Rating: PG
Pairing: Sara/Warrick
Spoilers: No specifics, but since I've only seen season one, we'll say everything there to be safe.
Feedback: Almost as nice as CSI on DVD
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Archive: At my site Checkmate (http://helsinkibaby.ahkay.net) , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.
Summary: When two CSIs stop talking, two others hatch a plan…

The mid-afternoon sun was high in the sky as Catherine straightened up from the dresser in the bedroom, having finally lifted the last print that she'd found on the crime scene. She stretched, arching her back, fighting back a groan as her aching muscles told her exactly how long she'd been crouching, and how long before that it had been since she'd had any sleep, or even any relaxation. She didn't even want to look in the mirror, afraid of the depth of dark shadows she no doubt had underneath her eyes, visible even through her make-up. It had been a long shift.

It had been a long few months.

"You about done?" The voice of her partner had her jumping and turning, giving him a quick smile as he frowned at her reaction.

"Just finished," she reported, popping her findings into her case, getting ready to leave. "Plenty of nice fingerprints for Sara to test."

The second the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to bite her tongue off. Warrick didn't say anything, just shrugged, but a man who gave definition to the word laconic wouldn't have reacted with words anyway. Catherine had long since trained herself to pick up the smaller signs with which to gauge his reaction, and from the slight widening, then shadowing of his eyes, and the way he instantly looked down and away and changed the subject, she'd known that she'd said the wrong thing.

"Many different sets?" he asked, eyeing the bedroom furnishings with interest, as if he could count them all right then and there.

"At least a dozen," Catherine said, and his lips pursed into a rueful grimace, probably wondering, as she had, where they'd all come from. "The mom said she was out of town last week…two teenaged kids in the house, what do you think the odds are that there was a party here?"

A snort of something that might have been amusement passed his lips, but otherwise, Warrick's face didn't change. "No bet here," he murmured.

"Got that right." Catherine picked up the bag and they began to make their way down the stairs. "Which means we've got to print all the kids' friends, if they give us anything at all, then try to see if there's any unaccounted for…" Sara was going to love them for this, she almost said, but she cut herself off just in time, instead going straight to the passenger door of the car, letting him drive them back to the lab in near silence.

"I'll get these to the lab," she told him, as they stood in the parking lot. "Then, I'm going to head home, catch some sleep, and start cooking something for Lindsey before I pick her up from school. What about you?"

Warrick glanced at his watch, rolling his eyes when he saw how much overtime they'd racked up already, all over what was supposed to be a simple breaking and entering that they'd caught right at the tail end of the shift. "Same," he said. "I'll drop the evidence off at the lab if you want to go straight home though."

"That'd be great Warrick. Thank you." Catherine smiled at him, pleased at his thoughtfulness, opening her mouth to say something else. Whatever it was though, was interrupted by the chirp of her cellphone. She gave Warrick an apologetic grin, holding up one hand as she answered it. "Hello? Yes, this is she…what? Is she ok? Yes, I'll be right there. Thank you."

When she hung up the phone, Warrick was looking at her, concern written all over his face. "Everything ok?"

"That was Lindsey's school," Catherine explained. "She's been sick, they need me to go pick her up…"

"Go." Warrick's voice was firm. "I was going to take the evidence in anyway, I'll tell Gris where you are, and that you might be late tonight."

He was reaching to take the bag from her shoulder, and she checked her watch, eyes widening as she realised what time it was, smacking her forehead with the heel of her hand. "Oh no…"

"What?" Warrick was still all concern, shouldering the evidence kit easily.

"I forgot, I can't go straight home, I said that I'd collect Sara…" She turned huge eyes up to him, begging, pleading. "Warrick, can you do it for me? Please? I wouldn't ask, but I've got to get to Lindsey…" She was already backing away from him, not taking no for an answer, not even when she saw his eyes widen, his mouth open. "Oh, Warrick, thanks so much…"

He was still trying to formulate a response when she turned her back and all but sprinted to her car without looking back. She backed out of her space quickly, driving away from the lab, stopping only when she was a couple of miles away, pulling in off the road, and dialling a number on her cell-phone. "It's me," she said when the person at the other end picked up.

"Did he go for it?" Grissom's voice was curious.

Catherine leaned back in her seat, allowing herself a satisfied chuckle. "Oh, he went for it all right. I think I missed my calling."

"You would have convinced me," he allowed, and Catherine could almost see his little smile, his raised eyebrow when he spoke.

"You took care of things at your end?" she asked, because it'd be just like Grissom to get distracted and forget.

"Between Nicky and myself, we managed to get the word around. If Warrick does try to palm this off on anyone, they're all going to have plans."

"Good."

There was a pause before Grissom spoke again, and when he did, his voice was doubtful. "Are you sure this is necessary Catherine? It's only been two weeks…"

She'd heard this from him before, and it didn't cut any ice with her this time either. "It's been two weeks since she came back to work Grissom. How long was it before that?" she pointed out.

"Yeah." The word was an un-Grissomlike sigh.

"Gris, they can't go on like this," she told him. "Sooner or later, something has to give."

Grissom's voice was quiet, and had her heart sinking like a rock. "That's what I'm afraid of."

