CSI LV: Dinner and a Movie (Swarrick)

(thanks for reading, everyone!)

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Disclaimer: I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

Title: All Around Stupidity

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The Sun City Diner

“Can I get y’all something else to drink?” Jennifer asked, walking back over to their table, her pencil now tucked securely behind one ear.

“No, thank you,” Sara quietly replied, her eyes still riveted to Warrick’s face. “What are you saying?” she whispered to him, before their waitress even had the chance to leave the table. “I mean… you’re talking about Catherine, right? You loved Catherine, when you proposed to Tina?” He can’t possibly mean me, I don’t think. Although… why would he be telling me any of this, if his words didn’t relate to me?

Warrick nervously cleared his throat, drumming his fingers on the table in slight embarrassment. “Well actually, I was referring to—”

“Hey! What are you guys doing here?” Greg’s voice loudly came from across the room, as he quickly covered the distance between his own table and theirs.

You, Sara, Warrick finished his thought. “Hey, Greggo,” he said aloud.

“Are you having lunch without me?” Greg continued, trying to sit down beside Sara, and forcing her to slide further into the booth.

Sara opened her mouth to reply to Greg, before immediately shutting it, and staring at the wall next to her. Good timing as always, Greg, she frowned.

“What’s going on?” Greg raised an eyebrow, glancing first at Sara’s dubious expression, and then at Warrick’s anxious one. “Am I interrupting something? Is this a date?”

“What? No, of course it isn’t a date, Greggo,” Warrick immediately told him. “No, not at all; Sara and I just ran into each other at the movie theater, and we decided to grab some food. What are you doing here, though?”

“I’m out on a date with the lovely Lucy, from Days,” Greg grinned, placing both of his hands on the table in front of himself. “So if you two will excuse me, I have a beautiful woman to go entertain!”

Warrick chuckled, nodding, as Greg stood up to leave. “Well good luck, man.”

“I don’t need any luck,” Greg shot back, bounding out of the booth in youthful exuberance. Glancing over his shoulder once more at Warrick and Sara, however, he bit his lip, holding back a smirk. If that isn’t a date, then I don’t know what is!

Once Greg was out of earshot, Sara let out the breath that she had been holding, raising her gaze to meet Warrick’s. “So, what were you saying?” she hesitantly whispered, her voice barely audible over the clanging coming from the diner’s kitchen. Who were you in love with? she really wanted to ask him.

“I, uh, damn,” Warrick swore under his breath. “I wasn’t saying anything, Sara,” he mumbled.

“Yes you were,” she cautiously reminded him. “You were telling me about how you loved someone else, when you got married to Tina. Were you talking about… me?” she swallowed. If it isn’t Catherine, then it has to be me… right?

“You? Hell, no,” Warrick anxiously chuckled, running a nervous hand through his hair. Damn, she’s good. And she’s on to me.

“Oh,” Sara frowned, staring down at the rest of her grilled cheese sandwich, her soggy French fries, and her cold tomato soup, no longer hungry. Turning a deep shade of red, Sara embarrassingly muttered, “I’m sorry, then. I just—” This is unbelievably awkward. Nice going, Sara! What would make you think that Warrick could ever be interested in you? I mean, what do you have to offer him? And now that you’ve ruined a perfectly good meal, go find a way to get the hell out of here.

Warrick squinted, peering across the table at her. “Are you okay? You look a little bit unhappy right now.” Actually, you look down right disappointed. What would you have said to me, had I told you that I was in love with you? Would you have immediately shot me down? Because damn, girl, you’re way too good for me.

Sara slowly bobbed her head up and down, plastering a fake smile on her face. “Of course I’m okay,” she told him, pushing her half-eaten lunch away from herself. “But I think I need to leave.”

“Wait a minute, girl, why?” Warrick quietly asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

Sara carefully slid out of the booth, quickly getting to her feet. “I just,” she swallowed. “I forgot about a music lesson that I have,” she lied, no longer meeting his gaze. “So I should probably leave right now, in order to make my appointment on time.”

Warrick furrowed his eyebrows, studying Sara’s expression. “You don’t really have a music lesson, do you?” he quizzically asked her. You’re running away from something; from me? Damn, Warrick. Just tell her the truth! Tell her that you love her! What the hell is wrong with you?

“Yes, I do,” Sara nodded her head yes, trying to assure him of the fact that she wasn’t willingly leaving the diner. Still refusing to meet his gaze, and her face bright red, she pulled a crumpled ten dollar bill out of her pocket in order to pay for both of their meals, setting it down on the table in front of him. “Thanks for having lunch with me, though, and I’ll, uh, talk to you later,” she added, hurrying out of the diner without another glance at him.

“Sara?” Greg called out, seeing her rush past him. But Sara didn’t stop to talk to him, either.

“Damn,” Warrick muttered under his breath. “Way to ruin everything, Warrick. Way to ruin everything.”

