Disclaimer: Yeah, I know, they're not mine...

A/N: This is one of my favorite chapters. Let me know what you think! :)


Chapter 16: September 1990

The lights of home.

It was ridiculously hot, living here, but I worked the graveyard shift so I slept through most of the unbearable desert heat, and Las Vegas was a sparkling wonderland at night. You had to view it with a wry eye, to truly have a picture of the city—the strip, of course, was iconic… the town had been build on the dimes of every person who had ever come to drink in the splendor of those lights… to take in the lawlessness that was sin city. But still, if you disregarded the baseness of the motivations for everything that was Vegas, and just watched the lights… it was beautiful, in a way. When I was working, I focused on the baseness, but when I wasn't… I liked the lights.

And work was amazing—Jim Brass was a stoic man, but always ready with a dry or sarcastic quip to take the edge off a gruesome crime. He had just been promoted to the graveyard supervisor, and I was happy to work under him. He was devoted to the lab, the evidence, and his CSIs. Between the two of us, we made it our mission to retrain the way CSIs worked in the field and in the lab.

Sometimes it was as simple as subtly correcting a misstep while processing a scene, and sometimes it took the form of a conversation with a specific CSI, or forcing them into training refreshers on slow nights… but the CSIs were good, on their own… they just needed to be nudged into perfection. There was one, of course, who seemed to refuse to look at me as his superior, though he was never out rightly insubordinate. Conrad Ecklie. Good CSI, but too concerned with sucking up, not concerned enough with the victim and the evidence… but still, all in all, a good team.

I came to love my townhouse. At first I had felt like it was a little too big for me, but I was making a lot more money than I was used to, and allowed myself a little splurging on new furniture for the rooms. I threw out my old bed, which had been falling apart anyway, and purchased a king-sized bed and bed frame for the master, a queen-sized bed and frame for the guest room, and a black leather chaise for the office—half chair, half couch, and big enough for Amber to sleep comfortable, if the need arose. There wasn't a lot of room for it, with all my bookshelves and the desk, but it helped to have my insect display cases out in the living area, in the little would-be office corner, and pretty soon I felt like it was home. Once I realized how pleased I was with the bedrooms and the office—how happy it made me to be able to personalize my own home, I broke down and bought new furniture for the living room and the dining room, and even bought new rugs and shower curtains for my two and half baths…

It was nice, to have something of my own. And besides Ecklie, I had quickly gained the respect of the lab and the CSIs who worked under me, as well as that of Jim Brass, my boss. I had a high-solve rate, and had finally mastered my emotional detachment from the scenes, except, of course, when it involved the most gruesome of situations. I couldn't stand men abusing the women they claimed to love, any sort of sexual abuse on children—although, any crime with a baby was enough to send me off the deep end…they all had Joshua's face…—and any drug crime related to kids. They just seemed like… the worst of the worst.

And though it was horrible, I loved serial killers. Not the killers themselves, or even the crimes—they were despicable—but it made my puzzle-eager mind race to understand their patterns, their motivations, to understand and predict and finally take them down. It was almost like a high, and so, even though I hated the crimes, I found myself almost hoping we would come across another, just so that I could take him down. It was thrilling, and before I had had time to realize such a thing could even be possible, I had found a home here. Vegas was home.


Nineteen.

Although Michael had wanted to keep me to himself on my birthday, Kelly had put her foot down, and so we were at the off-campus restaurant in which Jerry had tried to seduce me, tucked into a booth. Michael sat to my right, his left hand resting on my thigh, and Kelly sat across from us, as bouncy as ever. It was actually the night before my birthday—I had to work tomorrow night.

The table was littered with shot glasses, though we hadn't received our food yet. I wasn't drunk—again, I'd stopped myself, at four rather than three, so I was silly, but by no means incapacitated. Michael had stopped himself at two—he was driving—and Kelly had polished off the rest of them. She was getting progressively louder, and I muttered through her laughter that Michael shouldn't order her any more. He smirked.

Food was set before us, and I hoped idly that the food would help her absorb some of the alcohol. I was spending the night at Michael's for the first time tonight, and I didn't want to have to change those plans in order to take care of my drunk friend on my birthday. We ate until we were absolutely stuffed, and then, to my great embarrassment, we were presented with a large dessert to share while the wait staff sang Happy Birthday loudly, gaining the attention of everyone in the place.

Despite being stuffed, between the three of us we finished the dessert in less than a minute, and then Kelly pulled a package out from her purse.

"I guess Romeo here isn't going to give you your present until you're alone… so you'll just have to open mine now."

I glance around, aware that people are still glancing over at the table that was sung to. "Why don't I open it in the car?"

She giggles. "No, you have to open it here, Sara!"

She's way drunk. Ugh. I tear the paper off and—shrewdly—peek into the box instead of pulling the cover off entirely. My eyes widen in horror. "Kelly!"