>*<*>*<

Sara Sidle was laughing as she and Nick Stokes moved through the halls of the CSI lab. Not that they were moving too quickly; after all, they could only move a couple of feet at a time, for no sooner had one well-wisher departed than another one came up to take their place. Sara's cheeks were pink from embarrassment and sore from smiling at people, and she didn't miss the fact that Nick was taking much delight in her discomfort. "Shut up," she muttered when she caught his eye, and he just shook his head, giving her his best "Aw-shucks Ma'am" smile.

"It's like I keep telling you Sara," he told her. "Nothing improves your company like the lack of it. Bet you never realised you were so popular."

"You can sing that one," she muttered in reply, fixing a smile to her face as David Phillips walked by them, changing course when he caught a glimpse of Sara.

"You're back!" he beamed, looking from one to the other.

"Can't get anything by you guys, can I?" Sara quipped, her smile, fixed or not, taking any sting out of her words.

"She's just cranky because she'd rather be at home watching crappy chat shows," Nick deadpanned, nodding conspiratorially at David.

"I would not," Sara protested, reaching over to smack him, a move that Nick dodged easily. She settled for narrowing her eyes and mock glaring at him, which only served to increase his mirth. She turned back to David, rolling her eyes. "You seen Grissom?"

David nodded. "Break room," was all he said, moving past them. "I'll see you later?"

"Sure, I'll be around," Sara replied, moving off in the direction of the break room, pausing when she realised that Nick was chuckling to himself. "What?"

"Just wondering if David is counting that as a date," he replied, and she opened her mouth, then thought better of replying, which of course, only gave Nick more impetus to tease her. "I mean, come on…the guy's got a serious thing for you. He practically pined the whole time you were out…"

Sara shook her head, sighing, good mood suddenly dissipating like mist. "Nice to know someone missed me," she muttered, and a shadow flitted across Nick's face.

"Sara-" he began, but she cut him off, moving away from him.

"Let's find Grissom. Get this shift started."

Well aware of how immovable Sara could be when she had her mind made up against something, Nick had no choice but to follow her to the break room where, ever the gentleman, he held open the door for her, entering behind her.

She'd no sooner entered the room than a chorus of Kool and the Gang's Celebration began to blare, and her eyes widened in shock as she took in the sight before her. Greg Sanders beside a boom box in a loud multi-coloured shirt wasn't unusual, but the party hat on his head certainly was a new addition. Beside him, Catherine stood, similarly hatted, with Lindsey, streamers around her neck, dancing to the music beside her. But the sight of her boss, Gil Grissom, with both hat on head and streamers around his neck, was one that she'd never forget, and she cracked up with shocked laughter. Hanging from the base of the cupboards was a homemade banner, emblazoned with the legend "Welcome back Sara," and tears came to her eyes as she looked around her.

"I don't believe you guys did this," she murmured, and Nick laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently before bending to kiss her cheek.

"Welcome home Sara," he said quietly in her ear, and she gritted her teeth, willing the tears not to fall.

"We wanted to do something to mark the occasion," Catherine told her. "We hope you don't mind."

"You like the sign?" Lindsey wanted to know, running over to Sara. "I made it!"

"You did?" Sara sounded very impressed, and Lindsey seemed to grow an extra inch or three at her reaction. "You made it all by yourself?"

"Mommy did the letters," Lindsey was forced to admit, her shoulders slumping a little. "But I did all the colouring."

"It's very pretty," Sara told her, hugging the child. She'd never been great with children, and she'd be the first to admit that, but she'd become very close to both Lindsey and Catherine over the last few months, and had come to adore the little girl. "I'm going to take it home with me and hang it somewhere where I can see it all the time."

"Cool!" Lindsey was all but jumping up and down, and Catherine flashed Sara a grateful grin.

"We also have cake," Grissom said, nodding his head in acknowledgement to Sara.

"So this is why you wanted to get me in here so early," Sara accused Nick, who was putting a party hat on his head.

"You didn't think it was for the overtime did you?" Nick asked.

"It crossed my mind," she admitted, looking around the room, meeting everyone's gaze. Just for the briefest of instants, her smile faltered, so briefly that each person present thought they'd only imagined it. It wasn't until they exchanged worried glances with the person nearest them that they realised that they hadn't. By that time, Sara had made her way over to the table and was eyeing the cake with interest. "Hmmm…chocolate…my favourite."

"I know," Catherine told her proudly, reaching for the paper plates. "Why do you think I chose it? Gris, you want to cut?"

"My pleasure." Grissom began slicing the cake neatly. "While I'm doing this, who's going to start with the presents?"

"I get presents?"

"Sure you do," Nick told her, a wicked glint in his eye. "This is from me." He lobbed a small box at her, and she caught it easily.

"You're giving me matches?" she asked him sceptically.

"Sure," he nodded. "To prop your eyes open now that you're not used to all those late nights anymore."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but her lips were curved up into a smile. "Thank you."

"This is from me," Greg announced, stepping towards her, a nervous grin on his face as he extended his offering to her.

