She Don’t Know She’s Beautiful
Rating: PG
Pairing: Warrick/Sara
Spoilers: After the Show
Feedback: Makes my day
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Archive: At my site Checkmate , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.
Summary: She don’t know she’s beautiful, though time and time I’ve told her so
Notes: For the LiveJournal CSReports Virtual Rewind Challenge - to week 1, episode related. Despite the fact that I’ve not yet seen that episode. All mistakes are therefore mine. Title is from the Sammy Kershaw song that the fic owes a heck of a lot to.
Warrick and
Sara have a tradition. When he has a shift off, she comes over after work, and
he cooks breakfast; scrambled eggs and toast for her, eggs and bacon for him.
They sit at his kitchen table and they talk about their cases and their lives
and they trade stories, and they have an enjoyable morning together.
This
morning though, Sara is doing all the talking, an animated scowl on her face,
and Warrick is letting her, letting her give vent to her frustrations about the
way that things are going in the lab, the competition for promotion between her
and Nick, the way that Catherine took over their case, the way that Grissom let
her. She tells him every single detail, down to the last pause and comma, and
when she finally runs out of steam, he gives her a look, lifts one eyebrow and
prepares to take his life in his hands.
“Is that
what you’re really upset about?” he asks, and her forehead creases in a frown,
eyes narrowing in confusion.
“What do
you mean?”
“I mean,”
He didn’t take his eyes off hers. “Are you upset because Catherine took your
case? Or because Delhomme called her ‘the pretty one’?”
He expects
an explosion; instead, she just sets her fork down ever so gently, leaning back
in her chair. “You really think I’m that shallow?”
“No. I
think you’re that human.”
There is a
long pause, broken by the sound of her chair scraping along the floor, and she
stands, gathering the plates and cutlery, readying them for the sink. “That’s
ridiculous,” she says as she gathers, but from her
reaction, he’s pretty sure that he’s nearer to the truth than she would like to
admit.
“Is it?” he
says, pushing his luck just a little.
“Of course it
is,” she says, the crockery clattering into the sink, but she doesn’t turn
around to face him. “I just think that if you allow crims to choose their own
criminalists that it’s the beginning of the end.”
He stands,
goes over to her, but does not touch her. “Yeah?” he asks, and he doesn’t miss
the shiver that courses through her.
She turns
slowly, and of their own accord, his hands reach out, rest lightly on her hips.
“Look,” she sighs, looking down. “I know he was telling the truth… that I’m not
beautiful, like Cath, or Lea…”
He knows
why she picked those names, the woman that lab gossip has him in love with, and
his old flame; he also knows how wrong she is. Her breath catches at his quiet,
“No,” then his hands go to her cheeks, lifting her head so that he can look
into her eyes. “But you’re beautiful like Sara,” he whispers. “And there’s
no-one can hold a candle to you.”
Her cheeks
are warm against his hands, her lips even warmer as his cover hers, and he shows her exactly how beautiful he thinks she
is.