Disclaimer: I don't own them.
A/N: So, chances are this is the last chapter I'll have up until Friday night-ish. I'm gonna try to get one up tonight, but if I don't, then it will be Friday... :)
Sooo, in the mean time, enjoy, and if I don't get another one up... Happy Thanksgiving!
Chapter 7: Fantasy
I couldn't say that working with Sara became routine… I got used to seeing her every night, in the lab, in the break room, in the garages… but even without proximity, she unsettled me. I felt like, prior to Sara being constantly present, I had viewed the world through sleepy, half-closed eyes, my mind clouded.
Of course, this wasn't true… but now everything seemed brighter, sharper, more defined. This wasn't necessarily a good thing—I found that when the occasional migraine gripped me, the symptoms were harder to deal with—even the most minimal sound or light seemed to penetrate me.
I figured it was best to keep her off of cases with Warrick, for a while at least… until things had cooled down. Yet she and Catherine seemed to be on edge with each other too… though it wasn't a constant thing, like Sara's friendly but somewhat distant treatment of Warrick. I was never certain, on a given day, how the women would react to each other.
This meant that she worked a lot of cases with me and Nick and on her own… which bothered Nick and Warrick, I could just tell. The working alone part… to work solo on a serious case, like a rape or a murder, obviously implied a lot of trust on the part of the person handing out assignments… me. I had the excuse, of course, that she'd been a level 3 for much longer… but I never had to use it, because neither brought their concerns to me.
Still though, she and Nick seemed to have found an easy camaraderie, which wasn't entirely surprising. Despite Sara's somewhat-hippie-like ways—she had grown up in California, after all—and the clash you would expect them to have with Nick's traditional upbringing—Texas, born and raised—they were both quite kind-hearted, empathetic, and devoted to the job and justice… and they were young. They would probably have a lot in common. They playfully bantered about that which they didn't agree on, and were otherwise very…compatible.
Compatible, and flirtatious. …I had viewed Sara's flirtations, when directed at me, as exciting and alluring… when they became her coping mechanism and mask, I found it almost calming, and certainly endearing… watching them directed at Nick… and at Greg… well, I didn't like them so much anymore.
If it were anything less than one of the most basic aspects of her personality, at least in social situations, I could have been mad at her for it. …But, of course, I wasn't. In truth, there were a lot of things I realized I now found maddeningly infuriating about the woman, yet I couldn't bring myself to hold them against her.
The way she raised just one eyebrow and the sly look in her eye when she made offhanded comments about sex, especially in reference to a case… which was surprisingly often.
The way she puckered her lips just slightly—almost a twitch—when she was amused… or challenging someone playfully.
The way her eyes darted around a scene the minute she entered, as if she could not focus on one thing or even allow herself a slow sweep…
The way she drank her coffee—with so much sugar you wondered why she drank coffee at all—as if it were the only thing keeping her going.
The way she could remember details read as well or better than myself, and did not hesitate to prove it… much to the chagrin of the others on the team.
The way she smiled differently at Greg—not even romantically, which was a relief to me, but as if he provided her with something that no one else could. Not even me.
The way she could quote things I'd said over a year previous as if it had only been seconds, citing me in casual conversation the way I referenced great thinkers…
Needless to say, I spent as much of my day analyzing the things she had said and done—each insignificant movement and smile and quirk—as I spent on my caseloads… which, I determined, was not altogether a good thing. I should not be replaying that day in the garage, imagining taking Sara there on the truck seat, her hands taped to the handle above the inside of the door, each of us struggling to keep quiet to avoid the prying ears of everyone else in the lab, just through a doorway…
Of course, this isn't something I would ever do… but that was the point of fantasy, right?
Because the more I thought about her, the more I realized that she was my fantasy… brown curls that danced with flecks of red and even gold, deep, chocolate brown eyes that never failed to pierce through me, a slender body that made me feel more masculine, because I was not a large nor impressive man myself yet she was small and lithe when pressed against me, and which enthralled me more than any other woman's had… a brain that challenged me to no end, and a heart which far surpassed me on a daily basis, and a laugh that made me feel as though I had never suffered a day in my life… a laugh that, when sincere, made me certain there was a God, despite every doubt I'd ever had my whole life long.
But fantasies could be dangerous.
Especially if they were of the forbidden variety.
Good. Great. I'm glad I thought of it that way…
Now Sara is forbidden fruit.
Wonderful.
…I had never been a man with a particularly insatiable sexual appetite, and yet I found myself requiring an extra few minutes in the shower on a daily basis, simply to keep myself sane and my mind focused on anything but her.
…Maybe I shouldn't have asked Sara to come to Vegas. I truly loved seeing her every day, learning her expressions and the nuances of her movements that I hadn't noticed before now… but I was certainly no closer to getting over her. In fact, I fell a little further for her every day, and yet… there were now more reasons why I couldn't have her.
And that was probably good. I wasn't certain if I could stay away, long-term, with her there every day, just by my own will power…
There's a reason why fantasies are not reality. You don't ever really get hurt in a fantasy. Reality with Sara Sidle, I had learned all too well, was painful.
