in but the guy he now knew as David cut her off.

Warrick stood in disbelieving silence, there had to be a zillion David's at the hospital. It wasn't an uncommon name. And the woman's voice? It couldn't be Tina's…

"You know we were together a hundred more times than you were ever with him. You know it. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't think that kid is mine?" David had stopped yelling, but was still loud enough to hear.

There was quiet followed by some words from the woman that Warrick couldn't make out and the man sighed.

"Come on, Tina. You know that's crap. If that baby is mine, and I know it is, there's no way I'm gonna just sit back and let you keep me from it."

It was Tina. His Tina.

Warrick was stunned. He felt the doorknob turn in his grasp, saw the oak paneled door swing inward, revealing a walk-in storage closet stocked with bedpans, gauze, and sterile swabs.

Both occupants of the room turned to look at Warrick. Tina's jaw went slack, and David flushed red. They stared at each other in a moment of profound silence.

Tina finally spoke up, taking a step towards him. "Baby, I—"

Warrick held up a hand, cutting her off with a humorless laugh. His voice was cold when he spoke, his tone eerily conversational. "Don't Tina." He shook his head. "Don't 'baby' me. Matter of fact, don't say anything to me. We have nothing to talk about."

He addressed David. "You want her? Congratulations, she's yours. Good luck, you'll need it."

He turned in the doorway, stopping before he took a step. Without turning back he said, "I'll get you the divorce papers as soon as I can."

Warrick retraced his steps back down the hall, smiling reflexively at the receptionist as he passed her desk. He wasn't sure his brain had fully processed that it was over and he wondered when realization would truly dawn. For now, though, his waterlogged brain was having difficulty grasping the reality of it.

He took the elevator back down to the first floor, stepping from it small space into an almost empty hallway. An orderly and doctor stood talking at one end of the hall. A nurse strode quickly along the opposite wall, her gaze glued to a chart. Warrick brushed past her going in the opposite direction and was back at his seat in a minute.

Grissom look up. "That was fast. Did you find her?"

Warrick shrugged and said simply, "Tina was busy."

Again Grissom looked as though he didn't believe him. And again, he simply nodded and turned his attention back to his pile of seemingly never-ending paperwork. Warrick took his seat just as Lindsey stirred. She shifted so that her head was once again nestled on Warrick's shoulder.

He heard her sleepily smack her lips twice as she tried to get in a more comfortable position.

"How long was I sleep?" she asked, eyes closed. Warrick was sure that she wasn't truly awake.

"About an hour and forty minutes," Grissom volunteered, not looking up.

"Oh," she said softly, and within a minute she was back to sleep.

And again, Warrick was left to his thoughts.

-x-

Roughly an hour and a half later, Doctor Schilner walked through the swinging double doors leading from the ER. Another doctor wearing dark teal scrubs was with him, a smile on her pretty, if slightly tired, face.

Warrick perked up. He'd been in a sort of limbo for the past seventy-nine minutes but the smile spread across Schilner's face was enough to bring him out of it. He looked over to see that Grissom was also sitting straighter in his chair, his eyes riveted on the approaching doctors.

Warrick woke Lindsey, slightly amused at the disorientation that flashed across her features before she remembered just where she was. She turned in her seat, stretching and rubbing an eye, joining Grissom and Warrick in their anticipation of what the doctors had to say.

Dr. Schilner didn't keep them waiting long.

"Mr. Grissom, Lindsey, Mr. Brown," he said, addressing them each in turn, "the surgery went great. Better than expected. Ms. Willows is awake and doing fine, although she's still groggy from the anesthesia. She's already been moved to a private room in recovery and you should be able to see her briefly in about an hour."

Warrick released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He felt the tension in his body ease as relief flooded through him. He half noticed that both Grissom and Lindsey's faces spoke of tremendous relief.

Schilner reached out, touching the other doctor's elbow. "This is Rebecca Wolf, the phenomenal surgeon who performed the procedure."

The woman grinned showing bright white teeth. "Don't give me too much credit. Ms. Willows is an amazing fighter. She's not going anywhere for a long time."

Lindsey grinned at that. "Good."

A/N2: So….What do you think?