In The End Author: gij Title: In The End (1/3 – I think.) Rating: Like, PG. Wait, two women in love? Doesn't that automatically become R or something? God the world is prejudiced. Ahem. I am willing to compromise and call it PG-13. Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to awesome people at CBS and so on, representatives of Marg Helgenberger and Jorja Fox (who I wish *I* owned), the people themselves… something like that. Feedback: Here, or to gilibij@yahoo.com Authors Note: This is my first CSI fic. I'm an experienced author in the world of Roswell fic, and I like to think that's worth something. However, feel free to persuade me I should continue this. In The End "Warrick and Nick are together on a 419 behind a Dumpster. Catherine and Sara – where's Sara?" I blinked, still trying to recover from a mostly sleepless night and the enthusiastic hugs I had gotten from Lindsay in the few moments I'd seen her earlier. "She's not here yet?" I asked redundantly. "She wasn't in the break room before." Nick offered. "She hasn't been doing so much overtime, hasn't needed to fall asleep there." Warrick smirked. "But this is amazing – Super Sara running late?" "It happens to the best of us." Grissom shrugged it off. "You two can go. Cath, call her." "Where are you going?" I asked, half-grateful, half-surprised he wasn't taking the time to check up on his protege. "Another case on the strip, sounds like a simple homicide. If you can't find Sara, give me a call and I'll give you a hand with your case." He offered. "Okay." I allowed, and he handed me the case details before shrugging on his jacket to leave the office. I followed him out, already dialling Sara's home phone on my cell. Five minutes, maybe 70 phone rings and no answer later, I grabbed my own jacket and headed for Sara's apartment. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * She woke up before me, like always. This time, though, she seemed determined to get my attention before she left. I heard my name and a muffled sentence, muttered an "okay" before turning to bury my face in the pillow once more. That apparently wasn't the answer she was looking for. I was half way to falling back asleep when I felt her hand on my hip and her tongue around the edge of my ear. *That* got a better reaction. I rolled over onto my side so I could actually see her and prised my eyelids partway open. "Sa-ra." She sing-songed under her breath. "I know you're awake." "I am now. Whadisit?" "I'm gonna go by home and let Lindsay know her mother is still alive. I'll see you at work, `kay?" "Mmm, `kay." I hummed sleepily. She smiled at that and tucked my hair behind my ear for me, kissing me briefly before climbing from the bed to find the clothes we'd scattered on the floor hours earlier. I actually managed to stay awake long enough to hear her dress and leave, the door making a soft clicking noise as it re-locked behind her. I smiled sleepily at the sound of her footsteps before rolling over and falling back asleep. The next time I woke up, I wasn't quite so happy about it. I was still in my bed, but somehow in the less than an hour I'd been asleep, it had turned into some sort of torture chamber. I felt like I was roasting alive, in severe pain from swallowing, and someone had shoved a six-inch knife somewhere in my stomach. Ouch. Moving heavy limbs, I somehow managed to drag the suddenly immensely weighty quilt off me and lie there, feeling some relief as cool air hit my sweaty skin. My entire body felt pummelled and miserable, like I'd been beat up with a four by four piece of wood. I somehow managed to struggle to the bathroom, fighting nausea and dizziness every step. Standing in the doorway, I actually had to stop and lean against the door for several moments or pass out. When the worst of the dizziness passed, I fumbled my way into the bathroom, eyes shut – it induced less nausea – and rustled around in the cabinet long enough to pull out a double dose of pain killers and swallow them dry. Feeling my stomach revolt at even this slight intrusion, I knelt on the bathroom floor with my head against the sink for a few moments longer, desperately fighting off more illness. Somehow, I managed to get to my feet and return to sprawl, face down on my bed. Dragging the covers over me, I wondered blearily how I could possibly have been hot. The whole room felt like some idiot had set the thermostat at negative fifty and then deliberately broken it to make everyone else miserable.