A/N: For the illustrious Emily, on her 18th.
Disclaimer: Do not own. Never will. Sadly.
Regrets
When Nick was a kid he played the clarinet for three whole years until his Mom finally let him off because he was still squeaking and squalling his way through Three Blind Mice. In his brain, clarinet is filed under his failures, along with studying the law, blowing up balloons with his own breath and Sara Sidle.
He doesn't know why he feels like he failed her, there's just this ache in his chest every time he looks at her. She's like a heron, graceful and beautiful in this gawky sort of way. She slumps her shoulders and stands as if she never really managed to get the hang of her long limbs. She doesn't seem to know how beautiful she really is.
But it's not that he never affirmed this for her that he feels like he's failed her. Well, that's part of it, but it goes deeper still. Those flirtatious moments that never led anywhere, not offering her a ride home before she went and got herself a drink driving warning, not being there when she was suspended by Ecklie. He'd desperately wanted to go round to her place, bring a lasagna (he wasn't a bad cook after all), and just say how sorry he was; but he was afraid. Still is. He can't quite look her in the eye and there is so much that has been left unsaid.
He is changing at the end of shift when she comes in. Shirtless and exhausted, he stares at her out of eyes that keep closing by themselves. He recalls a time, several years ago, when she joked with him about his 'fine' body. Now she just smiles and changes her own shirt, back to him.
He doesn't look, he's a gentleman, but he knows that her neck is smooth and arched and that the elegant lines of her torso will be wilting and tired.
"Bye Nick."
"Sara, wait!" It's out before he can take it back, but maybe taking a step forward, addressing her, will change some things. "Do you want to get breakfast?"
She is frowning; she's going to say no. The lines around her mouth seem especially prominent today. Then, she shrugs. "Why not?"
They walk in companionable silence to the car park, although Nick desperately wants to think of something to say to her. "We can take my car; I'll drop you back here after."
She shrugs again. She hasn't been talking as much as usual, least of all to him. Warrick told him that they sometimes chat – mainly about work and domestic bliss – but Warrick is married, happy and self-assured. Nick is gawky and always says the wrong thing. He's the guy who makes the stupid theory, doesn't know what to do in the more 'Vegas' cases, the one Grissom always reproves. He knows Grissom is proud of them all in his strange sort of way but Nick has come to terms with the fact that he is the misfit in the team.
They just order coffee and sit by the window, side by side, so that they can both watch life go past. Sometimes that's important after a long night. "Sara, I'm sorry if I haven't been there for you," Nick says.
She smiles wearily. "Is that what this is about?"
He feels himself floundering. "I liked it a lot better when we talked and flirted and laughed, that's all."
"If it helps, you're forgiven." She smiles a genuine smile this time. "And on my part, I'm sorry when I haven't been around."
"It takes two to tango."
"We're moving that fast in our relationship, then?" she asks, but there's laughter in her voice and Nick feels more refreshed than caffeine or a good night sleep could ever make him.
"Yeah, in ten years we'll be holding hands. How are you, Sidle?"
"Good, I'm good." She doesn't sound as sure as her words are. "I've been much worse. You?"
"Much better for you having asked."
"Charmer." She takes a deep gulp of her coffee. "Seriously though, Warrick said you were getting nightmares."
"I'm having difficulty sleeping, yeah," Nick says. Nightmares sounds so childish, like bogeymen and ghosts, not like the night riders pushing him further and further into the ground until there is no air left to scream. "I'm afraid I'm going to turn into an insomniac like you," he jokes.
She shudders. "Don't. Seriously."
Nick grins, and the conversation continues in much the same way, well into Sara's third cup of coffee. However, the time eventually comes when even the caffeine-fueled Sara can't control her eyelids and they decide to pay up.
"Dutch?"
"No, my treat, Sidle."
"I thought you liked going Dutch with girls, Nicky," she asks.
"Only if they ask the wrong question. You didn't."
"That's because I know exactly what you drive and also how much money you earn," she grins. "So I know you can support us in our old age."
"There's an us now?" he says, grinning back and heading to the counter.
It's as they walk out to the car in the thick Vegas heat that she startles him with the question. "Don't you wish there was?"
"Was what?"
"An us, Stokes. I mean, why haven't we slept together?"
"Because you over-analyse everything and before I'd even got the condom on you'd be planning our wedding and the names of our two children," he jokes.
"I like Emma and William."
"Good God."
"I'm kidding, Nick. Don't worry about it. Let's head home."
They drive silently to her apartment, Nick wondering how he can kick himself and not crash his Denali at the same time. He always says the wrong thing and it kills him sometimes. Honestly, he can't understand how he's screwed it up again and doesn't know what to say. It's not as if Sara's inviting conversation. She's twisted as far away as possible from him and when they reach her house, she leaps out, throws some change on the seat and practically sprints into the house.