His at least was brightly wrapped, huge globs of sticky tape holding it together. "Am I ok to open this in public?" she asked jokingly, looking pointedly at Lindsey, then at Greg, knowing well his sense of humour. Catherine was giving him a similar look and he nodded quickly, telling them both that it was an innocuous present. It took a couple of minutes for Sara to negotiate the tape, and she seriously considered asking for a scissors, but didn't want to give him the satisfaction. Finally, the gift fell apart in her lap, and she picked through the component parts. "Blue pens…red pens…paper clips…" She looked up curiously when she saw the final item. "Plasters?"

"Sure," he nodded, deadpan. "In case you get a paper cut from all the paper you'll be pushing." He ducked quickly as one of the red pens went sailing by his ear. "Is that any way to treat a present?"

"No comment." But she was still smiling when she said it, and he was sincere when he next spoke.

"It's good to have you back Sara. We've missed you around here."

There was a lump in Sara's throat, and it only grew when Catherine whispered, "Hear, hear."

"I'll drink to that," Grissom announced, and she looked at him, seeing that he'd poured several glasses of something fizzy into paper cups. "Strictly ginger ale," he clarified, seeing her questioning look.

"Of course," she grinned, shaking her head in amazement, looking around the room once more. "I can't believe you all did this."

"You said that already," Greg pointed out, but instead of rolling her eyes like she normally would have, she just forced a smile to her lips, a thin film of tears misting her vision.

"Well I meant it."

She accepted a paper cup from Grissom, looking down at the bubbles popping on the surface, grateful for the distraction. She didn't look up until Grissom spoke again, until the room narrowed as a crowd of people stood around her. "A toast then…welcome back Sara."

Everyone echoed the toast, paper cups being touched rim to rim, everyone's smiles becoming as watery as Sara's. They were so caught up in the moment that no-one noticed when the door opened, not until a new voice spoke.

"Am I missing something?"

Thanks to the tight knit circle around Sara, she was invisible, and they were occluding much of the sign as well. It wasn't until they stepped away almost as one that he was able to see either. The room fell silent, and all vestiges of laughter died away, an unmistakable blanket of tension settling around the group.

Sara turned slowly, nervously, looking up into Warrick's green eyes. She wasn't sure what she was going to see there; no more than anyone else was sure of how this moment was going to play out. There was no discernible change in Warrick's features, or his stance as he stared at her; he might have been carved from marble. It was Sara who reacted first, eyes dancing, warmth emanating from her smile. "Hey."

"Sara," he nodded.

Silence reigned, and Greg, being Greg, jumped in to fill it. "So, who's for cake?"

Everyone jumped in to clamour for their slice, and a vague sense of normalcy returned to the room. If anyone noticed that Warrick and Sara stayed at opposite ends of the room, if anyone noticed Warrick's studious avoidance of even looking at her, if anyone noticed the pained glances that Sara was shooting in his direction, and they all did, then no-one said anything.

The party lasted until Grissom looked at the clock, then cleared his throat apologetically. "Shift started ten minutes ago," he pointed out, a comment that was greeted predictably by a chorus of groans. "I know, I know," he said, holding up his hands, as if that would ward off any evil glances that would come his way. "Assignment slips will be handed out in my office in five minutes, Catherine, you can drop Lindsey off on the way to yours." He met Sara's eyes. "You'll be pleased to know that we've got some DNA samples for you to work on and match."

"Welcome to my world," Greg broke in, with a mock-evil cackle. "Don't worry Sara, I promise to be gentle with you."

Sara chuckled. "I think I can handle whatever you've got Sanders," she retorted, her intonation making Nick choke on his last mouthful of cake.

"You care to prove that?" Greg challenged, already moving towards the door.

"Any time," was Sara's ready response, following him with a grin on her face. "Later guys," she called back, concentrating on manoeuvring herself and her wheelchair to and through the door. Thus, she didn't notice everyone's eyes following her progress, including and especially one pair of green eyes that had avoided her up to now.

>*<*>*<

The drive to the hospital from the CSI lab wasn't a long one by any stretch of the imagination, which Warrick had always considered a bonus as a tired, over-worked CSI working the graveyard shift. However, he didn't consider it as such right now, which is why he found himself sitting in his car in the hospital car park, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, willing himself out of the car, across the parking lot, into the hospital.

Not that this was unfamiliar territory for him; far from it.

Shaking himself from his lethargy, he got out of the car before he could change his mind, slamming the door with more force than was perhaps necessary. A couple of cars over, an older man stared at him accusingly, eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Warrick nodded at him curtly, words that would cause a scene at the tip of his tongue and bitten back with difficulty. After all, his problem wasn't with that guy, or the car, or even with Catherine for putting him in this position.

It wasn't even with Sara. Not really.

He ambled in the direction of the entrance, just as he'd driven slowly on the way over, as if he'd been expecting a speed trap to materialise out of the desert sands. He'd done everything possible to delay the moment when he'd have to walk through those doors, up to and including begging office to office at the lab to get him out of it. The last person that he'd talked to about it was Nick, who'd shaken his head with a lecherous smile, citing a breakfast date with a cute co-ed. Warrick had rolled his eyes, asking if Sara wasn't more important that a date with whoever his fling-du-jour was, and it had been then that Nick's jaw had set in a firm line, eyes darkening, and Warrick had known that he'd just walked himself into trouble.

