Disclaimer: They're not mine
Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case
Evening all. Trust me, I wasn't fishing for compliments when I mentioned how much I dislike Chapters Three-Five, but hey, nevertheless, you all turn up with your reviews about how you like them and I'm crazy. Which was nice of you – I think. But it's totally cool, you can not-like it all you like. I've never got any flames before – I'm intrigued as to what they're like... Is that masochistic? Anyway, thank you, everyone. You're lovely.
That applies to the following (ooh, how formal): Megara1, sarafan101, Ladybug07, Joyce3 (you're not ALWAYS last!), icklebitodd (very good question! The only one to ask it, actually – I hope that the letter, which you will get to read eventually, will perhaps convince you of the answer), MissyJane (Joyce3 missed the story too – you are not alone! Heh heh), Review1234 (as always, wonderful), cherishedcrush, JennCorinthos (you really are not the only one – you just need to know where to look!) and Daisyangel. Please check out the Live Journal community, write impulsive (link in profile) if you love writing. On with the show. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx
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Wake The Hope. Chapter Four. A Very Strange 24 Hours
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"I saw a bank that said "24 Hour Banking", but I don't have that much time"
STEPHEN WRIGHT
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Sara jumps back, blinking in a daze.
"That'll be social services." Warrick says in a monotone voice. She nods, smiles and looks down at the sleeping baby. Then she leaps up.
"Oh crap – I'm still in my pyjamas." she realises in horror. "Why didn't you say anything?" Warrick grins.
"It was funnier this way." he teases and she shoots him a furious look.
"Take Nate and get the door," she orders, passing him the baby before dashing off into her bedroom. He only laughs and, gently rocking Nate, opens the front door to let the pair of social workers in.
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Sara and Warrick stand together in the awkward silence as the social workers assess the situation. Warrick looks at her: she stares straight ahead at the sleeping baby Nate who's been taken from her arms and he gets the feeling that this is a little bit more than just handing over an abandoned baby.
"I see..." one of the social workers comments, poring over the letter and birth certificate. The shorter one flips shut her cell phone.
"Ms Avery was found having hanged herself under a bridge three blocks from here," she announces.
"Well here she very clearly states that she wants you to look after Nathaniel, Ms Sidle. She's got signed documentation from an attorney," the other social worker, a blonde-haired and bespectacled middle-aged man scrutinizes Sara and points at a section of the letter. "Did you have any connection to Ms Avery?"
"No...no, she lived a couple of doors down, but I never really spoke to her," Sara tells them faintly, taking small comfort in the fact that she could still feel Warrick standing at her side.
"Ms Sidle, there is no next of kin for Nathaniel – Ms Avery specifies you to be his guardian in her letter and gives very thorough details – are you sure you don't want to foster him, even for a while?" the female social worker presses.
"I'm no good with kids." comes Sara's habitual reply but she never takes her eyes off Nate who goes on sleeping in the social worker's arms. Suddenly, her own arms feel very cold.
"Well okay," both social workers turn to each other. "We'd better take Nathaniel to the hospital and get him checked out."
"Thank you very much for you help, Ms Sidle – Mr Brown." the blonde social worker smiles, shakes both their hands and the pair of them head to the door with Nate. Nate. She's had him with her for just a few hours, but as she watches them carry him out towards the front door, something wrenches deep inside Sara.
"Wait – can I – uh – can I come along? Just to see he's alright." Sara starts unexpectedly, not knowing quite where the words came from. "And to say goodbye?"
"You don't have to say goodbye, Ms Sidle," the one holding Nate tells her eagerly. "You could try temporary fostering – if it doesn't work out for you, we can find him a new home."
Sara stares at her, overwhelmed by what exactly she's being asked to do. She looks at Nate, at the faces of the social workers desperate to pack off another child and then at Warrick. He shrugs and touches her elbow lightly.
"Sara, if you want to do this – you know you've always got all of us behind you," he assures her gently, speaking for the first time in over an hour. Sara smiles and takes a breath.
"Okay." she says, decisively. She exhales, grins and sticks her hand deep in the pockets of her jeans. "Okay – I'll give it a shot."
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Grissom scans the faces of the CSIs in the room and pauses before assigning cases.
"Where's Sara today?" he asks, missing a face.
"She asked for the night off, Griss – if that's okay." Warrick speaks up, tiredly. "She – uh – someone dumped a baby on her doorstep last night and she's sort of...fostered him. Got a lot of sorting out to do."
Warrick yawns, not realising that the room has fallen silent and now all eyes are on him.
