Rating: PG
Pairing: Sara/Warrick
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.
Notes: For the LiveJournal CSReports Virtual Rewind challenge, to the "Buffy titles" challenge. And I couldn't just write one, so I ended up doing a minor series.

As far as Warrick is concerned, he and Sara are supposed to be going over a crime scene, looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack; or rather, evidence in a deserted park.

The rainstorm, one of those that appears out of nowhere, sending inches of rain in a sudden deluge, comes as a surprise.

When the first drop hits his forehead, he looks up at the sky, recognises immediately what's in store. Sara follows his gaze, realises the same, and her eyes grow wide as she looks back at him. A question begins to form on her lips, and he's pretty sure she's going to ask what they should do, but before she can get any more than the word, "What-" out, more drops are coming thick and fast, and getting faster.

Warrick reacts instinctively, because he knows that the work they're doing is follow-up at best, that the likelihood of any undiscovered evidence being here is slim in the extreme. So he answers with one word.

"Run."

She blinks in surprise, and he grabs her hand, literally hauling her along with him, heading for the shelter of a grove of trees, leaving everything they carried behind them. He knows that from the trees they will be able to see anything they need to, that nothing can happen to their equipment, and at least there, they will be dry.

Short a trek as it is, by the time they get under the trees, both are soaked, and with one look at Sara, Warrick sees that she's caught it worse than he has. He, at least, was wearing a light jacket, but Sara had been warm earlier on, had taken hers off. She's paying for it now though, her thin shirt sticking to her skin, and Warrick can see shivers coursing through her slim frame.

She's laughing though, hands which are likewise shaking moving up to push back her soaking wet hair from her face. "I'll never get used to Vegas storms," she tells him, and her voice is shaking just as much as her hands.

She's still smiling up at him, but he's frowning down at her. "You're going to catch your death of cold," he warns her, a thousand warnings from Grams running through his head, and once more he's reacting instinctively.

"I'm fine," she begins to tell him, but he's already taking off his jacket. "Warrick-", she protests, frustration or amusement in her voice, but he shakes his head.

"Take the jacket Sara," he orders, his hands pulling it tight around her shoulders. She grins, looks down, the movement causing a lock of hair to fall down across her face. Barely aware that he's doing it, Warrick reaches up, pushes it back, and Sara raises her head slowly, meeting his gaze.

Warrick is suddenly very aware of their proximity, and the look on her face, but his lips meeting hers still comes very much as a surprise.

He's even more surprised when she kisses him back.

>*<*>*<

Sara is surprised when the rain comes out of nowhere, is even more surprised when Warrick's reaction is to make a run for the nearby trees. Which is nothing to her surprise when Warrick comes over all chivalrous, takes off his jacket and drapes it around her shoulders.

The next thing she knows, his lips are on hers and he's kissing her, gently at first, almost chastely, and she wants to pull away, wants to ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing.

Instead, she surprises herself, and probably him, by kissing him back hungrily, opening her mouth to his as she winds her arms around his neck, forgetting about the storm around them, losing herself in a storm of passion instead.

Her skin is cold, but his hands are warm as they work their way under her top, and, as her hands discover, his body is just as warm. But it's the contrast of the smooth warmth of his body at her front and the roughness of the tree bark at her back as he pushes her against it that makes her gasp into his mouth, not an expression of pain but rather pleasure at the contradictory sensations.

He's not to know that though, and he pulls away from her lips, leaving his body flush against hers, staring at her with eyes that are darker than she's ever seen them. He draws in a deep, shuddering breath, shaking hands reaching up to frame her face as he rests his forehead against hers. "Sara, I'm sorry…" he whispers, and she cuts him off with a shake of her head, the words coming automatically to her lips.

"I'm not," she tells him, and he looks surprised for the instant she looks at his face before she draws him closer, kissing him again.

Eventually, reluctantly, they tear away from one another, noting with some embarrassment that the storm has passed, that the sky is once more blue. They're on overtime as it is, so she doesn’t feel the slightest bit guilty about checking their evidence at the lab and heading straight for home, and judging by the fact that he's at her apartment door scant minutes after she arrives, nor does he.

Further evidence to mutual lack of guilt is the way that she pounces on him the moment he's over the threshold, hardly pausing to close the door. He chuckles low in his throat, the sound unbelievably sexy to her, and she's already working at the buttons of his shirt. She's a smart girl, but between his lips and his hands, it's hard to concentrate on the work at hand, gets harder when he spins her so that she's pressed against the wall, his hands, more dextrous than hers, already sliding between their bodies.

Sara's head falls back against the wall and she realises they're not going to make it to the bedroom.

Right after that, she realises she doesn't care.

And right after that, she stops thinking altogether.

>*<*>*<

Ever since they first met, Warrick and Sara's relationship has been a verbal one. At first, it was verbal fireworks, jab and counter jab, punch and counter punch, each vying for the upper hand.

Gradually, things changed, and they became friendly, then friends. The earlier sparring softening to a more friendly banter, swapping theories and stories, working together on cases, ideas intertwining freely, two minds working as one until they couldn’t tell who had contributed what to the discussion, knowing only that they'd arrived exactly where they needed to be.

Warrick's always been able to talk to Sara, just like she's always been able to talk to him.

But now he's in a place he's never been before; in Sara's bedroom, in Sara's bed, his clothes and hers scattered in various locations, her naked body wrapped around his.

He has no idea what to say to her, is grateful that she's asleep, that he's spared that awkwardness. For the moment, he just wants to stay like this, watch her sleeping, her peaceful face pillowed against his chest. He's always known Sara was beautiful, had always thought she was at her most beautiful while at work, her face alight with concentration.