"I think she is," Nick had told him, and the implication had been obvious. "But the fact is, I was supposed to pick her up. Sara asked Catherine to do it because she knew I had a date. She didn't want me to break it."

"Oh." Warrick had looked down, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall heavily.

"Yeah, oh." Nick had gone heavy on the sarcasm, and Warrick had felt a surge of guilt welling up in his gut. Nothing new there then. "You're going to have to talk to her sometime man," he'd continued, and his voice had been softer, gentler.

"Nick-" Warrick's tone had been a warning, and Nick had shaken his head.

"Warrick, you didn't go to see her once the whole-"

Warrick had turned away, not quite sure whether he was unable, or merely unwilling, to listen further. "You don't know what you're talking about," he'd muttered as he'd walked, but he hadn't known who he was speaking to.

"May I help you?" The kind voice beside him made him start, and he realised that he'd entered the building without even realising it, and he looked down at a diminutive woman in a nurse's uniform, whose eyes were creased with concern. Something in the way she was looking at him reminded him of his grandmother, and he had to blink to clear the notion.

"Yeah," he said slowly, although he seriously doubted it. "I'm looking for Sara Sidle… she's here-"

"Oh, Sara!" The woman's face transformed into a smile. "Oh, she's a regular here, making good progress too…she's right down the hall dear, one, two…no, the fourth door on your right. You can't miss it."

She was beaming at him expectantly, and he managed a nod. "Thank you," he murmured, Grams's lessons in good manners rearing their head. It took a second for his legs to listen to his brain's command to move, and he swallowed hard a couple of times as he moved down the hall, counting doorways until he came to the fourth. It was open, and he stepped into the doorway, not sure of what he was going to see inside.

Then it was too late. He could have turned away, but he couldn't move.

Her back was to him, but he would know her anywhere. Her hair was hanging in damp ringlets across her shoulders, and he knew without seeing that it was falling down into her face. She was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, the latter drenched with sweat and sticking to her skinny frame. There was some kind of harness, a cage like structure surrounding her, and her hands were locked in a death grip on the bars on either side of her. She was hunched over slightly, an old-woman stance, but she was standing.

Just barely.

A man was standing in front of her, encouraging her, telling her that she could do it. He didn't acknowledge Warrick at all; his whole attention was focussed on Sara. "One more," he was saying. "You can do it."

"Shut…up…" came the response, emerging as a grunt from a clenched jaw, and Warrick almost smiled past the lump in his throat. His gaze travelled to the floor, and he saw her left foot move slowly, millimetre by painful millimetre, until it rested back on the ground again.

"And the other…"

That was when the right foot moved, just as slowly as the left had, and finally ended up beside the right, a full step. Warrick heard Sara's delighted chuckle, heard the man's exuberant praise, and released a breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"You want to get me down from this thing?" Sara panted, and the man complied, settling her back down in her chair, letting her turn herself around to head for the door. Her smiling face was flushed with exertion and success, but the smile faltered momentarily when she saw Warrick standing there. She recovered quickly he noticed, and a voice in the back of his head that sounded a lot like Nick Stokes reminded him that she'd had lots of practice. "Warrick! What are-"

"Catherine got a call from the school…Lindsey's sick or something, she had to pick her up…asked me to get you…"

Sara frowned. "She ok?"

Warrick shrugged. "Probably flu or something…one of those kid things."

"Yeah. I'll give her a call when I get home," Sara murmured, moving towards him.

"You good to go or…?" He looked around awkwardly, not sure of what to say or do, but she looked up at him, bestowing on him a sheepish grin.

"I'm pretty rumpled," she laughed, pulling the T-shirt away from her body. "You mind if I change first?"

He couldn't help but remember how many times either one of them had said something like that, words tossed around in the halls of the CSI lab on the way back from a crime scene. His reply was automatic. "I insist on it."

She chuckled and began to move for the door. He stepped out of her way, and she waved at a bench against the wall. "There's a seat for you. I won't be long."

He nodded, sitting down, his eyes never leaving her as she moved into a different room. He stayed sitting for a couple of minutes after that, legs jigging up and down nervously, before he stood up, restlessly pacing the length of the bench. Then he sat down again, hands running up and down his thighs nervously, the friction warming his cold hands.

"You look like an expectant father," came the voice to his left, and he jumped a mile in the air, springing to his feet. His reaction broadened her smile, and his own lips quirked up sheepishly. "You ready?" she asked while he was still finding his voice, wheeling herself to his side, and he looked down at her, all traces of humour vanishing from his face.

"Let's go." His voice was colder than he'd meant it to be, and he thought he might have heard her sigh as he began to move off, but he wasn't sure, and he didn't ask to check. He lead the way to his car, helped her into it, watching as she deftly folded the chair, handing it to him to put in the back seat. By the time he climbed into the car, her head was tilted back, her eyes closed, but they opened briefly when she heard his door close, and she smiled tiredly over at him. He didn't say anything, just gunned the engine and began to drive.

The silence stretched and filled the car, and he didn't look at her, didn't take his eyes off the road, not until he pulled up in her driveway. Then he took a deep breath, turned his head slowly. Against all odds, a genuine smile lit his face at what he saw; Sara, eyes closed, face peaceful, breathing deeply in sleep. There was even the barest hint of a smile hovering around her lips.

