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
No,
I wasn't a major
fan of that either but you'll hate me even more for this. You're
gonna have to trust me though – trust me. Firstly, though, thanks
to the reviewers Aleja21, icklebitodd (Full suit? You serious?),
WSShippeR, JennCorinthos, Megara1, CatStokes, Review1234 (you make a
good point... And very large.) charmed1818 (200th
reviewer!), Joyce3 (take as long as you like on The Underdog, it's
cool.) and MissyJane. I'm vastly impressed that I've made it to
200 and beyond so thanks huge amounts. Also many thanks to Danielle for
the birthday ecard today! Here's the chapter you've nagged me about...
And for you GCR shippers, there will be no more GCR lovin' in this story (apologies), so I've taken the liberty of posting the first chapter to a short chaptered GC fic based on the events surrounding Gil getting locked in Catherine's bathroom whilst babysitting Lindsey for her (c/f Chapter Nine!). So I hope you enjoy that – it's called "One Mississippi" and should be up now. I'll plug write-underscore-impulsive, the LiveJournal writers' community, but it's gotten a great response and I'm very happy. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx
- o -
Wake The Hope. Chapter Seventeen. Brick Wall
- o -
"Man is a rational animal who always loses his temper when he is called upon to act in accordance with the dictates of reason."
OSCAR WILDE
- o -
It was one of the few things he always read without fail on his newspaper in the morning – or evenings, depending on which shift he worked – and it wasn't the cartoons like Greg always turned to, or the Science section that'd be Grissom's first stop before he pored thoroughly over the rest of the paper, it was the daily quotations that came under the letters and obituaries. Warrick didn't know why, he just always did and, leaning against Sara's kitchen counter, something in it catches his attention.
He looks up at Sara who is dashing from room to room, collecting up some clothes to change before work. Nate sits in his playpen, happy to be back amongst his familiar toys, and gurgles amusedly while Warrick casts a watchful eye over him. It'd been a week since she'd stayed the night over at his place and had since returned to her own apartment, bringing Warrick with him. He'd spent six nights on her couch, his feet hanging over the edge, even though Sara no longer needed the Demerol and could look after Nate fine. She'd never asked him to leave; he'd never wanted to.
"Sounds like you," he comments vaguely, still looking at the paper. Sara stops and looks up.
"What does?" she asks.
He reads aloud, "We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey." He looks to her and smiles but she doesn't smile back.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she questions defensively. Warrick holds up his hands in submission.
"Whoa – nothing – I just thought it sounded a little like something you'd live by." He's stepped into dangerous territory; that was stupid; nobody tells Sara Sidle how she lives. "It's not a bad thing..."
She says nothing but continues packing up some stuff in silence. Warrick turns back to the front page of the broadsheet, the rustling paper is the only sound in the room now – even Nate has fallen silent under the tense stillness. Warrick averts his eyes from watching her and gazes around the kitchen. On the fridge, he notices, held up by magnets, is a set of forms and a letter.
"You're adopting Nate?" he asks her, looking through the forms, eager only to change the subject quickly. "So soon?" He hears his own words only after he says them and wants to kick himself for being so stupid as to start on something like this after just pissing her off.
"Why not?" she replies sharply. Warrick recoils a little but still stands firm.
"I guess I figured, if anything, you'd want to give him back for a while until all this had been sorted out..." he trails off under her accusing glare.
"Why would I do that? He's a baby, Warrick – you can't just hand him over to someone else to look after if you're a little busy with your own life, you know," her voice is spiked liberally with sarcasm.
"But after all that's happened – you really want to have this on top of everything else?" he presses. "I mean – surely social services could take good care of him for a while?"
"Better than me, you mean?"
"No – no, not at all. You're wonderful with Nate," Warrick covers hurriedly.
"But?"
"But I thought maybe you'd need a break or something..."
"Jesus, Warrick," she sounds exasperated now as well as angry. "You really need to grow up, you know. This isn't some kind of game. You can't just take a time out whenever you feel like it. And how would it be good for Nate to pass him between different homes? You are just like every other naive person in this country who things that social services is the flawless solution. You really don't know how it is, 'Rick."
