Fic Post - Courage
Title: Courage
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Nick/Sara
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don’t sue.
Summary: Post Dead Ringer. They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing.
A/N: Sequel to Luck. Part two of either three or four.
The invitation was anything but unexpected. Six days before Greg’s birthday and he wanted to know who would join him on the night. “Come on, guys,” he wheedled. “You’ve been doubling up for the last three days. Take a break.”
He wasn’t lying. The shin splints might be long gone, but spillover from the Desert Relay still had them swamped. “That’s because we have a backlog, Greg,” Sara sighed. “We’ve been pulling doubles just to get caught up.”
“Cops come to town and the crime rate goes up.” Nick grinned. “Figures, huh?”
“All the more reason to have a night off.” Greg gave them his most winning smile. “Come back with a fresh mind.”
“Fresh mind?” Warrick snorted derisively. “Yeah, picture that.”
Sara hid a grin. “Look, Greg, we’ll see,” she said as noncommittally as possible. “If we have a quiet week, we should be able to get through some of this by Wednesday.”
+++
“So what do you think?” She asked Nick on Wednesday morning. “Greg’s party?”
He closed his locker and leaned against it. “Still haven’t closed that convenience store robbery.”
“No,” Sara shrugged, “but we’ve already processed the scene, and those print results could take awhile to come through.”
“Whoa, you feeling okay, Sara?” Nick laughed. “You’re actually taking your scheduled night off when there’s an open case?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, well, it’s important to Greg. Warrick couldn’t trade shifts and the bar isn’t really Grissom’s thing.”
Nick nodded and Sara kept her face carefully neutral. They’d barely mentioned Grissom since that January night at Lucky Kelly’s when Sara, still hurt and angry, had repeated what she’d heard outside the interview room: Grissom, telling a murderer that as far as he was concerned, Sara wasn’t worth the risk. He hadn’t really said it, of course, but that had been what she’d heard. That had been what Sara had told Nick, too, after two hours and four gin-and-tonics.
Nick had done exactly what Sara might have expected, exactly what any gentleman and friend would have done: Told her that Grissom was a damned fool, then started in on a string of compliments that would have been flattering if he’d actually meant them. Sara had listened to about twenty words before cutting him off with a remark about gin bringing out the truth. Thankfully, Nick had taken the hint and changed the subject.
“It’s okay,” she said as Nick hesitated, still leaning against his locker. “Water under the bridge.”
He bought it and grinned, relieved. “Then I’ll see you tonight.”
“Yeah.” Sara watched him go, then turned to open her own locker. The magnetic mirror was useful, but it could also be a pain in the ass. Liar, her reflection accused. Not really, she told it, wishing she didn’t look so defensive.
Debbie Marlin had been buried months ago, and, though not officially closed, the case was long over. The story Sara told herself was that she was over the whole thing too. Over Grissom? Her reflection asked. Yes, she insisted, that’s over too.
It was, in a way. She’d given Grissom plenty of chances, and he’d finally made it clear that he wouldn’t be taking her up on them. She was over that. What still hurt was that he hadn’t respected her enough to at least tell her that he couldn’t bring himself to take the chance. That she’d heard him tell Debbie’s killer instead. Well, she told her reflection, that just makes me even more certain. I’m over him.
She closed the locker.
+++
The party was good. Greg had surprisingly good taste in bars, Nick thought, scanning the crowd for Sara, who had vanished somewhere with one of Greg's friends. Catherine was dancing with a man she’d introduced simply as Chris. If he were to be honest, Nick thought the guy was a little sketchy, but Catherine seemed to know what she was doing, so he held his tongue.
The song ended and Sara reappeared, flushed and grinning widely. “Hey there, wallflower.”
Nick grinned. Six months ago, the thought of Sara dancing at a bar with one of Greg’s crazy buddies would have been completely alien, but he’d discovered recently that she knew how to party when she wanted to. “Come to rescue me?”
“Let me catch my breath,” she said, picking up the drink she’d left on the table under Nick’s supervision. “This still safe?”