He sat there for a long moment looking at her, feeling more relaxed than he'd felt all day.

More relaxed than he'd been in two weeks.

Longer than that.

He didn't mean to do it, and almost like it was someone else's, he watched his hand reach out, pushing an errant curl back behind her ear. The touch, gentle as it was, made her stir, and she turned her head, leaning into his touch, her cheek rubbing against the back of his hand like a kitten snuggling in for warmth. Long black lashes beat against her cheeks as she blinked, and her shoulders moved up almost to her ears as she breathed in deeply. "Sorry," she mumbled, one hand reaching up to rub her eyes.

"'S'ok," he told her, dropping his hand, turning away from her, letting her come to.

"You want to come in for coffee or something?" she asked when she did, her voice still thick with sleep, and he shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"I don't know…"

She sighed at his words, and he wouldn't, couldn't, look at her. When she next spoke, her voice was sad, almost resigned. "If it helps, I can pretend to be asleep again." It took a second for the words to sink in, and he felt like he was moving in slow motion when he looked over at her. He thought he could see a thin film of tears covering her eyes, he was damn sure that he could hear a tightness in her voice, and he couldn't quite understand what she meant, although he had a suspicion.

"When I was in the hospital," she explained, as if trying to make sense of it in her own mind, "I woke up one night…I don't know why. And I saw you there, in my room. I thought I was dreaming for a minute, because you never came to see me. But then I realised that I wasn't, and I was going to talk to you, but you had your head in your hands and you weren't looking at me. I didn't think you wanted to talk, so I closed my eyes and I pretended that I was asleep. I don't know how long you stayed, but I heard you stand up…and you came over to the bed, and you stood there…and I think you touched the back of my hand, just for a second. I asked the nurse the next morning if I'd had any visitors in the night, and she told me just the same man who came in almost every night and sat with me for a while." She swallowed hard, and one solitary tear traced a silvery path down her cheek. "I stayed awake that night, playing possum… and you came in, and you sat and you still didn't say anything… you just sat there."

He took a ragged breath. "Yeah," he said simply.

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't understand…why you didn't say something. Why you didn't come with everyone else."

"Because I couldn't Sara." Where her voice had been troubled, his was flat. "I just…couldn't." She shook her head in confusion, plainly not understanding, and he smacked the steering wheel in frustration. "It was my fault Sara…this whole thing, it was my fault."

"Warrick…" Her voice trailed off in amazement, one hand reaching out to rest on his arm. "Warrick, it was an accident. It wasn't your fault…"

"I left you to work the scene on your own," he reminded her, replaying the scene in his head for the millionth time in a matter of months. "If I hadn't done that…"

"You left me working at the scene of a car wreck with uniform cops crawling all over," she pointed out. "I wasn't on my own, and you were going to the hospital to talk to the driver. You didn't do anything wrong."

"If I'd stayed with you…" Warrick's throat closed up as the memories closed in, and he remembered arriving back at the crime scene, parking his car at the side of the road, walking over to where he'd last seen Sara working. She'd moved though, and when he saw her, he called her name to get her attention. She'd waved and begun to walk towards him. Neither one had seen the car careering towards her until it was too late. He squeezed his eyes shut now as the image of her limp body flying into the air, landing hard on the ground made his stomach rebel, and he fought for control.

"Warrick, it was an accident." Her voice cut through the darkness, the pressure on his arm increasing. "The guy wasn't paying attention to the road, he didn't see the warning signs, didn't see the tape along the road, didn't see me. There was nothing you could have done. It was an accident. That's all."

He sighed, meeting her gaze. "I shouldn't have left you," he told her quietly. "If I'd been there, if we'd cleared the crime scene sooner…"

Her own voice was just as quiet. "It wasn't your fault Warrick. And no-one blamed you."

"I couldn't face you Sara," he admitted. "Or them. Bad enough when Holly-" He stopped at the name, unable to continue, and beside him, she gasped softly. He looked away, but she wasn't going to let him away with that, reaching over a hand to his cheek, turning his head to her.

"It's not the same thing Warrick. It's not the same thing."

"Felt like it. But worse." She frowned, and he elaborated. "Holly wasn't on the job a day. What I did was wrong, and I know the part I played, but I didn't know her. But you…" His hand reached up to cover hers, still on his cheek, and tears spilled down her cheeks. "Sara, if something happened to you, and it was on me…"

Her breath caught on a sob and she pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. He returned the hug, arms going around her waist, hands resting on her shuddering back and, for the first time in months, he allowed his own tears to fall.

He didn't know how much later it was when he loosened his hold on her, pulling away slightly, releasing his arms from around her waist, but gripping her hand tightly instead. She grinned at him, a self-conscious giggle escaping her as she wiped the back of her free hand across her cheeks. "I must look a sight," she muttered, her cheeks pink, her eyes red.

"Sight for sore eyes." The words were out before he could stop them, and to his surprise, she burst out laughing.

"You've been hanging around Sanders way too much," she accused, and he found himself laughing too. "C'mon in," she said when they'd calmed. "I think we could both do with a beer."