Moments later, the waitress returned to the table, flashing him a flirtatious smile. “I don’t normally do this, Sir, but I couldn’t help but notice that you weren’t wearing a wedding band. Here’s my number. Call me, and I’ll show you a good time!!” she grinned, thrusting a little slip of paper into his hand, before sauntering off. Warrick just glanced at the paper, immediately balling it up, and dropping it into his half-filled water glass. “You’ve really done it this time,” he informed himself. “And ain’t that a bitch?”

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The Sidle Residence, earlier that week

Lindsey Conte was dead, her killer was still roaming the streets, and in Sara’s mind, she herself was the sole reason that the case was still unsolved.

Last week, Lindsey Conte was found bludgeoned to death outside of her home, in Henderson, Nevada. Killed during a particularly busy shift, Grissom made a supervisory decision, and asked Sara to go solo on the case. At first, Sara was ecstatic about the prospect of working alone; she rarely had the opportunity to do so, and it meant a lot to her that Grissom trusted her enough to allow her to work a scene by herself.

But before long, her enthusiasm quickly turned to frustration, as she realized that the case was much more difficult than it seemed like it would be, at first glance.

Arriving at the Conte home, Sara swallowed, trying to take in everything; overwhelmed by the sheer volume of evidence that she would be forced to collect, she immediately got to work, taking swab after swab of blood, semen, saliva, and other substances found throughout the home. But no matter how much evidence Sara continued to collect, she couldn’t help but think that she was still missing something important.

And she was. Regardless of how much evidence Sara collected over the course of the next two days, everything kept pointing right back toward the victim, rather than toward a suspect. Despite the amount of trace present in the Conte home, Sara was unable to find anything to help Brass collar a perp. Yet.

So in Sara’s mind, she missed something key; her inability to solve the murder in the short time span of a couple of days proved her incompetence, and her incompetence contributed to allowing a killer to run free through the streets of Las Vegas, even though she knew that she was far from giving up.

After Grissom forced Sara to go home for the night in order to get some rest, she stopped at a corner liquor store, purchasing herself a six-pack of beer. Returning to her apartment, she set the cans down on the kitchen table, staring at them, through half-closed, and extremely tired eyes. “It’s been awhile,” she commented to herself, licking her lips at the site of the condensation sliding down the outside of the cans. “It’s been a long while, actually. But this time, I really need a drink; I need to feel numb, so that I don’t think about this case.”

Frowning, Sara leaned back in her chair, gingerly pulling one of the cans out of the pack, and holding it in between her hands. “What a day,” she sighed to herself, pulling back the tab to open the drink, and setting the can itself back down on the table, without even bothering to take a swig from it. “In fact, what a week this has been. If I had been able to find that extra piece of evidence at the Conte household by now, her killer would already be behind bars, rather than on the street somewhere. So just in case there is any doubt in your mind, Sara Sidle,” she continued to berate herself. “This is all your fault; Lindsey Conte died, and you are single-handedly allowing her killer to walk free. Congratulations, and job well done.”

Standing up, and slowly moving toward the kitchen counter, Sara dejectedly flicked on the radio, screwing her eyes tightly shut, while trying to massage her neck. “Grissom never should have let you process the scene alone, anyhow. He should have realized that you just aren’t as smart as Nick or Warrick; hell, even Greg is surpassing you in the intellectual arena,” she informed herself. “And Catherine is in a league all of her own; I bet you she could have solved this case days ago, unlike yourself. But no, Grissom assigned you, of all people, to solve this thing,” she bitterly chuckled. “And you’re missing something critical; I know you are. Excellent job, Sara, and again, congratulations.”

With a heavy sigh, Sara meandered back to the table, grabbing the five unopened cans of beer in one hand, and the opened can in her other. Gingerly carrying all six containers to the living room, she threw herself down on the couch, resting her feet on one of the pillows, and setting the beer down on the coffee table beside her. “Maybe you shouldn’t be a criminalist after all,” she shrugged, once again picking up the opened can, although still not taking a sip from it. “Because you sure as hell obviously can’t do your job.”

All of a sudden, the opening strain of “Hotel California,” by the Eagles, wafted into the room from the radio located in the kitchen, calming Sara’s frayed nerves. “What are you doing to yourself?” she frowned, setting the untouched beer back down on the coffee table, and reaching for the phone. “You need to call someone, before you do something stupid, and even more self destructive.” Taking a deep breath, Sara dialed Warrick’s number, hoping that he would have a couple of minutes to talk to her. He’s a good friend, and friends are hard to come by, she thought to herself, waiting for someone—anyone—to answer the phone.

Moments later, a woman’s voice filled her ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, Tina?” Sara cautiously asked. “This is Sara Sidle; I work with Warrick. Is he home, by any chance?”

“…No,” Tina hesitantly replied. “He’s… away right now.”

“Oh, okay,” Sara frowned. “Please let him know that I called,” she added, before hanging up. Sighing at the phone, Sara then called the only other person who could help her get through the night, without drinking: Jim Brass.