“If you think something called Red Death is safe, yeah.”
Sara smiled, the purse-lipped smile that told Nick she really was enjoying herself, and sipped at her drink.
It was a little before three when Sara wished Greg one last happy birthday and said she’d call her cab outside in the fresh air. Nick watched her make her way to the door on less-than-steady feet, and excused himself to follow her. Because she wasn’t sober, he said, and it would be a few minutes before the cab came, and God knew who was out there.
Right. If it came to that, Nick wasn’t sober, either.
He found her leaning against the wall, head back, eyes closed. Another thing he’d discovered recently was just how long Sara’s legs really were.
Shit. Noticing now wouldn’t help.
She opened her eyes as he approached. “I said I was fine, Nick.”
“I know.” He joined her, leaning against the wall. “It’s warm in there. I could do with some air too.”
She didn’t buy it, but didn’t argue either. “Good party, huh?”
“Yeah. Greg had fun.”
Sara turned her head toward him. “Did you?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad.”
They were silent for awhile. Sara leaned back and closed her eyes again. Headlights from passing cars played across the wall. Nick watched for the cab.
She opened her eyes and found Nick watching her instead. He looked away quickly, then glanced back. “Cab should be here soon.”
Sara nodded and turned, leaning now with one shoulder against the bricks. “Yeah. Any minute.”
Nick couldn’t have said which of them moved. Maybe they both did. There was a citrus taste on Sara’s lips, left by whatever it was she’d been drinking last.
“Well,” she said softly, eyes fixed on Nick’s collar.
“Yeah.” Nick waited for her to go on. “So,” he said when she didn’t, “now what?”
Sara looked up, lips pressed together. “Now,” she glanced at the road, “my cab’s here. So, I’ll see you.”
“Right.” He watched her push off the wall. “Goodnight, Sara.”
She was halfway across the sidewalk when she turned back and this time Nick knew that it was Sara who kissed him, briefly, at the corner of his mouth. “Goodnight,” she said, and disappeared into the cab before he could do more than blink after her.
The cab turned the corner and was gone.
Continued here.
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Nick/Sara
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don’t sue.
Summary: Post Dead Ringer. They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing.
A/N: Sequel to Luck. Part two of either three or four.
The invitation was anything but unexpected. Six days before Greg’s birthday and he wanted to know who would join him on the night. “Come on, guys,” he wheedled. “You’ve been doubling up for the last three days. Take a break.”
He wasn’t lying. The shin splints might be long gone, but spillover from the Desert Relay still had them swamped. “That’s because we have a backlog, Greg,” Sara sighed. “We’ve been pulling doubles just to get caught up.”
“Cops come to town and the crime rate goes up.” Nick grinned. “Figures, huh?”
“All the more reason to have a night off.” Greg gave them his most winning smile. “Come back with a fresh mind.”
“Fresh mind?” Warrick snorted derisively. “Yeah, picture that.”
Sara hid a grin. “Look, Greg, we’ll see,” she said as noncommittally as possible. “If we have a quiet week, we should be able to get through some of this by Wednesday.”
+++
“So what do you think?” She asked Nick on Wednesday morning. “Greg’s party?”
He closed his locker and leaned against it. “Still haven’t closed that convenience store robbery.”
“No,” Sara shrugged, “but we’ve already processed the scene, and those print results could take awhile to come through.”
“Whoa, you feeling okay, Sara?” Nick laughed. “You’re actually taking your scheduled night off when there’s an open case?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, well, it’s important to Greg. Warrick couldn’t trade shifts and the bar isn’t really Grissom’s thing.”
Nick nodded and Sara kept her face carefully neutral. They’d barely mentioned Grissom since that January night at Lucky Kelly’s when Sara, still hurt and angry, had repeated what she’d heard outside the interview room: Grissom, telling a murderer that as far as he was concerned, Sara wasn’t worth the risk. He hadn’t really said it, of course, but that had been what she’d heard. That had been what Sara had told Nick, too, after two hours and four gin-and-tonics.
