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Apr. 9th, 2004 09:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
helsinkibabyThis is all ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
misssimm's fault... ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
csi100 + Brad Paisley challenge = 7 drabble Warrick/Sara series.
Whiskey Lullaby
Sara knows that this isn’t the wisest thing that she’s ever done. That the last place she should be this early in the morning is a bar, that the last thing she should be ordering are shots of whiskey, not when she hasn’t even had her breakfast yet.
But she and Warrick have just spent three days investigating the rape and murder of a ten-year-old child, so she knows exactly what she’s going to be seeing in her dreams, isn’t looking forward to it.
If it takes a whiskey lullaby to keep those dreams at bay, then so be it.
Long Sermon
“You sure you want to be doing this?”
Sara turns her head to look at Warrick, sighs at what she sees in his eyes. “Don’t start,” she orders, looking away, and he says nothing for a moment, just sits down beside her.
“What do you think I’m gonna say?” he asks, and she picks up her glass, studies the amber liquid.
“I don’t need a long sermon,” she warns him, expecting one, so his next words take her by surprise.
“How about a ride home?” he asks.
She considers, then nods, downing the drink in one gulp. “I’d like that.”
We Danced
Warrick is relieved when Sara agrees to let him drive her home, less so when she stands and it’s obvious that the party started quite a few shots before his arrival. She’s a little unsteady on her feet, so he slides his arm around her waist, is surprised when she stops in the middle of the empty dance floor.
“You ok?” he asks, concern replaced by something else when she presses herself against him.
“Dance with me?” It’s a plaintive plea, one that he’s powerless to refuse, so he sighs, holds her close as the music plays.
And they dance.
Sleeping on the Foldout
Warrick drives Sara home, but once she hits the open air, the whiskey hits her, and she can barely stand.
She’s half-asleep in the car, and when they arrive at her place he has to practically carry her inside. She’s asleep again before her head hits the pillow, doesn’t stir when he takes off her jacket and boots, when he sits down on the bed, runs a hand over her hair.
“Sara,” he whispers. “We’ve got to stop doing this.”
Standing then, he finds the foldout bed where it always is, lies down on it and is asleep in seconds.
I’ve Been Better
Warrick wakes up to the sound of the bathroom door slamming. Knowing what’s happening, what he has to do, he fills a glass of water, then knocks on the bathroom door. “It’s me,” is all he says.
She takes a long time to reply. “It’s ok,” she says, his signal to open the door, step inside. He hands her the glass of water, and while she drinks it, still crouched on the floor, he wets a facecloth, lays it on the back of her neck.
“You ok?” he asks, and she grimaces.
“I’ve been better.”
Somehow, Warrick doesn’t doubt it.
Me Neither
Sara can’t remember a time in her life that she’s felt worse, and it’s not made any better by the fact that Warrick is there to witness it. Even if he’s supplying water and wet facecloths, the look in his eyes makes her feel even worse than the hangover.
Sitting at her kitchen counter, he lays it on the line. “This isn’t good for you,” he says. “I don’t want to have to do this again.”
She sighs, runs a hand through her hair. “Me neither.” Then, “Will you help me?”
He covers her hand with his. “Whatever you need.”
He Didn’t Have To Be
Sara tells Warrick that what she really needs is a friend, but she’s surprised when he nods, goes over to her phone, orders them some Chinese takeout, saying she needs to eat.
Nor is she expecting him to bring her to the bar to collect her car, or to call her up near the end of shift, inviting her to breakfast.
In the days and weeks that follow, he does that all the time, and when she hasn’t had a drink in two months, she knows it’s all down to him being the friend that he didn’t have to be.
And what's more, there's stand-alones to also be done... this is really not fair. < taps foot impatiently > Waiting to see what a certain other person comes up with...
misssimm's fault... csi100 + Brad Paisley challenge = 7 drabble Warrick/Sara series. Whiskey Lullaby
Sara knows that this isn’t the wisest thing that she’s ever done. That the last place she should be this early in the morning is a bar, that the last thing she should be ordering are shots of whiskey, not when she hasn’t even had her breakfast yet.
But she and Warrick have just spent three days investigating the rape and murder of a ten-year-old child, so she knows exactly what she’s going to be seeing in her dreams, isn’t looking forward to it.
If it takes a whiskey lullaby to keep those dreams at bay, then so be it.
Long Sermon
“You sure you want to be doing this?”
Sara turns her head to look at Warrick, sighs at what she sees in his eyes. “Don’t start,” she orders, looking away, and he says nothing for a moment, just sits down beside her.
“What do you think I’m gonna say?” he asks, and she picks up her glass, studies the amber liquid.
“I don’t need a long sermon,” she warns him, expecting one, so his next words take her by surprise.
“How about a ride home?” he asks.
She considers, then nods, downing the drink in one gulp. “I’d like that.”
We Danced
Warrick is relieved when Sara agrees to let him drive her home, less so when she stands and it’s obvious that the party started quite a few shots before his arrival. She’s a little unsteady on her feet, so he slides his arm around her waist, is surprised when she stops in the middle of the empty dance floor.
“You ok?” he asks, concern replaced by something else when she presses herself against him.
“Dance with me?” It’s a plaintive plea, one that he’s powerless to refuse, so he sighs, holds her close as the music plays.
And they dance.
Sleeping on the Foldout
Warrick drives Sara home, but once she hits the open air, the whiskey hits her, and she can barely stand.
She’s half-asleep in the car, and when they arrive at her place he has to practically carry her inside. She’s asleep again before her head hits the pillow, doesn’t stir when he takes off her jacket and boots, when he sits down on the bed, runs a hand over her hair.
“Sara,” he whispers. “We’ve got to stop doing this.”
Standing then, he finds the foldout bed where it always is, lies down on it and is asleep in seconds.
I’ve Been Better
Warrick wakes up to the sound of the bathroom door slamming. Knowing what’s happening, what he has to do, he fills a glass of water, then knocks on the bathroom door. “It’s me,” is all he says.
She takes a long time to reply. “It’s ok,” she says, his signal to open the door, step inside. He hands her the glass of water, and while she drinks it, still crouched on the floor, he wets a facecloth, lays it on the back of her neck.
“You ok?” he asks, and she grimaces.
“I’ve been better.”
Somehow, Warrick doesn’t doubt it.
Me Neither
Sara can’t remember a time in her life that she’s felt worse, and it’s not made any better by the fact that Warrick is there to witness it. Even if he’s supplying water and wet facecloths, the look in his eyes makes her feel even worse than the hangover.
Sitting at her kitchen counter, he lays it on the line. “This isn’t good for you,” he says. “I don’t want to have to do this again.”
She sighs, runs a hand through her hair. “Me neither.” Then, “Will you help me?”
He covers her hand with his. “Whatever you need.”
He Didn’t Have To Be
Sara tells Warrick that what she really needs is a friend, but she’s surprised when he nods, goes over to her phone, orders them some Chinese takeout, saying she needs to eat.
Nor is she expecting him to bring her to the bar to collect her car, or to call her up near the end of shift, inviting her to breakfast.
In the days and weeks that follow, he does that all the time, and when she hasn’t had a drink in two months, she knows it’s all down to him being the friend that he didn’t have to be.
And what's more, there's stand-alones to also be done... this is really not fair. < taps foot impatiently > Waiting to see what a certain other person comes up with...