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The Sun City Diner

So, Warrick mused to himself, once again ignoring the rest of the diner’s patrons. You should probably go after her, right? She only ran away from you because you announced to Greg that you were not on a date with her, and then chuckled at her, telling her that you were not in love with her… even though you really are. You have to find a way to make this right, Warrick. Go, he ordered himself, before quickly sliding out of the booth, pocketing Sara’s ten dollar bill in order to give it back to her later, and then jogging up to the cash register to pay for the meal. “See you later, Greggo,” he called over his shoulder to his colleague, rushing out of the door in the hopes of catching Sara before she had the chance to leave the parking lot.

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Sara’s car, in the diner’s parking lot

Idiot; you are an absolute idiot, and you made such a fool of yourself, Sara yelled at herself, as hot, angry tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. “Got damn it,” she muttered under her breath in hurt frustration, peeling out of the diner’s parking lot. Lost in her own world, Sara did not even notice Warrick running out of the diner, waving his arms at her to try to get her to stop, and screaming her name.

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TO BE CONTINUED
 
Damn it - you and quoth kill me y'know - you're absolutely freakin amazing. I really really need more now! lol. Keep writing, I'm still speechless with your talent!

lovelove
Xx Mia-Sara xX
 
How did I miss all of these comments? Geesh! Thank you, Cordelia. I appreciate that! You're really kind!

QTR, I wasn't planning on her hitting him--in fact, the idea never even crossed my mind, but... hmmm! Interesting idea!

melbel, thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying the story!
 
I've already r&r this over at ff.net, but it's so beautiful that I can't help reading it again and again and again... Great job, update soon!
 
Aww, thank you so much! That really (really!) made my day. I hope the future chapters can live up to the first couple of ones!
 
(thank you, as always, for all of your comments and reviews! I hope you enjoy this new chapter!)

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Disclaimer: I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

Title: Tears

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The Sun City Diner Parking Lot

Tightly grasping the steering wheel in both hands, and her gaze unwavering from the road, Sara sped past Warrick, her brain never registering the fact that she had almost hit him. I can’t believe that you said anything to him. Damn it, Sara. You should have just kept your mouth shut! What’s wrong with you? Damn it, damn it, damn it. I need a drink! First the case, and now this; I know that we’re not talking about life and death here, but damn it. God damn it! She continued to scream at herself, as she made a right out of the parking lot, heading back toward her own home, and toward five waiting cans of beer.

Back at the diner, Warrick growled in frustration, running an angry hand through his hair. “Damn, I shouldn’t have let you leave,” he muttered under his breath, following her speeding car with his eyes. “Where are you going, Sara?” he quietly asked. “Where are you running to? Are you going home?”

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The Sidle Residence, earlier that week

“Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up,” Sara quietly chanted to herself, as she leaned her head against the back of the couch. “Really, please pick—”

“Brass,” her friend’s gruff voice immediately announced.

Sara’s voice hitched in her throat, as her words suddenly failed her.

“Hello?” Brass repeated, a hint of annoyance seeping into his voice. “If this is a sales call, I’m not interested,” he muttered, preparing to hang up. You damn sales people never give it a rest.

“Jim?” Sara hesitantly spoke up, blinking back several tears.

“… Sara?” he asked, the annoyance instantly turning into fatherly concern.

“Hi,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, and trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill over; but for some reason, the sound of Brass’s voice was causing all of her body’s defenses to begin to crumble.

“Sara, what’s wrong? Where are you?” Brass kindly asked, taking note of the tone of her voice; something was certainly wrong.

“I… I’m home, and nothing is wrong. I’m staring at six cans of beer, but everything is okay,” she unconvincingly told him, sniffling. “But what are you doing right now?”

“What am I doing right now?” he repeated her question.

“Yes,” Sara trailed off, swallowing.

“Right now, I’m on my way over to your place. I’ll be there in ten,” he informed her, hanging up the phone.

Setting the phone back down on the coffee table, Sara tucked her legs underneath her body, staring at the beer. “You look so inviting,” she mumbled to the cans. “And I really want to take a sip; one sip can’t be that bad for me, right?” she asked, reaching toward the open can, but freezing. “What are you doing, Sara? You can’t drink it... you know better than that.”

Just as Sara was about to restart the battle over the beer with herself, she heard firm knocking on her front door. Hesitantly uncurling her legs, she groaned, slowly walking out of the living room and toward the door. Peering through the peep hole, she sighed, flinging the door wide open for Brass. “You didn’t have to come, you know,” she uneasily told him by way of greeting.

“No, I didn’t,” he agreed with her, stepping past her, and taking a cursory glance around the front hallway.

“I’m fine, you know,” she added, her lower lip starting to quiver.

Brass sighed, not entirely sure what to say. Somehow, over the past six years, Sara had become something like a daughter to him. He loved her like he loved Ellie, and he wanted to do whatever was in his power to make her feel better. “Are you?” he finally asked. “Are you really?”