Nick had done exactly what Sara might have expected, exactly what any gentleman and friend would have done: Told her that Grissom was a damned fool, then started in on a string of compliments that would have been flattering if he’d actually meant them. Sara had listened to about twenty words before cutting him off with a remark about gin bringing out the truth. Thankfully, Nick had taken the hint and changed the subject.
“It’s okay,” she said as Nick hesitated, still leaning against his locker. “Water under the bridge.”
He bought it and grinned, relieved. “Then I’ll see you tonight.”
“Yeah.” Sara watched him go, then turned to open her own locker. The magnetic mirror was useful, but it could also be a pain in the ass. Liar, her reflection accused. Not really, she told it, wishing she didn’t look so defensive.
Debbie Marlin had been buried months ago, and, though not officially closed, the case was long over. The story Sara told herself was that she was over the whole thing too. Over Grissom? Her reflection asked. Yes, she insisted, that’s over too.
It was, in a way. She’d given Grissom plenty of chances, and he’d finally made it clear that he wouldn’t be taking her up on them. She was over that. What still hurt was that he hadn’t respected her enough to at least tell her that he couldn’t bring himself to take the chance. That she’d heard him tell Debbie’s killer instead. Well, she told her reflection, that just makes me even more certain. I’m over him.
She closed the locker.
+++
The party was good. Greg had surprisingly good taste in bars, Nick thought, scanning the crowd for Sara, who had vanished somewhere with one of Greg's friends. Catherine was dancing with a man she’d introduced simply as Chris. If he were to be honest, Nick thought the guy was a little sketchy, but Catherine seemed to know what she was doing, so he held his tongue.
The song ended and Sara reappeared, flushed and grinning widely. “Hey there, wallflower.”
Nick grinned. Six months ago, the thought of Sara dancing at a bar with one of Greg’s crazy buddies would have been completely alien, but he’d discovered recently that she knew how to party when she wanted to. “Come to rescue me?”
“Let me catch my breath,” she said, picking up the drink she’d left on the table under Nick’s supervision. “This still safe?”
“If you think something called Red Death is safe, yeah.”
Sara smiled, the purse-lipped smile that told Nick she really was enjoying herself, and sipped at her drink.
It was a little before three when Sara wished Greg one last happy birthday and said she’d call her cab outside in the fresh air. Nick watched her make her way to the door on less-than-steady feet, and excused himself to follow her. Because she wasn’t sober, he said, and it would be a few minutes before the cab came, and God knew who was out there.
Right. If it came to that, Nick wasn’t sober, either.
He found her leaning against the wall, head back, eyes closed. Another thing he’d discovered recently was just how long Sara’s legs really were.
Shit. Noticing now wouldn’t help.
She opened her eyes as he approached. “I said I was fine, Nick.”
“I know.” He joined her, leaning against the wall. “It’s warm in there. I could do with some air too.”
She didn’t buy it, but didn’t argue either. “Good party, huh?”
“Yeah. Greg had fun.”
Sara turned her head toward him. “Did you?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad.”
They were silent for awhile. Sara leaned back and closed her eyes again. Headlights from passing cars played across the wall. Nick watched for the cab.
She opened her eyes and found Nick watching her instead. He looked away quickly, then glanced back. “Cab should be here soon.”
Sara nodded and turned, leaning now with one shoulder against the bricks. “Yeah. Any minute.”
Nick couldn’t have said which of them moved. Maybe they both did. There was a citrus taste on Sara’s lips, left by whatever it was she’d been drinking last.
“Well,” she said softly, eyes fixed on Nick’s collar.
“Yeah.” Nick waited for her to go on. “So,” he said when she didn’t, “now what?”
Sara looked up, lips pressed together. “Now,” she glanced at the road, “my cab’s here. So, I’ll see you.”
“Right.” He watched her push off the wall. “Goodnight, Sara.”
She was halfway across the sidewalk when she turned back and this time Nick knew that it was Sara who kissed him, briefly, at the corner of his mouth. “Goodnight,” she said, and disappeared into the cab before he could do more than blink after her.
The cab turned the corner and was gone.
Continued here.