He looked at her, then at the clock, considering the offer, but only briefly. "Yeah," he agreed, hopping out and around, handing her the chair, hovering nervously around her as she easily manoeuvred herself into it. He let her lead the way into the apartment, looking around him, not having been there in quite some time. There were certain things different he realised; less clutter around the place, furniture spaced further apart, but otherwise, it was much the same.

"I'm not sure what I have," she called over her shoulder, heading for the kitchen, and he caught up with her in time to see her pull two bottles from the fridge and turn, slamming the door shut, opening a cupboard on her way by and grabbing a large bag of chips. He lifted one eyebrow and she grinned at him as she breezed by. "You're not going to give me the lecture about a balanced diet being important in my recovery are you?"

He held up his hands. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. Because I'm a grown woman, and I can make my own decisions about what does and doesn't go into my body." She paused for a second, placing her cargo on the coffee table, then looked up at him. "Just don't tell Catherine?"

A burst of laughter escaped him, and he sank down on the couch, shoulders shaking. "You got it." She was beginning to get out of her chair and he looked over at her, unsure of whether or not he should offer to help, but the determined glint in her eyes stopped him. When she did end up beside him on the couch, it was he who leaned across to the table, handing her a bottle, placing the bag of chips in between them. If she noticed that he was sitting closer to her when he sat back down than he had been when he'd moved, she didn’t say anything.

Any more than he said anything when her voice began to grow sleepier as they talked, her words becoming punctuated more and more by yawns, small at first, growing longer and longer. Nor did he say anything when her head began to tilt towards him; he just shifted in her direction slightly, so that his shoulder was closer to her, an unspoken invitation that she took, laying her head on it, probably without even realising what she was doing, he told himself.

He on the other hand was well aware of what he was doing when he rested his cheek against the top of her head, her hair soft against his skin, and closed his eyes, falling into the best sleep that he'd had in months.

>*<*>*<

The ringing of her phone broke through a dreamless sleep, and Sara pried her eyes open with difficulty, staying still at first as she tried to figure out from which direction the ringing was coming. Once she realised that it was on the table at the opposite side of the couch, she stretched out a hand to get it, bracing herself with her other arm. It was only when her pillow grunted in surprise that she realised that Warrick was still there, and she bit her lip, looking up at him, his eyes still closed, but his brow furrowed. Somewhere in the night, he'd slipped to one side, and was now half-lying across the couch, and he'd managed to bring her with him, so that she was lying more or less on top of him. She supposed that she should be embarrassed about that, flustered by their close physical proximity, but in truth, she was far from it, instead choosing to savour it. This was the closest they'd been in weeks, ever since the accident.

She couldn't remember much about it; in fact, her memory stopped just after Grissom gave the two of them the assignment sheet, somewhere around the two of them on the way to the cars, quibbling over who was going to drive. The next thing she knew, she was waking up in hospital, machines and tubes in every direction, too doped up on painkillers to know what much of what was going on, but she'd known that things were serious when Grissom had told her not to worry, that her parents were on their way.

The blanks had been filled in for her, although not nearly fast enough for her liking. It was Nick who'd told her what had happened, pieced together from what Warrick and other eyewitnesses had told him. She'd tried to remember it, but couldn't, and the doctors had told her that that was normal. Sometimes, she'd wake up in the night, having dreamt of falling and flying and of a familiar voice calling her name, but that was it, and those dreams were her secret.

The one blank that Nick hadn't been able to fill in was where Warrick was, why he'd never come to see her. Nick had had his theories, as had Catherine, and both had told her that they'd tried to convince him to come, but Sara knew how stubborn he could be when he had his mind set on something, knew that if he hadn't come in the first week, he wouldn't come at all.

That first night that she woke up and saw him there, she really did think that she was dreaming. But then she realised that if she were dreaming about him, he'd be talking to her, laughing with her, sitting beside her bed, holding her hand. He wouldn't be all the way over there, his head in his hands, the very picture of dejection and loss. Some instinct had told her to close her eyes, just to lie there, and that's what she'd done. When she'd heard him move, she'd had to fight not to hold her breath, and when she felt his feather light touch on the back of her hand, it was all she'd been able to do not to sob out loud. She'd stayed awake the next night, listening for him, only surrendering to sleep when she'd heard the door open, heard the footsteps cross the room.

She'd thought that maybe when she got out of the hospital that he might visit her then. But she'd moved from the hospital to a rehab centre, staying there for a shorter term than the doctors had planned, stubbornly insisting that she was fine, that she wanted to be at home. It was only when she'd got home that she realised how much adapting she still had to do, though not for the fault of her fellow CSIs. They'd done a huge amount of work in adapting her apartment, rearranging furniture and cupboards, doing all they could to make her life easier. Nick had been a regular fixture on her couch, and Catherine and Lindsey were just as frequent visitors to her guestroom, with Grissom and Greg taking it in turns to bring the takeout.

But not Warrick. Never Warrick.