Sara started to shake her head yes, before changing her mind, and slowly shaking her head no. “I don’t think so,” she whispered, turning around, and heading back toward the couch in the living room. Pointing to the table, she once again sniffled, trying to hold back her tears. “I want to drink, Jim.”

“I can tell,” Brass dryly replied, following her into the living room, and staring down at the table. Taking a seat on the arm chair across from the couch, he clasped his hands in between his legs, and carefully studied Sara’s face. “So what’s going on?” he quietly asked her.

Gently lowering herself back onto the couch, Sara once again tucked her legs underneath her body, her gaze directed at the floor. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, shrugging her shoulders.

Brass scratched his head, trying to figure out how to best respond to Sara; he realized that the wrong words would immediately shut her down, making it more difficult to help her. “Well, I’m glad that you called me, Sara,” he cautiously started to say. “Although I can’t do much to help you, until I know what’s going on.”

“I know,” Sara whispered, as a single tear started to slide down her cheek. “I know you can’t; and I don’t know what I’m expecting you to do, either.”

“Do you want me to pour the beer down the sink?” Brass asked, putting his hands on his knees in order to push himself up and out of the chair.

Sara quickly shook her head no, trying to smile at Brass. I might still need those later, she thought to herself.

“Then do you want me just to listen?” he tried again. Because I’m a cop, Sara; if you are looking for someone to listen to you, I can try my best, but I may not be the best person for this particular job. I’m more of a fixer; I like to actively fix problems, rather than just listen to them. Studying Sara’s face, Brass tried not to frown, at the internal battles that she was obviously fighting.

Still looking at the ground, Sara slowly nodded yes, wrapping her arms more tightly around herself. “It’s the Conte case,” she finally admitted, as she looked up just in time to see him studying her face. “I just feel so overwhelmed. I can’t help her, and it’s making me feel so powerless,” she concluded, as another tear, followed by a third one, and then a fourth one, finally fell down her cheeks. “I don’t know what I’m missing, Jim, and it’s tearing me up inside!’

Brass sighed, leaning back in the chair. “Sara, have you talked to Gil about your concerns? He’s your supervisor; he might actually be able to help you with this, you know.”

Sara vehemently shook her head no, as more hot, stinging tears spilled down her face. “It’s not a problem with my work, Jim; it’s a problem with me. I’M the problem.”

Brass raised an eyebrow, trying to process her statement. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

“I don’t know what I’m trying to say, either,” she mumbled, picking the open can up off of the coffee table, and staring at it. “One tiny sip can’t be that bad, though, right?” she hesitantly asked him, glancing over at Brass as if searching for permission to go ahead and drink her worries away.

“Sara,” Brass cleared his throat. “I’m not going to tell you that it’s okay to drink; in fact, I’m not going to tell you to dump the stuff, either. But I want you to think about this: will you really feel better about yourself, once the alcohol is gone?”

Yes. Yes, I will, she wanted to tell him; but that wasn’t the truth. “No,” she finally conceded, setting the can back down. “No, it won’t,” she mumbled, as she sniffled, her tears slowing down. “But I don’t know what to do about the Conte case.”

“Why don’t you have someone with a fresh pair of eyes take a look at the scene? Nick, or Catherine, maybe? Sometimes we miss things in plain site,” he reminded her.

“What are you trying to say?” Sara whispered, as she started to tremble again. “Are you telling me that I’m so bad at my job, that I am missing the most obvious pieces of evidence?”

Brass again raised an eyebrow, completely confused. What’s really going on here? “No, Sara, I’m not saying that,” he tried to calmly convince her. “But I’ve lost my keys before, only to find them sitting on the table right in front of me. If this case is stressing you out, ask someone to help you; asking for help does not make you a failure,” he pointed out.

Sara hiccupped, wiping the remainder of her tears away with her fingers. “Who said that?” she quietly asked.

“I did, just now,” Brass flashed her a small smile. “So call someone; call any of the CSIs that you work with.”

Sara slowly nodded, as a slight yawn escaped her lips.

“And get some rest. How long have you been up now, anyhow?”

“I pulled a triple,” Sara mumbled. “That’s why Grissom finally sent me home.”

Brass nodded, starting to stand up. “Maybe once you get some sleep, more ideas will come to you,” he added. “Maybe you’re just too tired to think right now.”

Sara rubbed the back of her neck, yawning again. “Perhaps you’re right,” she quietly said, slowly getting to her feet.

“No, don’t get up,” Brass told Sara, watching her as she laid back down on the couch, curling into a tiny ball.

“I’m so tired,” Sara admitted. And lonely.

“I can see that,” Brass quietly replied, as he reached behind the couch for a small blanket, gently draping it over Sara’s prone body. “So get some sleep.”

Sara again nodded, as three days worth of sleepless nights tried to catch up with her.

“Please don’t leave me,” Sara mumbled.

“What?” Brass asked, stopping long enough to stare down at Sara in confusion.