Now he knows that her face alight with passion is more beautiful still; her face restful most beautiful of all.

He knows that this will end, as all things must, and he isn't sure that he really wants to see her reaction when she wakes up and finds him here, but he can no more make himself leave than he can stop the sun from setting.

It comes to an end sooner than he might wish, when he feels her stir against him, feels her take in a deep breath. He holds his breath as he watches her fluttering eyelashes, holds it longer when she buries her head against his chest, as if she's fighting wakefulness, her arm tightening around his waist, pulling him towards her.

It seems to take an age before she actually opens her eyes, raises them to meet his, and when they do, the most miraculous thing happens.

Sara smiles.

And it's not just any smile, oh no. It's a slow, satisfied smile, the kind of smile that tells him loud and clear that she has no regrets about last night. That, and the way her hand slides up his chest, curling around his shoulder, the way she props herself up slightly against him, the way she moves her body against him as she shifts, lets him know that she wouldn't mind a repeat performance, and he's more than willing to accommodate her.

Her lips meet his, not in the passionate frenzy of hours earlier, but in the same slow manner as her smile, and he smiles into the kiss, because he knows they've got all the time in the world to talk about this, to figure out where they go from here.

For now, he's content to savour the moment and enjoy the hush.

>*<*>*<

It's been a long time since Sara's woken up with someone, even longer since she enjoyed some lazy morning lovemaking. It's never bothered her before, but after this morning, after Warrick, she's beginning to realise what she's been missing out on.

She thinks that it should feel stranger than it does, that the awkwardness associated with these things should still be there, all the more so since this is Warrick, the man who's been her friend for years. There should be some deep conversation about what they're doing, where they're going; there should be a thousand worrying thoughts flying between them.

She knows this, but she can't think of anything but being in his arms.

Once she wakes up, sees him staring at her, once she kisses him, it takes a while for them to make it out of the bedroom. They eventually find their way to the shower, which they share, ostensibly because they're running late, in reality for other reasons altogether. Getting dressed is another chore, because it's the exact opposite of her desires, but they do manage to get to the kitchen.

He acts quite surprised when she starts preparing an omelette, and she archly reminds him that she grew up in a B&B, that there are a thousand ways to cook a breakfast, and she knows all of them. She expects a pithy response, frowns when his face falls, when his eyes become shadowed, and he leans back against the counter, crossing his arms and sighing heavily.

Placing the eggs and bowl beside the sink, culinary masterpiece forgotten, she goes to him, says his name. He doesn't speak, and she rests her hand on his chest, leans into him. "Talk to me," she begs softly, and he sighs again.

"I never knew you could cook," he tells her, and she shakes her head.

"No-one knows that," she replies. "And breakfast is the only thing I can do."

Her words are meant to soothe him, they fail. "It's not just that… I didn't know your parents had a B&B… I know you came from San Francisco, but I don't know if that's where you grew up… I don't know if you have brothers and sisters, or any other family…"

Sara's other hand goes to his chest, stays there. "We've got plenty of time for that," she tells him, and he meets her gaze, holds it steadily.

"And what about Grissom?" he asks, the question making her reel as if he's slapped her. "I know how you feel about him…"

Sara swallows hard. "How I felt," she corrects him gently, all her emphasis on the last word. "That was a long time ago Warrick… and I know who I want to be with."

His lip twitch in the shadow of a smile. "Yeah?"

A smile spreads across her face. "Yeah," she says, brushing her lips across his.

The omelette stays forgotten, and it's another time she's chosen well.

>*<*>*<

Nick and Greg are on their way into the CSI lab, cups of coffee in hand, talking over that night's football games, predicting scores and results, when Nick sees something that stops him in his tracks.

"Hey man," he says, pointing to the car that's just pulling into the lot. "You see what I see?"

Greg frowns, follows his gaze. "Warrick's bringing Sara to work," he says, and it sounds as if he sees nothing wrong with that. Nick doesn't suppose that he should see anything wrong with it either; after all, Warrick and Sara are friends, and friends can give one another rides to work. There's nothing wrong with that, nothing at all.

Except for one thing.

"From opposite sides of town?" he questions, and when he glances at Greg, he sees that realisation dawn in the other man's eyes too.

As one, their eyes swing back to the car, now parked, and they see Sara getting out of the passenger side, stand there. Warrick gets out too, comes around the front of the car, stands in front of Sara, who hasn't moved. In fact, she's just standing there, looking at him, arms crossed over her chest, a smile on her face that Nick can see from clear across the parking lot, and there's something in the way she's looking at him that makes Nick's jaw drop, because it can only mean one thing.

Beside him, Greg must come to the same conclusion, because he mutters in disbelief, "No… way."

Nick would reply, but he's too busy looking at Warrick, who's smiling in just the same way that Sara is, saying something that makes her laugh. He reaches out, his fingers brushing her cheek before moving into her hair, cupping the back of her head, and that's when he does something that Nick would never, in a million years, have thought possible.

He draws Sara close to him and kisses her, full on the lips, right in the middle of the CSI parking lot.

It's not a long kiss, but what it lacks in duration, it makes up for in sparks, and when they pull away from one another, they share another one of those smiling looks. Then, without another word, they turn towards the CSI lab and make their way inside.

Nick's not sure they even realise that they're hand in hand.

Only when Warrick and Sara have vanished from sight does Greg find his tongue. "When the hell did that happen?" he wonders, and Nick can only shake his head, laughing from sheer amazement, because he's got no idea.

One thing's for sure though - he's looking forward to finding out.

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