She'd stopped asking after the first few weeks in the hospital, but once she was home, she missed his nocturnal visits, his quiet presence. The others didn't mention him either, the proverbial elephant in the middle of the room, culminating in that awkward silence in the break room her first day back at work. Funnily enough though, she was the only one who didn't seem to mind it. She hadn't seen him in so long, hadn't spoken to him in even longer, so she didn't have a clue what to say except to greet him, and to hear her name from his lips was enough for her right then.

She'd spent the last two weeks in the CSI lab though, getting back to normal, or as close as she could get to it, seeing him walking around, talking to other people, but practically running in the other direction when she came along, and she had to admit, she'd been getting tired of it. Especially since she'd known in the time she'd been away from work that she'd missed spending time with Warrick. She just hasn't realised how much, hadn't let herself think about how much.

The conversation last night had confirmed her theory, that it was guilt that had been keeping him away, and the fact that he'd come in with her had given her cause to hope that they were getting back on the right path again. Waking up with him like this was certainly an indicator of good progress, and as the phone continued to ring, shattering the fragile silence, she mentally cursed whoever was calling her, interrupting their peace, gritting her teeth as she stretched for the table. She was startled when his hand moved, reaching out for the phone, locating it without opening his eyes, and handing it to her, again with an unintelligible grunt. Sara fought back a smile as she pressed the answer button, resting her head against Warrick's chest again. "Hello?" she murmured, still sleepy.

"Sara?" Catherine's voice was alert, and more than a little concerned. "You ok?"

"I'm fine Cath," Sara replied quickly, knowing that any other response would have either Catherine, Nick or Grissom descending on her place in short order. "I was just sleeping."

"Oh, I'm sorry…you want me to call you back?"

"Don't be silly, it's fine…hey, how's Lindsey?"

"Lindsey?" Catherine sounded confused for a moment, and Sara frowned, but then her friend continued, "Oh, she's fine. Probably just a twenty-four hour thing, you know how kids are. She took a nap on the couch, it did her the world of good."

Her eyes on Warrick, who looked for all the world as if he'd fallen back to sleep, Sara couldn't help but smile. "I know what you mean."

"You got home from the hospital ok then?" Catherine continued. "I mean…Warrick…"

"Yeah, he picked me up," Sara confirmed, a vague suspicion beginning to form at the back of her mind, a suspicion that took firmer root with Catherine's next question.

"Everything ok between you two?"

She sounded almost afraid of the answer, and Sara grinned, shaking her head. "Fine Catherine," she replied simply, keeping any trace of amusement out of her voice, wondering how long she could make Catherine twist in the wind for before she gave her the details.

"Yeah?" Sara could practically hear the look of scepticism on her friend's face, see the wide eyes, the lifted brows.

"Yeah," she smiled, and Warrick's eyelids opened a crack, sleepy green amusement in an otherwise impassive face.

"OK then; I was just calling to check on you. And to see if you want me to pick you up later for the shift."

"No, it's fine." Grateful as she was for the personal chauffeur service that Catherine and the other CSIs had been providing, the words slipped out of Sara's mouth before she even thought about it. "Warrick said he'd bring me in."

"Really?" There were at least seven extra syllables in there as Catherine drew the word out, and a blush appeared on Sara's face.

"Goodbye Catherine."

There was a chuckle at the other end of the line. "Later Sara."

When she hung up the phone, Sara was chuckling quietly to herself, while Warrick's eyes were open, dancing with laughter. She hadn't seen him look this way at her in too long, and she relished the normalcy of it. She propped herself up on one arm, tossing the phone onto the coffee table before folding her arms and laying them on his chest, her chin resting on top of them, returning his sleepy grin. "Volunteering my services without asking me?" he teased, one arm reaching up to brush her hair back.

She shrugged as best she could in her position. "The others have been doing it for weeks… you've got some catching up to do."

She'd been teasing, but he sighed, guilt replacing amusement in his eyes. "I know." His voice was heavy and she shook her head vehemently.

"Don't Warrick, I mean it. You can't think like that. And I won't let you."

"I should have been there Sara. And I don't just mean that night."

She sighed, resting her head on his chest. "You're here now," she pointed out. "That's all that matters."

"Yeah." He didn't sound like he believed her, but that was ok. He'd been carrying around that guilt for months; and that much angst couldn't evaporate in a matter of hours. She'd get through to him, she knew that; after all, she had plenty of time. His head tilted to one side suddenly, and the corner of his lips turned up slightly. "You looked good in that physio room today."

Sara could feel her face light up in accomplishment. "First steps," she told him proudly, and he moved his head back so that he could look down at her.

"Hey!" He sounded as if he was proud of her too, teeth flashing white against his skin when he smiled. "Congratulations!"

"I'll be back in the field in no time," she told him, pushing herself up to a sitting position, her muscles creaking in protest, but she didn't let it show.

"I can't wait." His voice was low, but she heard him anyway, and grinned over at him. "Hey," he said then. "You want to get dinner before the shift? Can't have them thinking that I don't take good care of you."

She arched one eyebrow. "You buying?"

He stood up, stretching his arms in the air, body stiff from lying on the couch with her on top of him. "I think I can stretch to that." He checked his watch. "Pick you up back here in an hour?"

She nodded, getting herself into her chair once more. "I'll see you then."

>*<*>*<

"They're late."

