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[helsinkibaby]

For dynamic_gravity ... if I could do more for you, I would... but this little bit of escapist fluff is the best that I can do! *hugs you*

Title: Retrospect and Prospect
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sara/Warrick
Spoilers: Kinda goes AU after season four, but specifically Pilot, Cool Change, Who Are You? and Face Lift
Feedback: Makes my day
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Summary: It's seven years since he shadowed a rookie…



The shift is almost over and he's glad of it.

The shift is almost over, the shift that he thought would never end, and with it the assignment that he didn't want, the assignment that he hoped he'd never have again.

It's almost over, and he's got through it in one piece, and all he has to do is make it from the car into the CSI building so that he can drop off his notes before clocking off.

The shift is almost over, and it's now that he gets the question, the question that he's been dreading all night, the one he wasn't sure how he'd answer, the one he hadn't wanted, any more than he'd wanted this assignment.

"Why didn't you want to be partnered with me?"

They're sitting in the car park and his hand is on the door handle when she asks him, and he turns to her in shock, surprised that she knew about it, even more surprised that she had the guts to ask him about it. It's not a question that he particularly wants to answer though, so he dodges, dropping his hand and staring straight ahead. "What makes you think that?" he parries, and she makes a rather inelegant sound of disgust.

"I may be a rookie Warrick, but I'm not deaf," she challenges him, and he has to bite back a wry smile, because that particular brand of feisty spunk is familiar to him, far too familiar in fact. "You blew up at the boss when you got this assignment, and you've hardly been Mr Warm Fuzzies to me all shift." She pauses, and he can see that she's an inch away from grinding her teeth in pure frustration. "Have I done something to piss you off?"

He turns to look at her, an amused smile on his face, which only serves to make the irritation on hers even more pronounced. He should have known that she'd be sharp enough to pick up on his mood, on his reticence, and he certainly can't imagine that she's used to having men do anything other than fawn all over her, not with the way that she looks. "It's not you," he tells her, and she chuckles without humour.

"I never believe those words coming out of a man's mouth at any time," she tells him, and he laughs, shaking his head.

"Spunky," he decides. "I like that."

"Finally," she mutters, and he lets that one go, instead continuing on with his explanation.

"It's seven years since I shadowed a rookie," he tells her quietly, surprised that it's been that long, surprised that it's still not easy to talk about. "Her name was Holly Gribbs."

He takes the opportunity to glance over at her, and she's looking curiously at him, a furrowed brow over her blue eyes. "And what, you guys didn't get along?"

He shakes his head, wishes it had been that simple. "I was a different man then," he tells her, and he knows from the look on her face that she doesn't understand, and he doesn't car. The man he was then isn't the same man who's sitting in the car now, telling her all these things; that man died long ago. "I was mixed up in a lot of things that I shouldn't have been…nothing illegal, not technically anyway. But let's just say that they were a morally grey area. Very grey." He closes his eyes, as much to marshal up the courage to continue with his story as to block out the memories. "I left her alone at a crime scene. Home invasion, all she had to do was dust for prints. Except the suspect came back to the scene."

He has to swallow hard then, because he can still see Sara's face in that coffee shop as she told him the news. When he doesn't reply, Erin asks the halting question, "Was she…"

"He shot her with her own gun," he says bluntly, looking right at her, seeing the shock flashing across her face, settling in her eyes. "She was killed."

He sees her struggling to absorb that, to make sense of it. "Shouldn't you…I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but shouldn't you…"

"Have been fired?" He takes pity on her, because after all, this is her first day, and no matter how much spunk she might have, the last thing she wants to do is piss off a senior member of the team. He's got to give her points for that, because he's not sure that he was ever that politic. "Oh yeah, no question. I violated the rules and procedures for clearing a scene, got a good person killed. I was damn lucky, and I know it. See, Grissom believed in me. Trusted me, even when he had no reason to. I promised him I wouldn't let him down again. And I didn't."

"And you've never shadowed a rookie since then?"

He shrugs. "In my defence, it's not like we've had that many. You're what, the third to come through graveyard since then? But it's not something I've ever wanted to do… I guess you could say I had a mental block against it."

"But this time you were over-ruled." There's a teasing little smile on her face, and he finds himself grinning back.

"Didn't even get a choice," he confirmed.

"Hey, it could've been worse," she says, and a second later, a panicked look creeps over her face. "I did do ok, didn't I? I mean, you're not going to give me a bad report are you? Because, I mean, it was my first night and-"

He holds up a hand to stop her babbling. "Erin, you did fine." Not that they'd had anything particularly taxing to do; mostly processing a couple of smaller crime scenes, showing her where everything was in the lab, introducing her around to a few people. But she'd handled herself well, had shown herself proficient in everything he'd asked of her, and he was pretty sure that they'd be able to throw something a bit meatier at her tomorrow. At least he hoped so; he still wasn't cut out for such mundanity.