“Please don’t leave me,” she repeated, starting to drift off to sleep. “Friend… alcohol,” she managed to get out, before she finally fell asleep.

Brass slowly nodded, grabbing the beer off of the coffee table, and returning the cans to the kitchen. I’d throw them out for you, Sara, but it isn’t my place to do so. And I’m glad that you consider me a friend, although only you can stop yourself from drinking; I’ll just try to continue to be your friend, he thought to himself, as he reluctantly returned to the living room, once again sitting down in the armchair across from her. Just take care of yourself, kid. I don’t want anything to happen to you; I don’t want anything to happen to you, or to Ellie, for that matter.

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The Sun City Diner Parking Lot

Glancing down the road once more, Warrick ran his fingers through his hair, before making the decision to go after Sara. I don’t really have a choice, do I? he asked himself, before quickly moving toward his car, and glancing up at the sky for a brief moment. You’ve made a real mess of this one, Warrick. You need to go fix it, and you need to go fix it, now. Climbing into his Denali, Warrick pulled out his cell phone, and hit Sara’s speed dial number—number one. “Pick up your phone, Sara,” he mumbled, growling in frustration when he was immediately sent to voicemail. “Sara, it’s me. Call me when you get this message,” he stated, before hanging up. Next, Warrick tried the lab’s main number.

“Las Vegas Crime Lab,” the receptionist greeted him, picking up on the fourth ring.

“Susan, hi,” he tried to smile. Four rings? I’m in a bit of a rush here! “This is CSI Warrick Brown. Has CSI Sara Sidle walked past you, yet?” he calmly asked her.

“No, Warrick. I haven’t seen her all day!” she cheerfully replied.

Warrick sighed. “Okay, well if you see her, please tell her that I’m looking for her,” he muttered, before hanging up. With one final “damn,” he peeled out of the parking lot, heading toward Sara’s home. “That’s the only other place that you’ll run to,” he said, trying to assure himself of that fact. “So that is where you have to be. I know it.”

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The Sidle Residence

The moment that Sara returned home, she tossed her keys on the small table by the door, and quickly walked into the kitchen. Although what occurred at the diner would be fairly minor for most people, Sara had put herself out there, and had felt mortified by what had happened; in her mind, she was not only rejected by Warrick, but her friend, Greg, also knew about it. And if Greg knew, that meant that Lucy knew, which meant that Sandra in accounting would soon know, followed by Cheryl in Personnel, followed by everyone else in the entire lab. By tomorrow morning, everyone would know that Sara Sidle had been rejected by Warrick Brown, and that, coupled with her already perceived failures as a criminalist, was enough to make an already emotional individual feel even more emotional and upset.

“Where are you?” she mumbled to the beer, rummaging around in the refrigerator for the five still unopened cans of the cool liquid. “I should have thrown you out when I had the chance, because now I’m going to drink every single one of you. And more, if I have to,” she continued to rant at the beer. “I’m going to be numb by the end of the night, so help me God!”

Roughly pulling one of the cans out, Sara slammed the refrigerator door shut, pulled the tab on the can, and set the slightly fizzing beverage down on the kitchen countertop. Staring out of the window for a brief moment, she sighed, before rubbing the back of her neck, and slowly heading down the hallway to her bedroom.

Glancing at her closet, Sara quietly took out a pair of sweat pants and an old t-shirt, slipping out of her work garments. “I don’t understand,” she mumbled to herself, donning the new pair of pants. “You didn’t want to drink this morning, so what changed?” she asked herself, bending down to pick up the t-shirt. “Rejection. That’s what happened,” she sniffled, pulling the shirt over her head and shoulders, and dejectedly standing in the middle of her bedroom. No one wants you. Not Hank, not Grissom, not Warrick, not your father. No one wants you, because you’re such a—” she was unable to finish the thought, as a fresh wave of tears started to wrack her body.

Taking a deep breath, Sara allowed her body to shake, as she stumbled toward the living room, her vision blurring from the tears. What the hell is wrong with me? she once again asked herself, throwing herself down onto the couch. Seriously, why the hell am I so depressed? This is insane. Wait a minute, her face froze as a new possibility hit her. What if I AM insane, just like HER? What if that’s wrong with me? She started to cry even harder, wishing that she had had the foresight to bring the beer into the living room with her, before she laid down on the couch. I want to be numb, she licked her lips in desire of the beer that she accidentally left out of arm’s reach. I want to be numb, and I don’t want to feel a thing.

Resting her head against the armrest of the couch, Sara took another deep breath, trying to steady her extremely frayed nerves. Moments later, however, her eyes snapped open, when she heard knocking at her front door. Puzzled, Sara wiped the remainder of the tears from her face, stood up, ran a hand through her disheveled hair, and slowly shuffled toward the door. Glancing through the peep hole, Sara once again froze, when she saw who was standing there.