Nick's jaw was clenched tight, his lips pressed together in a thin line as he looked at the clock for the ninth time in five minutes. He tossed an apple from one hand to the other restlessly as he paced the room, only stopping when Grissom grabbed it in mid-toss as Nick passed by his chair.

"Hey, White Rabbit," he said calmly. "Relax. They'll be here."

"He's right Nicky," Catherine said, outwardly as calm as Grissom, although inwardly there was a niggling doubt in the back of her mind. Hopefully, Sara hadn't been shining her on when she'd called her earlier, and the Lord knew, if Warrick had done anything to upset Sara, she was going to kill him with her bare hands.

"When have you ever known Sara to be late for a shift?" Nick asked, looking her dead in the eye. "Or Warrick?" He took a step in one direction, then pivoted in the other. "Cath, if this plan of yours backfired…"

"Look, I talked to Sara earlier on. She said that they were fine. That Warrick was picking her up for the shift, and that she'd see me then." She heard the lack of conviction in her own voice, and from the look of disgust on his face, so did Nick.

He looked as if he was going to say something else, but was silenced by Grissom holding up a hand for silence, his eyes fixed on the door. Catherine and Nick followed his gaze, to see a relaxed Warrick holding open the door for a laughing Sara. Catherine felt a smile come to her face, matched by the one on Nick's, while Grissom remained his usual implacable self. "Hey guys," Sara greeted them, looking from one to the other. "What's up?"

"Sorry we're late," Warrick supplied. "Traffic was a nightmare."

Sara snorted. "We'd have been on time if someone hadn't insisted on not leaving without his fortune cookie," she said, sending a pointed glare in his direction. Her eyes danced with laughter though, as she continued, "And then didn't even open it…"

"Since someone thought I should be watching the road…" Warrick countered, dropping into a seat, long legs sprawled out in front of him. "Hand it over," he commanded, holding out a hand.

Rolling her eyes at Catherine, receiving a questioning glance that had her blushing, Sara tossed him the fortune cookie. "Well, don't keep us in suspense," she ordered when she saw his eyes widen as he read.

"The longest journey begins with a single step," he said, not looking at the paper, just at her, and a grin broke across Sara's face. "Appropriate."

"Appropriate?" Catherine asked, looking from one to the other.

Warrick waved a hand, indicating that she should tell the news, and Sara did. "Yeah. I took my first steps at physio today."

"Sara!" Catherine stepped forward to hug her, and Nick beamed at her from across the room. Even Grissom cracked a smile.

"I'm glad for you Sara," he said, handing an assignment slip to Warrick even as he spoke. "And Warrick, your first step is to a house downtown, shots fired during a robbery; the guy escaped, but left a trail of blood behind."

"Another B&E?" Warrick rolled his eyes.

"You and Catherine," Grissom nodded, not willing to entertain any complaints. "Sara, you'll be running prints on last night's B&E."

Sara nodded, while Catherine snickered. "Have fun Sara."

"Nick, you're with me. Teenager found unconscious in a high school football field."

"Alcohol poisoning anyone?" Nick muttered, holding his hands up when it looked as if Grissom was going to lecture him on the perils of reaching a conclusion before examining the evidence. "I know, I know…never assume."

Grissom nodded in acknowledgement before looking around at the group. "Let's get going." He didn't linger, already on his way out the door before his last syllable had finished forming. Nick at least threw a wave at them before following him out, knowing well that Grissom might well leave him behind if he weren't fast enough for him.

Catherine, Warrick and Sara exchanged grins, and it was Catherine who spoke first. "We should get a move on too…the sooner we start…"

"I hear that," Warrick muttered, standing up. "I'll see you later?" he continued, looking at Sara, and Catherine had to turn her head quickly to hide her smile, especially when she heard Sara's response.

"Yeah…I'll buy breakfast."

Warrick chuckled softly. "You got that right." He glanced at Catherine. "Ready?"

She glanced from him to Sara. "I'll meet you at the car," she told him, and a ghost of a smile crossed his face, broadening for a second when his eyes met Sara's, before he left. Catherine, meanwhile, crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at Sara, one eyebrow arched. "Anything you want to tell me Sara?"

Sara's pale cheeks flushed. "Nope," she replied, but her eyes told a different story, and Catherine threw her head back and laughed.

"I'm not saying a thing," she exclaimed, throwing up her hands. She heard Sara laughing softly behind her as she walked to the door, embarrassed, but happy, and then something occurred to Catherine, and she turned back, looking at her friend. "Hey, Sara… what did your fortune say?"

Sara frowned. "I never opened it. Hang on there…" She opened the cookie, unfolding the paper, reading it out loud. "All will be as it should be." Her eyes flicked over it once, then twice more, and she smiled. "Sounds good to me."

There were tears in her eyes when she looked up at Catherine, and Catherine had to swallow hard against the lump in her own throat. "Me too," she whispered, and their eyes met and held for a long moment. Then Catherine shook herself. "Come on," she ordered, the senior CSI once more. "Let's get to work."

"My pleasure." Sara pushed off and Catherine held the door open, and laughing, the two of them moved side by side through the corridors of the CSI lab, feeling, for the first time in months, like things were finally getting back to normal.

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