Her features relax into a smile, and he notes absently that if she took to doing that around the lab, she'd have a line of lab techs panting to help her out on anything her heart desired. "Thank you," she says, and he waves a hand dismissively.

"Tell you what," he says, glancing at the dashboard clock. "We're done for the night, and shift's got five minutes left. Why don't you head home, get some rest. I'll drop this off."

She frowns, still smiling, but obviously not sure if she should accept such an offer. "Really?"

"Go," he commands, stepping out of the car and heading towards the lab, turning as he does so, walking backwards so that he can see her. "And have a good morning."

She stands by the car, smiling and waving back at him. "You too."

The halls are almost deserted as he makes his way through the building, and he's not really surprised. Dayshift personnel are probably still making their way in, and if their nightshift counterparts aren't glued to lab equipment, frantically trying to finish work before they end up putting in some serious overtime, then they're hiding in corners, trying not to get caught so that they end up putting in some serious overtime. Still though, he knows where he has to be, knows exactly who he's looking for, and he heads straight for the Shift Supervisor's office, knocking on the door, already pushing it open by the time he receives an answer. He ambles straight in, holding up the file folders in his hand, saying only four words. "Ready for your signature."

He lets them fall onto the table, dropping down into the chair opposite, awaiting a response. When it comes though, it's not the one he's expecting. "You made it then?" It's said with a raised eyebrow and the barest hint of a smile, and he's been around long enough to know when he's being teased.

"Yes I did. And so did Erin, so please, no I told you so."

Hands are held up, palms towards him, framing an expression of perfect innocence. "Wouldn't dream of it. How was she?"

He doesn't have to think long. "Efficient. Thorough. Pleasant, though it's not as if I gave her any reason to be…"

"You think she's ready for something trickier tomorrow night?"

"She doesn't think so," he says, recalling how relieved Erin was that she wouldn't have to go anywhere near the autopsy room. "But she is."

A knowing Grissom smile greets him. "There's a lot of that going around."

His eyes narrow. "What happened to no 'I told you so'?"

"That wasn't-"

"Sure…" He drags the word out, but he can feel his lips twitching, knows that he's not going to be able to keep his smile back for long, and when he hears her chuckle, he's a goner. "You know, Grissom would have been proud of that look," he continues.

"Just the look?" she teases, and he has to give her that, even though he knows that Grissom would be, and is, proud of her for a hell of a lot more than that. She was hand-picked by him to work here seven years ago, and when Grissom had left for California two years ago, she'd been his first choice to succeed him. Catherine had been heading up day shift for a year at that point, citing the improved quality of her time with Lindsey as a reason why she'd never go back to nights, and neither he nor Nick had wanted the job. Sara had been the best choice, the only real choice, and much to all their surprise, there hadn't been any problems with the transition.

"Erin asked me," he tells her now. "Why I wasn't pleased to be working with her."

Her eyes narrow, and she throws down her pen, leaning back in her seat. "What did you tell her?" she asks, and he shrugs.

"The truth. Holly." He lets out a long breath. "Can you believe that that was seven years ago?"

He can't believe it, and from the faraway look in her eyes, she's having trouble with it herself. "It seems like yesterday," she admits. "And at the same time, it seems like a lifetime ago."

He chuckles. "It was."

"True."

"You recommended that Grissom fire me," he reminds her, and predictably, her cheeks flush red, and she looks down at the desk, embarrassed. "Matter of fact, you did it twice."

"He never did listen to me," she counters, shrugging as if to deny all responsibility. But when she lifts her head, when her eyes meet his, they're serious, and more than a little sincere. "I'm glad though."

It's on the tip of his tongue to tease her for her segue into sentimentality, but he stops himself, knowing that he's ahead, deciding that discretion is indeed the better part of valour. "Remember the first case we ever worked together, just the two of us?" he asks instead. "That officer involved shooting where the bullet got sucked into the spare tyre…"

She's frowning at first, but then she remembers and she laughs, though he's pretty sure neither one of them were laughing at the time. "Taking apart the Jeep was fun," she says, though he remembers it as being anything but; in fact, he remembers the air being pretty blue in the garage that day.

"You need to work on your idea of fun," he tells her, and she rolls her eyes. "Then there was that time that you went all Mulder on me…" She narrows her eyes in silent question, and he elaborates. "Trying to prove the first ever case of Spontaneous Human Combustion?"

Her laugh peals out, filling the gap between them, her hand going to her forehead as memory strikes her. "I was so sure you were going to rat me out to Grissom," she tells him when she calms. "But you didn't." There's something vaguely approximating admiration in her tone, which he deflects with a wry shrug.

"I figured it was more fun to make you clean up the bonfire," he says, and she wrinkles her nose in distaste.