He drives off. What else can he do? His phone vibrates.
"Stokes." he sighs.
"Nick." It's Sara. Her voice sounds small, if that's even possible. "I left my keys in your car."
"What, in your great rush to get out?" he snaps. He can't help himself.
"Yes, and I'm stuck outside and it's really, really hot and I want to die. Also, you suck."
"I'll be right there."
He finds her sitting in the doorway to her apartment block, looking miserable. He can imagine that she probably wants to go inside and cry (he wouldn't mind doing that either) and immediately feels guilty for having snapped.
"Your keys, my lady," he says, dangling them in front of her. She makes a grab at them but he holds them just out of her reach. "First, I want to say something."
"You are such a prick."
"I'm sorry. I really am. I keep making an idiot of myself."
"I know," she replies. "But so do I."
"Not as much as me."
"Liar."
He laughs. "Can you forgive me?"
"Can I forgive you?" She seems to consider it and moves closer towards him, her scent, fruity and light even in the heady summer weather, is almost overwhelming. "I don't know." She twists a curl of hair around her finger and Nick is amazed at how unbelievably sexy that one simple gesture is.
She takes a step back. "I really don't know."
Nick sighs. "I guess that's it then," and hands her back her keys.
"I guess so," Sara says, chewing her lower lip.
"See you at work, Sara." He leans forward, kisses her lightly on the cheek and leaves.
He's dozing lightly on the couch, The Bold and the Beautiful playing on the television in front of him, when the doorbell rings.
"I'm not interested, sorry," he says, opening the front door.
"I'll sell my wares somewhere else then," Sara says, looking more exhausted than Nick could even comprehend.
"Sara?"
"Hi, Nick. Long time no see."
"So you're selling stuff now. Appliances? Make up? Or is it just good old blow jobs?" He's angry, he's tired and he doesn't know what the hell Sara is doing at his apartment.
"Nick, that's unfair." She's right and he steps back to let her in. Once inside, she collapses on his couch.
"I was sleeping there." It's a half-hearted complaint. "What are you doing here?" He sits down next to her, mainly due to the fact that he feels incapable of standing up any longer.
"Well," she says and the smug smile on her face infuriates him and turns him on simultaneously. "We forgot to pick up my car so I'm a bit stuffed for getting to work tomorrow."
"You could have just called and I would have picked you up before work," he replies, rolling his eyes. "I thought scientists used logic."
"I realise that. But there's more." She takes a deep breath, seemingly to steady herself, and Nick finds himself drawing closer. "I'm sick of apologies. I'm sick of being hurt every time you make a joke about us because you have no idea how I feel. I'm sick of feeling angry and upset and I'm sick of you not knowing."
Nick's throat has dried up. "Knowing what?"
"This," she says, and leans forward and kisses him. They kiss, they are kissing and her lips taste like strawberries and Nick wonders if it is chapstick or real fruit and he can't believe he is thinking about fruit when he and Sara are kissing like a couple in a romantic comedy or maybe a reality dating programme. She is rubbing her hands around his back and he has his clenched in her beautiful smooth hair and she leans down to kiss him softly many times on the neck and he thinks he will get little singed marks where her lips have been but he doesn't want her to ever stop.
Ever.
She does though and he feels a shudder go through his body. "Sara…"
"What?" she asks almost defensively.
"Could I have just kissed you when you asked about us and saved a lot of time?"
She smiles so beautifully. "Probably. Although, I might've slapped you."
"Has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are, Sara Sidle?"
"Are you just saying that to get in my pants?" She smirks.
"No." Nick says. "I've thought it for a long time now, since I met you. And I've wanted to tell you but I was afraid you'd file a sexual harassment suit against me."
"Thank you." She seems to be considering something. Her brow is furrowed. "Can I sleep over? Not for sex or anything," she hastens to add. "Just, maybe we'll both get a good night's sleep when there's someone there."
"I'll lend you a tee-shirt." He's very glad he changed his sheets yesterday.
"Thanks." She follows him to his bedroom where he gives her a large, even for him, navy shirt.
"You can use the bathroom. It's just off to the left."
"I can get changed here. We share a locker room, don't we?" She smiles. "I've seen you shirtless plenty of times."
"It's a bit unfair really," he remarks. "But I'm sure I can wait." He turns away and changes into boxers and a tee-shirt. "When he turns back, she is wearing his shirt. It looks ridiculous on her.
"Like it?"
"I wouldn't wear it to work tomorrow, sunshine."
They get into bed and Nick has his first good night's sleep in weeks curled up next to a very peaceful Sara Sidle whose arm in thrown protectively across his chest.