Sara's voice gets louder, dripping with cynicism, and her eyes burn fiercely as she continues, "You know, social services have a little difficulty packing off kids whose parents were manic depressives or convicts – I guess prospective parents don't want to have to fork out the cash for therapy in later years. They get hundreds of kids just like Nate all the time – you really think they have time to take special care of him and make sure he's infinitely happy? You really think he'd be better with them than with me?"
"I didn't say that." he protests as Sara gets more and more irate, gesticulating wildly as she talks. Baby Nate, frightened by the noise, the panic and the tangible fury in the air, begins to cry.
"But you implied it, didn't you?" she snaps, her eyes flitting between Warrick and Nate with aggression and anxiety respectively. "That's what you think, isn't it? That they'll sort things out so we won't have to deal with it ourselves. There are too many people like you who think that. You told me you'd be behind me on this, remember? And now – what? Now you're not?"
"No – that's not what I meant. I'm sorry," he tells her but cannot hold back from adding: "What is it with you and this whole mistrust thing with social services? Why are you so defensive?"
"Why am I so defensive?" she repeats with piercing incredulity. "While I'm planning on adopting Nate, you're suggesting I give him back. What is it, Warrick? Am I so bad at this that you don't think I should keep Nate anymore?"
"No, Sara – I just think –" Warrick begins but Sara cuts him off, furiously.
"You know what? I really don't care what you think, Warrick." Sara bites, bitterly. "And thank you – for everything – but I'm feeling a whole lot better now. I'm feeling damn great, thanks. So you can go now – I think I've got it from here."
Warrick stares dumbly. There is a ringing silence in the air despite Nate's continuing wails and she's just watching him with raging eyes, waiting for him to get the hint. He does. He takes one last look at her and, feeling something wrench deep inside him, turns away from her. Warrick lowers his head. In apartment 516, Warrick can hear a baby crying. And he walks out of the door.
-
Nick looks deep into his coffee mug before breaking the silence.
"That's tough, man." he tells Warrick heavily. Warrick nods and buries his face in his palms with a groan after relating the whole horrible argument.
"But you were both fine last week..." Greg says in wonderment. "I mean, I know Sara's...volatile...but still."
Warrick shakes his head, still not looking up until he speaks, "We were fine this morning. We made breakfast together and got Nate ready and everything. It pissed her off when I commented on how she lived but she just totally lost it when I suggested social services would sort everything out." Warrick sighs. "She made some long rant about how people like me are naive and think that social services are the perfect solution and how we don't know what it's like..."
Greg shrugs his shoulders and picks at the wrapper of his finished sandwich. It is lunchtime when Warrick eventually tells Nick and Greg, in the break room, why he'd been acting up all shift.
"She's the same whenever social services get involved in a case," Greg observes. "Maybe she just has issues with it, you know? Maybe it's her Thing."
Warrick arches an eyebrow. "Her Thing?"
"Yeah, you know how people have Things with stuff?" Greg speaks absently, peeling back the label on Nick's bottle of water. He looks up at the blank Warrick and wonders how to make it clearer. "Like how Nick has a thing with peanut butter."
"Why would anyone want to eat it?" Nick chips in suddenly at the mention of the food, his words muffled by sandwich. "It's disgusting!"
"See?" Greg says triumphantly. Warrick does not look convinced.
"Her Thing?" he repeats slowly.
"Yeah!" Greg enthuses.
"Greg," Warrick tells him seriously. "This isn't the same."
"Sure it is! It's her Thing!" Greg insists, excitement in his voice as he searches for more ways to explain. "She's like...she's fighting her corner!"
"Okay," Warrick says, speaking as though talking to a child. "But whilst Sara's 'corner' is the state-governed foster care system, Nick's is peanut butter."
"How can you even call it a food?" Nick blurts out, clearly unable to hold back his feelings on the matter. "It's just wrong!"
Warrick looks between the outraged Nick and the eager Greg before shaking his head again, sighing again, and burying his head back in his hands. Grissom clears his throat in the doorway and all three of them turn to see him standing there.
"Warrick – can I talk to you in my office?" Grissom asks.
Warrick stares for a moment, his heart sinking. Is he going to have a go at him for sharing stuff about Sara with Nick and Greg? Is he going to bump him off the case for being emotionally involved? Or tell him to take some time off? Thinking that today, after such a great start, couldn't possibly get worse, Warrick follows Grissom reluctantly out of the room and into his office.
- o -