"You're kidding me, man – seriously?" Nick stares, incredulous. Warrick nodded his head.
"Wait, so Sara opened the door to the sound of a crying baby in the middle of the night last night?" Catherine verifies, looking aghast. "After all of this?"
"Yeah, I know – I had a go at her for it too," Warrick says, rolling his eyes.
"So – so Sara's got a kid now?" Nick asks again. Warrick nods slowly at him but Nick still looks disbelieving.
"Wow."
There's another silence now as the team just sit their in their seats, struggling to picture Sara looking after a baby.
"Right," Grissom pulls himself together with a cough. "Right – cases. We still have the two victims from the serial killer's case that we need to work. The faster we can solve this, the better."
The lab picks up again and sinks back into the regular pace of irregularity.
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Sara sits back on the floor of her newly-cleared out spare room. It hadn't really had much in it; a desk she never used and boxes full of books that had now been moved to cupboards in her bedroom. Leaning against the wall, she surveys her handiwork: the room, already previously painted in a pale duck-egg blue colour, now had posters, a mobile, a bunch of toys in a chest in the corner, and a new cot and changing table she'd just assembled. She glances at the assembly instructions that came with the packaging and smiles slightly. Perhaps she could handle putting all of the stuff together, but what would she be like when she actually had Nate?
...Ms Sidle, there is no next of kin for Nathaniel – Ms Avery specifies you to be his guardian in her letter and gives very thorough details...
If it hadn't been Nate's round brown eyes that stared at her appealingly, then it had been those words that'd changed her mind. She was never one to make rash decisions, she knew that – but she also knew that if she didn't say something fast, she might never have another chance to make the choice again. After all, if she had turned Nate away and later realised it was the wrong decision, there would be very little she could do to get him back. And after everything, her childhood, her experiences, she couldn't exactly let him go off to something she knew far too well.
...Ms Avery specifies you to be his guardian...
And another thing – this woman had actually picked her out. Admittedly, she was a manic depressive, which was later added to by an apparently undiagnosed case of prolonged post-natal depression, but the woman died thinking she knew who her son would be left with – she died believing her son would grow up with Sara – and she couldn't exactly throw that all away.
Sara sighs and gets up as the doorbell rings again. Warrick stands in the hall and offers her a smile.
"You look tired," she tells him, letting him in.
"Thanks," he returns with a grin. "Didn't exactly get much sleep last night."
"I'm sorry," she says with sincerity. Warrick shrugs his shoulders.
"No problem – where is the little guy?" he asks, looking around.
"Social workers are bringing him round later with the papers. They needed to make records of him, do background checks on me – you know," she answers vaguely, suppressing a yawn. "Did you manage to pick up the stuff?"
Warrick holds up a grocery bag triumphantly and sets it on the table. "Formula, diapers and a whole bunch of things to baby-proof the apartment with." He picked them out of the bag as he said them and placed them on the table. She laughs slightly.
"Very efficient, Mr Brown," she grins and reaches for her purse. "Now how much do I owe you?"
"Huh?" he looks at her for a moment. "You don't owe me anything – it was nothing, really. Don't forget, you're a single parent now." He adds the last part with a smirk. She rolls her eyes, debating between hugging him and punching him. Instead of either, she suddenly grabs his hand.
"Look – I want to show you something," she leads him excitedly into the newly-converted nursery. He gives a low whistle in the decorated room as she beams.
"Nice work, Sar – you did this all today?" he gazes around the room. "I didn't even know you had another room."
"No, well, it's really too small," she mentions pensively. "When Nate gets older, we'll probably have to move." Warrick looks around at her with a smile.
"So you think this could be a permanent thing?"
Sara shrugs and smiles optimistically. "I don't know – maybe."
"Hmm – Nate Sidle," he announces in his deepest voice, underlining the words as though they were written in the air. "Crime Scene Investigator."
Sara laughs again. Warrick revels in her laughter for a while, stunned for a moment when he catches a glimpse of the two of them in the window's reflection, hand-in-hand, and standing in a nursery together, until he's jolted back to earth by his beeping pager.
"Oh crap – my break's over." he mutters. "You coming in tomorrow night? I checked at reception and they say they run a day-care programme for the kids of the workers." She nods, following him to the front door.
"Thanks for doing all of this, Warrick," she murmurs in the doorway. "It's been a very strange twenty-four hours." He grins and shrugs.
"It's no problem, anything you need." Warrick assures her and heads off down the hall way, walking backwards and calling out: "Say hi to the little guy from me when he gets here!"
Sara just smiles as she watches him go.
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