She falls out of the booth laughing, and my face is glowing scarlet. "I just thought you two could use your birthday presents on your birthday!" She's shouting by now, and I'm mortified. I turn desperately to Michael, who pulls the package from my hand gently, replacing it with his keys.

"Get her out of here. I'll be out as soon as I pay the check."

I kiss him quickly, gratefully, and drag her out of the restaurant, barely keeping my anger in check. I could handle her being drunk, or I could handle the gift which she had presented me with, but I could not handle the combination of the two. I unlock the doors almost frantically, pushing her into Michael's back seat, and locking the doors, remaining sentry outside his driver's side door. She tries to talk to me through the window, and I don't look at her. When she's sober, I'll get mad at her. Right now, I just need to stay calm.

Five minutes later, Michael comes out, trading my package for his keys again, and kisses me before I move around to the passenger side. Kelly chatters all the way to her apartment, but I stare forward, out the windshield, my arms crossed over my chest. I'm not even so mad anymore, but I know I'm still irritated enough to say something I'll regret if I speak now, and I know she won't remember my cold silence in the morning anyway.

He parks in a loading zone, and we take her up to her apartment. I fish her keys out of her purse, let us in, and we lay her in bed, fully dressed. I set the purse and keys on her table, and turn the lock on the door handle before pulling it closed behind us. And then, finally, I let out a sigh of relief.

Michael chuckles, his hand finding the small of my back as we move back out to his illegally-parked car. I lift the package from my seat so that I can slide into it, and Michael's eyes flicker to it curiously, but he doesn't ask yet. I wonder what I will tell him, when he does ask… as if we needed any more pressure tonight.

He parks in front of his building and we pile out easily. I've been to his place plenty of times before tonight, and we discussed in detail that me spending the night didn't have to mean sex., so I'm not nervous… yet. His hand finds the small of my back again and I smile. I feel like no matter who else touches me, for the rest of my life, the gesture will always be irreversibly linked to him in my mind.

He lets us in, and we remove our shoes immediately. He locks the door behind us, and hands me the Harvard tote I'd had with me the first day at the swimming pool. I have a fresh pair of clothes for the morning, deodorant, a toothbrush, and my hairbrush tucked inside. I set it on a chair, on top of the package, pulling off my sweat shirt and laying it across the bag as well. Now I'm nervous.

He smiles, pulling me to him gently and kissing me. "Remember, nothing has to happen tonight… we'll just play it by ear."

I draw in a shaky breath. "I… I got on birth control… two weeks ago…"

His head shoots up in surprise, and I smile, despite the blush in my cheeks.

"Sara… honey, you… you didn't need to do that."

I nod. "I know… and… and we're still playing it by ear but… if it happens, we're okay."

He takes a deep breath, like he's steeling his self-control, and then he turns and moves to the table, lifts a wrapped present, and passes it to me. It's a small, rectangular box, hinting undeniably at jewelry, and I feel a new nervousness come into me. "Happy Birthday," he says softly, moving up behind me. I smile.

"You… you didn't have to get me anything, Michael…"

He chuckles, watching my shaking hands over my shoulder, gesturing for me to open it. "I had to make up for whatever it is that Kelly gave you…"

I blush again, but refuse to comment, slowly tearing the paper from a white box. I set the paper on the table, and slowly open the white box to find… a black box, velvet. Clearly a jewelry box. I draw in a hesitant breath, already uncertain. "Michael… this… it's too much. I can't…"

He wraps his arms around me from behind, kissing my neck softly. "It isn't too much. I… I wanted to get you something…more… but I thought this was about all I'd be able to talk you into accepting. Open it, please?"

My hands are trembling as I pry open the little box, its hinges tight and new. Curled in the velvet, was a small, dark blue stone on a long silver chain. My hands trembled more, but his arms held me tightly. "Will… will you wear it, please, Sara? It's your birthstone. I promise it wasn't expensive… I wanted to get you something expensive, I just knew you wouldn't accept it…but this isn't. …please, please, wear it?"

I took in a deep breath. It was hard to accept gifts from people… it'd always been hard for me. But the longing in his voice made me nod my head, my eyes shut tight. And then the box was pulled from my hands and I could hear him pulling the necklace from it. I kept my eyes closed. Although his arms were not holding me, he kept his chest tight to my back and peered over my shoulder to remove it. The contact of his body helped keep me calm. He said it wasn't expensive… that wasn't so bad.

I felt the cold metal brush against the skin at my throat and then his hands brushing my hair aside and fastening it around me. I was dimly aware that hot tears were falling down my face, and I wiped them away quickly, hoping he hadn't seen. But of course he had.

He turned my body to face him and embraced me tightly. "You… you don't have to take it, Sara. I don't… I don't want you to cry."

I shook my head slowly, burying my face in his shoulder. "I'm just… I'm not good at… accepting gifts."

He held me until I calmed down, kissing my hair and face softly and brushing away errant tears as they manifested themselves. When I pulled from him, regaining control, he smiled, seeming determined to bring the night back on track.

