Disclaimer: I don't own them.
A/N: We're getting close! ...Let me know what you think! As always, thanks for the reviews! :)
Chapter 29: Dating
The rest of the conference was… strange. I can't say I wasn't rattled by Sara's nightmare—before she woke, she had been screaming incoherently, so loudly I felt certain she would wake the others in the house, about a myriad of things I didn't understand. Something about dust, and her mother, and not being crazy, and maggots, and the kitchen table. …I was pretty sure I'd heard my name as well, but then it was hard to understand her through her screaming and her wildly thrashing limbs.
And when she finally woke, it seemed to take her several seconds to even realize she was awake, and she was not the rational and slightly embarrassed woman who had woken from a nightmare the Christmas before last—she was a shuddering, shaking, inconsolable mass of grief and fear. It scared me.
When we woke the next morning, I tried to pretend that nothing had happened, because Sara had taught me that this was her preferred method of dealing with things, and she seemed to appreciate it. Kelly's eyes at breakfast were a little too aware for me to think she hadn't woken to hear Sara's screams, but she didn't say anything. They'd been roommates, in college… maybe she'd been witness to her share of nightmares.
And we talked, through the rest of the week—a lunch break here, coffee after or in between lectures—but it was different. I felt like, in refusing her that night… in denying her a physical escape from her pain into my arms… I had put a wall between us. It was not obvious; she still talked to me, smiled at me, drew in a quick breath whenever we accidentally came into contact with one another, however minor and platonic the action might be. But there was a distance there.
And she flirted with me—shamelessly. It felt like the first day we'd met, when she'd told me she liked sex on the beach, but insincere. There was a false bravado, if Sara could ever be accused of bravado. It almost felt like the flirting was part of the distancing—part of a façade I had never realized she could pull out and apply so seamlessly that I wasn't sure, at any given moment, if she was being honest and open with me or guarded and reserved.
It made me miss the Sara I had thought I didn't like, compared to my Sara—tense shoulders, unsure how to speak, second-guessing constantly. I realized now that that was everyone else's Sara and the first one I'd met had been reserved just for me… and Kelly. And this one, the newest—she was the Sara of uncomfortable situations… the Sara pretending not to be afraid. She was a lie… convincing and charming, but still completely false. She was even a little Kelly-like… but toned down, and without the genuineness.
Still, the lie made the relationship easier. I was no longer worried that she was going to kiss me, or try to convince me to be with her… for some reason the flirting seemed to promise that, despite the contradiction in such a concept. And I relaxed—sometimes I flirted back, even. Much easier.
We even shared another dinner, in the airport, before our flights left. We each paid for our own half, automatically… without even discussing it. That seemed like a sign; it was really and truly over—and maybe we could be friends, like I had told her we would be all that time ago. I liked the idea of a non-threatening Sara in my life again… a Sara who could make me smile and fill me with that light that only she possessed, without constantly tempting me back to what I knew could only bring pain and anger and regret.
But I determined, upon my return to Vegas, that I needed to actively date. If I was talking to her again, I couldn't let myself get caught up in her… I couldn't let myself feel like she was the only woman in the world to me, again, because then she stopped being non-threatening. It was a decision made for self-preservation's sake entirely, and it was more than necessary.
It was an active effort, on my part, to look at women as potential love interests—but the more I did this, the easier it became. Almost like it was natural, again.
I asked Charlotte—one of our fingerprint techs—out in the end of June. I didn't know very much about the woman—we were casual acquaintances, at work, but talked more about cases than about our personal lives. I asked her out because she had very sensual brown locks and a very straight-forward nature… she wouldn't be a woman who would play games or expect me to read between lines of fine print in a relationship. If a relationship ever occurred…
I was still receiving fliers for local art and theatre events and, not knowing the woman well, I decided that the easiest thing was simply to take her to one of their events. The problem was that Bill Clinton had, earlier in the month, declared June "Gay Pride Month." …Most of the productions were, therefore, centered around that theme. Theatre, in general, was nothing if not proud, after all.
I had actually been quite intrigued with some of the productions, when the flier arrived… but I didn't know this woman. I could hardly take her to a drag show or a play centered around the lives of homosexual individuals if she was… conservative. The only other production in the entire month was… interesting. It was the Wizard of Oz performed to the music of Pink Floyd. I thought it could be rather enlightened… or a dismal failure… but it was about all I had.
…I wasn't good at this dating thing—it seemed like with most of the women I'd dated, everything had come easily and naturally, with both of us deciding almost spontaneously what the night would entail. …I had only a little experience planning dates out ahead of time, especially for women I hardly knew.
…Needless to say it was an abysmal failure. The production hadn't been executed well, though by the look on her face when we left, she wouldn't have enjoyed it either way—which was sad, because dinner had been nice. To my extreme disbelief and surprise, I'm pretty sure she still wanted me to kiss her at her door, at the end of the night… but I wasn't really ready for that.
I smiled, and hugged her, and wished her good night… and made my escape. Hopefully she would just think I was old fashioned, waiting for the third date… after tonight, I was certain we wouldn't have a second date, much less a third.
…Still, I would keep dating… keep myself open to dating, anyway… I had to.
In the meantime, I broke down and dug out the terrarium, investing in an orange-kneed tarantula... this is weird, but it made me think of Sara… in a good way. And he was really rather gentle—granted, most tarantulas are, but in my mind, he was especially so.
…I named him 'Stevie' because when Laura and I had told Amber we couldn't get a puppy, shortly after we first moved in together, she had instead had an imaginary puppy… like an imaginary friend, but furrier, I suppose. I don't know where she got the name, but she called her puppy Stevie… and it stuck with me.
Within a week, Warrick had started calling him "Little Stevie" rather affectionately… but never when he was out of his terrarium. It was probably only because he was upset that Nick had named my fetal pig "Miss Piggy" before he could offer a name… I pretended to find this behavior childish, but it was endearing. It made me feel… paternal.
I was beginning to realize that this was a feeling I liked—that a part of me had missed being a father, in addition to missing the children I'd lost. It came with a pang of pain and grief, but it was still a pleasant feeling, and I would have felt guilty if there weren't some suffering involved—but maybe that was just the residual catholic in me.
Jim, for his part, didn't comment on anything in my office, as a rule. He had been rather angry, as of late—he was upset he'd had to make quite a few new hires, but in truth, we needed the help, especially in the lab. I often found Greg working trace, DNA, and doing the paperwork for the other assorted labs, just to help us keep up. …I lightened up on Greg, a little, once I realized how much he was putting into this job… I had really been rather unfair to him.
And we were getting a new CSI in August—I didn't have the time to agonize over how it should be Sara we hired, because it was basically decided for us. A lieutenant in the traffic division had a daughter who'd graduated from UNLV and would be fresh out of the academy in August, and apparently she'd cashed in a few favors throughout the department, because Jim acted like he didn't have a choice in the matter of hiring her.
We did need another CSI—the murder rate had been increasing at an alarming rate, and we were hardly keeping up with our cases—but I was reluctant to take a rookie we knew nothing about onto a team filled with the best forensic minds in the country… to give this… Holly Gribbs… a job that seasoned CSIs around the country would spend their entire careers working towards. But I wasn't angry at the girl for it, the way Jim was.
I just hoped she was up to the challenge.