“C’mon, Sara,” Warrick knocked a bit louder. “I know you’re in there. Please, just open up the door!” he said, the worry very evident in his voice. “Please, we need to talk!” With one of his fists still poised over the door to knock again, Warrick took a step backwards, when he heard the lock turn, and someone start to rattle the doorknob.

Sara anxiously fiddled with the doorknob once more, trying to determine whether or not she really wanted to let Warrick inside of her apartment. It was obvious that she had been crying, and the beer can was still sitting out on the kitchen table. She looked like a mess, and she wasn’t positive if she wanted Warrick to see her in such a state. But at the same time, Sara was well-aware that Warrick would not leave her alone, and that he would not walk away, until he had had a chance to speak with her. So trying to muster up a smile for him, she slowly pulled the door wide open, stepping aside so that he could pass by her.

When the door was open enough for Warrick to slip into the apartment, he hesitantly did so, his eyes widening, when he took in Sara’s appearance. “Damn, girl,” he whispered, immediately noticing her tear-stained face. “What’s going on?” he quietly asked. Because I know that this can’t all be because of me… can it?

Anxiously shifting from foot to foot, Warrick’s question was all that it took for a new wave of tears to hit Sara. Her body starting to tremble, she stared at the ground, unable to answer his question through her sobs.

“Damn,” Warrick whispered again, as he immediately stepped further into Sara’s apartment, shutting the door behind himself. Holding his arms open to her, he waited to see what she would do.

With only a moment of hesitation, Sara quietly walked into his arms, sobbing into his chest.

I don’t know what’s really wrong, girl, but it’s okay, Warrick wanted to tell her, wrapping his arms tightly around her. It’s okay; I’m here now.

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TO BE CONTINUED
 
Yes, you've already read my long comment at ff.net, but... jeez! You're hoping these future chapters can live up to the first couple? You have nothing to worry about, if anything this is the best chapter I've read yet. Actually, this may be the best piece of your work I've read yet. So don't be worrying that Sara's too whiny and what-not, 'cause this is awesome.
 
Aww.... *sniffle, huggles* thank you so much! Maybe it just felt whiny to me at first, because I made myself really sad in order to write it, so that I could have a panic attack right along with her. But I'm so glad that you liked it!
 
(I hope you all like this new chapter!)

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Disclaimer: I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

Title: The Calvary

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The Sidle Residence

The moment that Sara felt the warmth from Warrick’s arms encircling her shaking body, she began to cry even harder, burying her face against his chest.

“Shh, Sara, it’s okay,” Warrick whispered, not entirely sure what to say, or what to do, but wanting to do something, anything, in order to make her tears go away. “I’m here,” he repeated over and over again, hoping that the soft tone of his voice would be enough to calm her obviously very frayed nerves.

It’s not okay, Sara thought to herself, as she grabbed the loose ends of his shirt, tightly squeezing them between her two fists. It’s not okay; I’m having problems with my case, I’m embarrassed about you, and I just want to drink, she tightly shut her eyes and swallowed, as the tears continued to flow down her cheeks, wetting the upper part of Warrick’s shirt.

“It’s okay, girl,” Warrick quietly told her, as he continued to hold her in his arms, his hand hesitantly rubbing her back. Blinking, he wrapped his arms more tightly around her shoulders, staring at the ceiling. What’s going on? Why are you so upset?

“Warrick,” Sara sobbed, her face crimson and blotchy from the tears. “I don’t feel so well. Nothing’s okay; it’s not going to be okay,” she continued, trying to burrow into his arms.

“I can tell that you don’t feel well,” Warrick cautiously replied, pulling away from her for a brief moment in order to better study her face. “But can you take some deep breaths for me?” He asked, as he gently brushed her hair out of her eyes.

Sara simply nodded yes, as she blinked, and tried to take some deep breaths for Warrick. “I just don’t feel well,” she mumbled, as she hiccupped, and felt some of her tension starting to ease away.

Warrick continued to silently hold Sara in his arms, taking note of the fact that her shaking had stopped, and that she seemed to be calming down a little bit. Gently rubbing her back, he tried to come up with some sort of intelligent response to her comment, but words failed him; Warrick was stuck on the fact that he was in Sara’s apartment, trying to hold her through one of her more serious panic attacks.

“What’s wrong with me?” Sara whispered, as her tears subsided even more. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Resting her head against Warrick’s chest, Sara sighed, closing her eyes. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but you’ll help me figure it out, right? You’re already helping, she thought to herself. I feel very safe and secure right now.

Pulling away from Sara, Warrick held her head in his hands, gently brushing away the remainder of her tears with both of his thumbs. “What’s going on?” he quietly asked, his eyes peering into hers, as if looking for an answer in the depths of her soul.

“I don’t know,” Sara slowly shook her head from side to side, finally walking out of Warrick’s embrace, and quietly heading into her living room. Sitting down on one end of the couch, she tucked her legs underneath her body, and stared at the ground.

“… Are you sure that you don’t know?” Warrick cautiously probed, following her into the living room, and taking a seat on the armchair facing the couch.