"Why don't we change into pajamas, curl up in bed, and watch a movie?"

I smiled, and choked out a laugh. "I… I didn't bring any."

He grinned mischievously. "Why, Sara, did you think you'd be sleeping in your clothes…?"

His hands at my waist slipped beneath my shirt, to rub gently against the skin of my lower back, sending tendrils of flame across my skin. I laughed softly, my voice husky. "I… I thought we'd probably fall asleep… exhausted…and naked."

I can see the shift in his eyes at my words, but he tries hard to control it. He starts to speak, and then thinks better of it and chuckles again. I grin. "I, uh… I actually might have something, come to think of it…" He looks at me curiously, and I blush. "Kelly's present was… items to be used… between lovers. One of the items was a… a nightie."

He laughed out loud. "Oh no. No wonder you looked so… alarmed. What… What else was in the box?"

I blush, but take his hand and pull him over to it, slipping it out from under my other belongings. I hand it to him, and he looks wary as he sets it on the table and pulls the lid off. There, tucked on top of white, lace lingerie, were several alarming items. Handcuffs. Lubricant. Edible body paint. Massage oil. A vibrator. Wax. A pocket Kama Sutra. He nearly fell over laughing as he looked over the myriad of "tools" Kelly had put together for us.

"Oh my god, Sara, I… I don't know how you didn't kill her, right then and there, in the restaurant."

I laugh too, glad he doesn't seem to be excited by the box, but rather as alarmed as I am. I slip the lingerie out from under the other things and peck him quickly on the lips. "I'll be right back."

He nods, still looking stunned, and I giggle. Maybe I'm not so naïve, after all. I mean, it certainly wasn't all bad… but it was a little overwhelming to have it all thrown at you at once.

I return, nervously, having never worn lingerie for a man before, and he's lying in bed, on top of the covers, in only boxers. I smile, and blush, and curl up next to him when he pats the space next to himself. I glance at the clock—11:45. Fifteen minutes until my birthday. I lift my body up until I'm leaning over him, lying on my side, and kiss him softly, an action which he returns willingly, his tongue slipping playfully over my lips and into my mouth before we break apart. His hands remain, steadfast, on my waist, and I can see the effort of his restraint—trying to not touch me in the lingerie. I smile.

"You've almost lost your chance to sleep with an eighteen year old… time's running out."

He smiles genuinely and kisses me again. "I never wanted to sleep with an eighteen year old, Sara… I want to sleep with you."

He lets his hands move over my body then, and I'm lost in the feel of his hands and his lips as they descend upon my skin, trailing across my neck and my collar bone. He really is much more experienced than Tyler was—he had always had to test each action, relying on my responses to guide him… Michael knew what I would like before he did it, and my gasps of pleasure and surprise were no surprise to him. He enjoyed them, but he didn't need them to know how to seduce me.

He didn't remove the lingerie—I think he liked the idea of keeping it on—but when he found himself between my thighs, he scrunched the nightie up over my hips so that he could spread my legs fully. …And I'm not nervous as he assaults me with fingers and his mouth—I'm simply lost in the oblivion of all that his skilled hands had promised as they made their way down to this point. I didn't have to work for the orgasm that came, either, like with Tyler… it surprised me. I felt the building, driving intensity, and then all of a sudden I had gone over, without even knowing how close I was. Somehow the surprise of it made it more intense, like being slapped in the face, but with the greatest of surging fulfillments racing through your body, instead of pain.

When I came back down, and opened my eyes, his face was above mine again, and I could feel the entire length of him against me, cradled between my legs. He isn't certain, and he watches my eyes, trying to see what I want. My hips rock up, and we both gasp as he slides against me. He grits his teeth and "Oh, God, Sara," escapes his lips.

"Make love to me." I don't feel nervous, I feel certain. I try to communicate that calm to him.

He swallows hard, watching my eyes apprehensively again. "Sara… you… you had a few shots, didn't you? Are you sure you're in your right mind…?" I raise an eyebrow at him, but he needs to make sure. "Okay, okay…what's, uh… what's the atomic weight of… titanium?"

"47.90."

He laughs, a strange, almost strangled sound, like his desire is battling with his humor. "I… god, I hope that's right…" and he slides himself slowly into me.

My back arches and I moan my approval, matching his shuddering groan, as he buries himself completely. He's bigger than Tyler, but it doesn't hurt… I just feel more filled up, more complete. He looks at me. "Are you… Is it… okay?" He brushes a strand of hair from my face and I smile softly.

"It's perfect, Michael. It… it doesn't hurt at all. …Make love to me." It isn't a request this time, and he doesn't fight the desire in his eyes anymore.

He kisses me softly, and the passion of the kiss grows as he slowly begins to move within me. When we're both gasping for breath, he tears his lips away, burying his face in my neck, my name slipping from his lips like a prayer.

Through my delirium, and the growing intensity, my eyes catch the clock on the wall above his television: 12:06. I'm nineteen.