"And if I wasn't a vegetarian before…" she murmurs. "It took me hours to get the smell of smoke out of my hair…and the clothes I was wearing went straight into the bin. I was cursing you the whole time I might add."

He doesn't comment on that, doesn't need to, because not only did he know that at the time, but she's told him about it many times since then. He shakes his head, contemplating what things were like between them then, compared to how they are now. "Looking back now… I never thought you'd be able to see me as anything other than the gambler who got Holly Gribbs killed."

She gives him a small, sad smile. "I never thought you'd see me as anything other than the woman who tried to get you fired." She takes a beat. "Twice."

The extra word makes him chuckle, and he thinks that's the effect that she was shooting for. But he's still serious when he tells her, "We've come a long way together."

She can't do anything but nod. "Who'd've thought we'd end up here? The two most senior CSIs on graveyard…" Because Catherine went to days, Grissom to California and Nick to New York, and they're still here, together.

"I always thought you'd end up here." He waves his hand around the office to demonstrate, but he's not just talking about seniority when he adds, "Just never thought I'd end up here with you is all."

She smiles, that gentle smile that she reserves for him alone, and only then for off-shift times, only used on special occasions when they're in this building. "Surprised me too," she murmurs, and he knows she's not just talking about the job either.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time, just matches her smile with one of his own, taking the chance to study her in the dim light. As he does so, he catches some things that he's missed during the conversation, like the slight hint of dark shadows under her eyes, the fine lines across her brow, the easy tiredness that he can see in her shoulders. A pang of concern shoots through him, and he does his best to hide it from her, because the last thing he wants is a lecture, or worse yet, a fight. "You about done here?" he asks, the most innocuous way of getting to where he wants to go, and she breaks their gaze, looking down at the desk cluttered with paperwork. It's worse now than it ever was when Grissom worked there, but she always seems to know just where everything is, which is a feat her predecessor never accomplished.

"I've got some stuff to look over, sign off on," she tells him, and he rolls his eyes, standing up, not intending to take no for an answer.

"They'll wait until later," he commands, and from the look in her eyes, he's pretty sure that she wants to believe him, but that she feels she should protest.

So protest she does, but with a marked lack of conviction. "I really should do these Warrick…"

"Nothing doing." He's resolute, determined, immovable. "Time to go home."

She opens her mouth, and it might be a protest or an acquiescence, but either way, it's stopped when her office door opens, and her dayshift counterpart peeks in, her eyes widening when she sees the two of them there. "Aren't you guys gone yet?" she asks, looking at her watch pointedly.

He shoots her a grin, before turning his gaze back to the woman behind the desk, his face morphing into a mock glare as he does so. "I'm trying Cath," he says, and she throws up her hands, probably knowing that if the two of them are here, then they're going to gang up on her, and it's quicker to just give in.

"OK, fine, I'm going," she grumbles, rising somewhat awkwardly to her feet, coming around the side of the table to stand beside him.

"It's for the best Sara," Catherine tells her, in her best mothering tone. "You need your rest…"

"Catherine, I beg of you not to finish that sentence." She looks at her friend as she slides her arm around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder. Her other hand rests on her swollen stomach, and while one of his arms goes around her shoulder, his free hand itches to be there on top of hers. "Do you have any idea how many variations I've heard of it over the last few months?"

Catherine shoots her a wry grin. "You've got three months still to go Sara, don't count on it being tired out yet."

He fights back a grin as she groans, burying her face in his shoulder for a moment. He pulls her tighter against him, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. "Come on," he says. "Let's get you home."

She doesn't say anything, but straightens, nodding at Catherine. "He's the boss," she quips, something of a running joke between them, and he gives his expected response.

"Yeah, picture that."

Catherine's laugh follows them down the hall, and he's pretty sure that when he comes in for his next shift, she's going to find him and give him a little hell for what she'll no doubt call "that cosy little display of domesticity." He won't care though, because this shift with Erin has reminded him how the two of them met, and how far the two of them have come. They worked hard to work together, to turn initial distrust into a cautious friendship, and somehow, when they weren't looking, it turned into that kind of friendship where you can share secrets, talk about what's bothering you, knowing that you can trust the other person implicitly. By unspoken agreement they were both happy with that, until they looked at one another one day and realised that their friendship had matured, deepened, turned into something else entirely. It should have been easy from there, but they'd both been burned badly in the past, neither willing to risk sacrificing their friendship on the altar of something more.

Then one day, they'd been talking and he'd taken leave of his senses and kissed her.

They'd been married three months later.

That was a little over two years ago and he still looks at the gold ring on his hand and wonders how the hell this happened to him, to them.

The shift is well over by now, and he's glad of it. Because now he gets to go home and spend some quality time with his wife, reflect on how far they've come and how much they have to look forward to.

He's a lucky man.