The clock ticking on the wall was again the only noise in the room, save for the light breathing, heavy sleeping sounds coming from Nick. The sunset cast creamcicle colored stripes though the windows, and over their bodies, now stretched out on the floor.

Sara was on her stomach, her left arm curled underneath her head. Nick was lying practically on top of her, shielding, even in their sleep.

It was his breath that woke her. Gentle waves of air brushing strands of hair across her cheek, tickling her awake. She was smiling when she opened her eyes, his weight on her, reassuring her of his presence, soothing her with his very being. She sighed deeply, more deeply, more completely than she ever had in her life, filling her lungs, her blood with fresh air, colored with the scent of musk they'd created together.

"Hey" Nick whispered, his lips right next to her ear.

She jerked, startled. "You're gonna have to stop doing that."

He chuckled, more strands of her hair escaped from behind her ear, tickling her cheek as they came to rest. "Sorry." Reluctantly he moved off of her, laying flat on his back on the carpet right behind her. Sara moved immediately, turning over putting her head on his chest, her hand on his stomach and listened to his heartbeat. Then his stomach rumbled.

Grinning, Sara lifted her head, resting her chin on his ribs, looking him in the eye, her hand absently rubbed up and down his arm. "There's leftover spaghetti."

"That's a good idea" he swatted her bare bottom lightly, "I'll get it heated up."

Sara grinned mischievously at the coincidence of his words and actions and rolled off him, letting him up, then watched him pad barefoot into the kitchen.

-

Nick had just started the microwave when he felt Sara come up behind him, wearing his sweater and pressing up against his back, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder. He turned his head just a little to meet her eyes. "Ok?"

She grinned at him "Never better" she said and meant it.

"Good. Then go set the table" his voice was full of humor.

-

Sara took a sip of wine, watching Nick though the bottom of the glass. Pulling the stemware away from her lips, she let it hang from her hand, resting her elbow on the arm of the dining room chair. She kept watching him, he'd been very quiet though out the meal, and she realized now, he was using the fork to push the food around his plate more than lift it to his mouth. He stared at the strands of spaghetti forming circles and swirls, and the crease in his brow between his eyes, purposely avoiding hers, told her there was something on his mind. "What's up Nick?"

He let the fork slip from his fingers, it clattered to a rest on the ceramic plate. Bringing his hands together, he clasped them, tapping his thumb on his lips. This is a big one Sara thought.

"I wanted to ask you something, but…" he paused, searching for the right words "But I don't know how… it might be to personal."

"Personal?" The word was full of laughter "You're dick has been in my mouth, we've moved beyond personal."

Something close to a smile flittered across his lips, then was quickly gone. "I was wondering about your…your parents." Nick looked up, catching her eyes for just the briefest of seconds before she moved her eyes away from his. Some thing's are to personal, no matter what has been in who's mouth…

Sara set the wineglass gently on the table, then pushed at it's base, the dark velvety wine sloshed around inside the glass, empty threats to spill over. She gazed at the liquid as it settled back down and came to rest into the base of the glass. Her heart was beating hard and fast, she could feel her pulse in her throat. "What would you like to know?" She said quietly after a few moments.

Nick sank back in his chair, his hands separated, but remained hanging in the air, making him look as helpless as he felt. What the hell happened? he wanted to blurt out, but knew better. He struggled with finding better words, and finally, to his relief, Sara spoke.

"My father beat my mother. One night, she got tired of it, and stabbed him. She stabbed him so many times" he ran into my knife, he ran into my knife tentimes came into Nicks head, images of the movie Chicago. He gotten up and left the theater after that, full to the brim of excuses, couldn't take any more justification by the guilty. "she basically disemboweled him." Sara said, then stopped speaking.

Silence hung in the air, the uncomfortable kind, thick with waves coming off of her, begging for him to say something. "Did you…did you see it happen?"

Sara took a deep breath, steeling herself for the images she knew were about to flash in her head, she'd been fighting them off, like the little boy holding his finger in the dike, but she was so suddenly very tired, she took a deep breath, and let them flow, nodding to answer his question.

Nick stared at her. He finally understood. Everything he didn't understand over the last five, no six, years, he finally understood. All the overtime, to keep herself from thinking about anything but work. The desperate need for punishment of the guilty. It even explained Grissom, the need for approval, attention. Sara's the kind of girl Freud had in mind, Nick thought, and then, as a green glow surround him, and the earth enclosed him, and he felt the ghostly remains of the muzzle of his own gun pressed against his chin, he thought aren't we all.

Her fingers left the stem of the glass, and she lifted her hand to her face, wiping away the single tear that had escaped the dam she kept inside. He reached out, took her hand in his and squeezed. Just like Grissom Sara thought, then quickly pushed it away. Grissom wasn't here. Grissom was lost to her, and she to him. Nick was here. Nick wasn't going to get up and leave her alone as soon as she stopped crying. And it wasn't just the snow filled roads that would keep him with her, it just would never occur to him to do anything else.

He kissed the back of her hand; a tender placement of lips on skin, to her, it was a gentle reassurance of his presence. To him, it was a reassurance of her presence.

The kitchen of her childhood, its once yellow walls painted with cast off and splatter gave way to the kitchen of the cabin, the images just as fleeting as they had always been. For Nick, the green glow seeped away, the brightness of the room returning. "I'm sorry that happened to you" he whispered, and Sara fought back a new verge of tears. No on had ever said that before.

Suddenly, Nick stood, her hand still in his, and he waited a moment, standing next to her chair, while she put the pieces together, understood he wanted her to go with him. She stood and let him lead her into the next room, leaving plates of half eaten leftover spaghetti behind them.

Their arms were stretched between them, their hands locked, fingers entwined. And Sara thought of their walk outside, just before Nick had told her he loved her. He led her to the stereo, nestled on a shelf between volumes of books. He examined it for a moment, searching for the buttons he needed, and then pushed a button, bringing the stereo to life. He was grateful when he heard soft jazz coming from the speakers, not the head banging Greg music he had dreaded was left by a previous occupant of the rental cabin.

He turned to her, holding out his free hand in offering. She took it, his palms were so warm, or maybe her own was cold, she didn't know.

Nick stepped closer to her, pulling her in to his warmth, and held her closely. She felt her body relax against his, and she rested her head on his shoulder, letting the music swirl around them, in their pseudo dance, as they held tightly to each other.

Holding each other up.