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Oct. 27th, 2005 09:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
helsinkibabyTitle: If Walls Could Talk
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Sara Sidle/Warrick Brown
Rating: PG
Word Count: 659
Spoilers: Grave Danger
Prompt: 13 White
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
au100
It’s seen a lot in its years, but the walls of the Little White Wedding Chapel have never seen a wedding quite like this.
Not that the bride being something of a celebrity – major or minor – is a new thing. But this particular bride isn’t famous for music or acting or taking her clothes off on the Strip. Sara Sidle is famous for all the wrong reasons; because for the last few days, her face has been smiling out at people from newspapers and television screens, all bearing the same terrible legend – CSI Kidnapped And Buried Alive.
The denizens of Las Vegas had followed her story closely from the start, the sensational aspect to the story making it irresistible to the press, the fact that the kidnapped CSI was something of a beauty making it all the more so. The only thing that could have made her any more appealing to the masses was if her boyfriend had somehow been involved in the rescue effort.
Which of course, he had been. Try as he might, as all his friends and team-mates might to protect his privacy, someone in the Crime Lab had broken ranks, identified Warrick Brown as Sara Sidle’s boyfriend, and the press had featured him just as much as it had featured her.
He’s the one who’s standing beside her now, wearing the same clothes that he was wearing when the cameras caught him coming out of the ambulance at Desert Palm, shoving aside the waiting press as the EMTs stretched Sara into the hospital. His clothes are still caked with dust and earth from when they uncovered her glass coffin, are rumpled and stained, hardly the outfit that befits a bridegroom. Warrick doesn’t seem to care about his clothes though; all his attention is focussed on Sara. He’s staring at her like he’s afraid she’s going to disappear any moment, as if his hands holding hers are all that’s holding her upright.
From the looks of Sara though, that’s not such a reach. Her face is chalk white, aside from her eyes, which are rimmed in red, outlined by black circles. Bridal nerves alone can’t account for the tremors that rack her slender frame from head to foot, or for the shake of her hand when she tries to slide the ring on to Warrick’s finger. And surely, no bride’s something borrowed has ever been the navy blue LVPD t-shirt she’s wearing, no bride’s something blue has ever been the earth-stained pair of blue jeans she’s barely standing up in.
Their two witnesses stand behind them, similarly dishevelled in attire, similarly worried about Sara. One is dark-haired, strong jaw clenched tight, the other more slight of built, spiky hair sticking up in every direction. He, at least, manages a smile as Sara stumbles over the words, a smile that stays on his face as the two are pronounced husband and wife.
He’s also the one who slips outside to read a statement to the ever-present press as the three others sneak out the side door. He tells them what they want to know, that Warrick proposed to Sara when they were in the hospital, that the moment she was released, they came here, because they didn’t want to waste another moment. He ends with a plea for privacy, to let them get back to normal and get on with their lives, a plea that he’s sure will fall on deaf ears, but he makes it anyway.
As he talks, Nick drives away, Warrick and Sara sitting low in the back seat. She is wrapped up in his arms, her head buried in his shoulder, and when she starts to softly cry, he holds her tighter, tells her that he’s here, that everything is going to be all right.
The Little White Wedding Chapel has never seen a wedding like this before, never will again.
But if those walls could talk, they’d assure a happily ever after.
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Sara Sidle/Warrick Brown
Rating: PG
Word Count: 659
Spoilers: Grave Danger
Prompt: 13 White
Notes: For
au100It’s seen a lot in its years, but the walls of the Little White Wedding Chapel have never seen a wedding quite like this.
Not that the bride being something of a celebrity – major or minor – is a new thing. But this particular bride isn’t famous for music or acting or taking her clothes off on the Strip. Sara Sidle is famous for all the wrong reasons; because for the last few days, her face has been smiling out at people from newspapers and television screens, all bearing the same terrible legend – CSI Kidnapped And Buried Alive.
The denizens of Las Vegas had followed her story closely from the start, the sensational aspect to the story making it irresistible to the press, the fact that the kidnapped CSI was something of a beauty making it all the more so. The only thing that could have made her any more appealing to the masses was if her boyfriend had somehow been involved in the rescue effort.
Which of course, he had been. Try as he might, as all his friends and team-mates might to protect his privacy, someone in the Crime Lab had broken ranks, identified Warrick Brown as Sara Sidle’s boyfriend, and the press had featured him just as much as it had featured her.
He’s the one who’s standing beside her now, wearing the same clothes that he was wearing when the cameras caught him coming out of the ambulance at Desert Palm, shoving aside the waiting press as the EMTs stretched Sara into the hospital. His clothes are still caked with dust and earth from when they uncovered her glass coffin, are rumpled and stained, hardly the outfit that befits a bridegroom. Warrick doesn’t seem to care about his clothes though; all his attention is focussed on Sara. He’s staring at her like he’s afraid she’s going to disappear any moment, as if his hands holding hers are all that’s holding her upright.
From the looks of Sara though, that’s not such a reach. Her face is chalk white, aside from her eyes, which are rimmed in red, outlined by black circles. Bridal nerves alone can’t account for the tremors that rack her slender frame from head to foot, or for the shake of her hand when she tries to slide the ring on to Warrick’s finger. And surely, no bride’s something borrowed has ever been the navy blue LVPD t-shirt she’s wearing, no bride’s something blue has ever been the earth-stained pair of blue jeans she’s barely standing up in.
Their two witnesses stand behind them, similarly dishevelled in attire, similarly worried about Sara. One is dark-haired, strong jaw clenched tight, the other more slight of built, spiky hair sticking up in every direction. He, at least, manages a smile as Sara stumbles over the words, a smile that stays on his face as the two are pronounced husband and wife.
He’s also the one who slips outside to read a statement to the ever-present press as the three others sneak out the side door. He tells them what they want to know, that Warrick proposed to Sara when they were in the hospital, that the moment she was released, they came here, because they didn’t want to waste another moment. He ends with a plea for privacy, to let them get back to normal and get on with their lives, a plea that he’s sure will fall on deaf ears, but he makes it anyway.
As he talks, Nick drives away, Warrick and Sara sitting low in the back seat. She is wrapped up in his arms, her head buried in his shoulder, and when she starts to softly cry, he holds her tighter, tells her that he’s here, that everything is going to be all right.
The Little White Wedding Chapel has never seen a wedding like this before, never will again.
But if those walls could talk, they’d assure a happily ever after.