Sara swallowed, staring into the kitchen, her gaze falling upon the open can of beer. “I’m sure,” she told him, as another tear slipped out of her eye, followed by another one, and another one, and still another one. “I’m sure,” she sniffled.

Warrick took a deep breath, slowly getting to his feet, and moving over toward the couch to sit down beside Sara. “Hey, girl; you can talk to me about anything; you know that, right?” he asked, lowering his head and squinting up at her, in order to better catch her gaze.

“I know that,” Sara whispered, swallowing, as she moved closer to him. “But I don’t know what to say; or even how to say it.”

Warrick blinked in understanding, before reaching his arms out to Sara, and once again pulling her toward him. “Just tell me what’s on your mind, whatever it is.”

Sara slowly nodded, resting her head on Warrick’s shoulder, and licking her lips. “I want some beer.”

“What?” Warrick squinted down at her in confusion. “You… want some beer?” he questioned her, as he wrapped his arms more tightly around her shoulders. Will beer help you talk? I mean, that isn’t the problem, right?

Sara nodded, resting one of her hands on his knee.

“Okay, well, do you have some beer in your apartment?”

Sara again nodded, burrowing herself further into his arms, rather than getting up to get the cans.

“Do you… want me to get you some?” Warrick prodded her, now more confused than ever.

“No,” Sara whispered. “I don’t want any.”

“But you just said—”

“I’m an alcoholic,” Sara interrupted him. “I want some beer, and yet I don’t want some beer.”

Warrick’s eyebrows shot up, as he glanced down at the top of Sara’s head. “You have a drinking problem, Sara? How come you never told me?” He softly asked.

“How come you never told me that you were getting married, before you actually got married?” Sara shot back, starting to tremble again, as more tears threatened to spill over. That was kind of rude. Now he’s just going to walk away from you, and leave you alone!

Warrick took a deep breath. That is actually a very good point. “Okay,” he cleared his throat, avoiding her question. “So, I’m guessing that there is something,” or someone, he thought to himself. “That is causing you to want to drink. Want to talk about it?” he quietly asked, gently rubbing Sara’s arm with his thumb.

Sara slowly shook her head yes, taking a deep breath, and closing her eyes. “But I don’t know where to start.”

“Well,” Warrick shrugged. “Is it work related? Or… personal?” he hesitated, his fingers freezing on her arm while he waited for her answer.

“… Both,” Sara admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just—” she swallowed.

“You just what?” Warrick carefully prompted her to continue.

“Nothing in my life is going right, Warrick,” Sara mumbled, tears once again sliding down her cheeks. “I can’t solve my case, I want to drink, and you don’t like me!” she finally blurted out.

Warrick’s eyebrows immediately shot up, as he pulled Sara into his lap, in essence, forcing her to look at him. “Sara, I don’t hate you,” he quietly informed her.

“I know,” Sara mumbled, trying to pull away from him. “But you don’t like me in that way.”

“What makes you think that?” Warrick asked, tightening his grasp on Sara’s body, so that she couldn’t move away from him.

“You said so, at the diner,” she reminded him, no longer struggling to get away from him; it was evident to her that he was not going to let her run away from him this time.

“Sara,” Warrick swallowed. “Greg caught me off guard; I was embarrassed, okay?”

“But after Greg was gone,” Sara persisted. “I asked you if I was the person whom you loved, and you said, and I quote, ‘You? Hell, no.’ And then you chuckled at me,” she sniffled, once again trying to pull out of his grasp, her face growing warm in embarrassment..

“Sara, I—” Warrick hesitated, not sure what to say in order to fix the mistake that he had made an hour or so before. Releasing his grip on her body, and frowning as she chose to move a short distance away from him, he sighed. “That might be what I said, but do you know what I was actually thinking, at the time?” he queried, his eyes searching out hers.

“No, what?” she cautiously asked, wiping a couple of tears away, and blinking, as her gaze met his.

“Do you remember asking me if it was Catherine whom I loved, and I said no?”

“Uh-huh,” Sara anxiously replied, nodding her head yes.

“And then the next thing that I said was, ‘well actually, I was referring to—’ and then Greg came over?”

Again, Sara slowly nodded her head yes.

“Well, I was going to fill in the blank with ‘you,’” he nervously admitted, his palms starting to sweat with his growing uneasiness.

“You… were?”

“Yeah, I was. But Greg caught me off guard with his question about being out on a date, and I just… got flustered.”

“You… did?” Sara raised a dubious eyebrow.

“I did,” Warrick confirmed. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone from work at the diner, Sara, so I took you there, because I wanted to get the chance to talk to you, alone, without them interfering.”

“And Greg interfered anyhow, didn’t he?” Sara mused. “Typical Greg,” she tried to crack a small smile.

“Yeah, typical Greg,” Warrick echoed with a half-grin, cautiously reaching his arms out toward her again. “I honestly did not mean to hurt your feelings, though; I was just uncomfortable with trying to share something so personal with you, and having Greg interrupt me mid-sentence. I’m sorry, girl. I should have been more careful about your feelings.”

“It’s okay,” Sara told him, slowly moving back into his arms. “And I didn’t mean to run out on you like that; I just felt mortified. I’ve put myself on the line so many times before, and I’m used to being rejected; I’ve just never been rejected in front of another co-worker before,” she admitted, resting her head against Warrick’s chest. Although I’ve been rejected BY another co-worker before; that’s a topic for another day, though.

“I can understand that; I should have done something more to stop you from leaving; or to assure you that I had been talking about you, rather than someone else.”

“You couldn’t have done anything differently,” Sara informed him, her eyes closed. “It was my fault; I’m just… too emotional.”

“Well, I like you being emotional,” Warrick smiled, gently running his fingers through her hair. “So aside from the whole diner debacle, what else is going on?”

Sara sighed, thinking about her answer for a moment. “I feel like a failure at work.”

“Damn, girl!” Warrick snorted in surprise. “You’re one of the smartest people on the team. What could possibly be making you feel like a failure?”

Sara swallowed. “I’m missing something with my case, and I don’t know what it is. It should have been an open and shut case, but none of the evidence is adding up. Everything is pointing right back to the victim, and there is so much evidence, that we should have more than enough to convict someone of this crime; and yet, we have nothing.”

“Do you want to talk it over with me? Maybe see if I can shed some light on it?” Warrick asked, continuing to run his fingers through her hair.

Sara nodded, glancing up at Warrick, before yawning. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “It’s been a long week.”

“Why don’t you get some rest, then?” he suggested, gently rubbing her arm with his other hand. “You could probably use it, too. Knowing you, I’m sure that you’ve almost maxed out on your monthly overtime; and during this week alone,” he added.

“I’m fine,” Sara immediately replied. “So do you really want to listen to the case?”

“Yes, I really want to listen to the case,” Warrick assured her, leaning back on the couch in order to make himself more comfortable.

“Okay,” Sara shrugged, rolling onto her side so that she was facing away from Warrick, and sliding down his body, so that her head was resting comfortably in his lap. “Okay,” she repeated. “So, I’m on the Conte case. Lindsey Conte was found murdered outside of her home last week,” she droned on, her eyes half-closed.

“She was hit with something, right?” Warrick asked her, one of his arms resting on her hip.

“Yes,” Sara confirmed. “Repeatedly. I narrowed the murder weapon down to a hammer, although I have yet to actually find the damned thing. There was blood everywhere, Warrick,” she whispered. “On the lawn, on the front door, in the hallways, throughout the home. I collected bloody fingerprints, not to mention numerous swabs, and I’ve yet to come up with something actually helpful.”

Warrick closed his eyes for a moment in thought, trying to picture the scene in his head, just as Sara must have seen it. With his thumb now absentmindedly moving back and forth against her stomach, he tried to process the scene in his mind. “Does she have a husband? Or kids?” he finally asked Sara, once again opening up his eyes.

But Sara remained quiet, her body lightly moving up and down with the steady rhythm of her unlabored breathing.

“Sara?” Warrick tried again, thinking that she must not have heard him. “Does she have a husband? Or children?” he repeated his earlier question, glancing down at her.

But again, Warrick got no response.

Squinting his eyes, Warrick shifted his body ever so slightly, so that he could catch a glimpse of Sara’s face. Softly chuckling to himself, he sighed. “You fell asleep, girl,” he whispered, looking around for a blanket in which to cover her up with. Reaching above his head, Warrick carefully pulled down a blanket, gingerly placing it over her prone body. Once again resting his hand on her hip, he glanced down at Sara to ensure that she was comfortable, before trying to slide out from underneath her.

“No,” Sara immediately mumbled, grabbing his legs with one of her fists.

“You need to sleep,” he whispered to her, carefully trying to untangle himself without waking her up even more.

Sara rolled over onto her back, reaching up for one of Warrick’s arms. Grabbing it, and pulling it toward her stomach, she tried to force him to hold onto her more securely.

“Okay,” he chuckled. “I get the message, girl, loud and clear. I won’t move. And then tomorrow, we’ll work on the Conte case; together.” And once the case is solved, you will have one less reason to drink the beer. I’m not going to let you hurt yourself, I guarantee you that.

Sara seemed to relax at his words, falling into an even deeper, and more comfortable, sleep.

---------------

TO BE CONTINUED
 
*SQUEEGLES!* Yay! Finally, Warrick, damn! It took you a while :p Hehehe *sings* Warrick's holding Sara, Warrick's holding Sara, Waaaaaarrick's holding Saaaaaaara! :D

Hehe, nice chapter!
 
Hehe, Raven, glad you liked it! I finally told my mom that she couldn't read it anymore, if it was boring. Which she said.

And Rakel Sidle, thank you so much for taking the time to comment! I appreciate it :).
 
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