Title: Fairytales
Author: DarkDreamer56
Archive: If you want it, ask please!
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: N/S
Disclaimer: If I owned the characters, I wouldn't still be trying to figure out what I want to be "when I grow up…"
Spoilers: Eh, mild backstory spoilers, but nothing too revealing.
A/N: Just a little idea I've been toying around with for awhile. It's the first fic I've ever written from Sara's POV (first person)
I was never one to believe in fairytales. When I was five, and took the first of many trips to the hospital, there was a young intern working in the Emergency Department. As he stitched up the gash on my forehead from my "accidental" fall off of the porch, he tried not to focus on the ugly purple bruises his initial exam had revealed.
"You have a very pretty name, Sara. Do you know what it means?" he asked, flashing me a kind smile. I shook my head, having already been trained to give as little information as possible, or else risk ending up in a much worse condition next time. At the age of five, I had already learned the difference between if and when.
"It means princess. A pretty name for a pretty little girl."
"My daddy calls me Princess," I replied automatically, revealing too much to this man who showed the slightest interest in me. I didn't mention that he was always drunk when he called me by that particular nickname, and the events occurring after always left me curled up on my bed in tears, wondering what I had done wrong. My mother returned from filling out whatever paperwork the nurse had given her, shooting me a warning look, clearly telling me to stop talking before I said too much.
He finished stitching my head up, ruffled my hair a little, and slipped me a piece of chocolate from the pocket of his coat. The next time I came into the ER, he was on duty again. Another set of stitches and piece of candy later, and he sent me home.
I was not the beautiful princess, locked in a tower, waiting to be rescued by Prince Charming. I was awkward and gangly, with a mess of curls that never seemed to do what my mother wanted. And no one was ever going to rescue me from the terror that enveloped my house day in and day out. Even the young doctor, who knew exactly what was going on, did nothing to stop it. He was trying to fix a gunshot wound with a band-aid. He would not be my knight in white armor, pulling me from the tower. In a home where survival meant always staying one locked door away, I had no use for Prince Charming or happily ever after.
Years later, I still had no reason to believe in fairytales. I'd lost both of my parents; different means, but the same result. One was in prison, the other buried six feet under the soil. My brother became involved in drugs, and I haven't seen him since I was about seventeen. In the stories, even Cinderella had her own fairy godmother; I had no such person. The relationships I got involved in always ended in disaster. Hank used me to cheat on the real love of his life; and with Grissom, I was always competing with bugs or blood. There was no one to wave a magic wand and put the pieces of my heart back into working order.
Then one day I was sitting at a desk, pouring over a mountain of paperwork while trying to focus my bleary eyes. I heard him call my name, and when I turned my head to acknowledge him, Nick Stokes soft lips were on mine, awakening feelings inside of me that I thought had never existed.
A few weeks later, I found myself hopelessly in love with him. By all accounts, Nick was the definitive Prince Charming. Handsome, kind, brave, and noble to a fault. But Nick had his secrets too, cracks in his heart that had their origins in his own childhood trauma. He wasn't going to be able to rescue me anymore than I could rescue him from his demons. I was by no means his fairytale princess, and as much as he wanted to, he wasn't going to be able to ride up on a white horse and banish the dragon from the kingdom. But still we tried, if only for the other's sake. We made an odd pair, according to our co-workers. We were far too different to have a successful relationship.
From a young age, I had learned that happily ever after just didn't exist. He was going to leave me, just like all of the others; it was only a matter of time. The first time he called me princess, as he reached out to me and tried to apologize after a particularly heated argument, I recoiled from his touch and rolled to the other side of the bed, trying not to notice the hurt look on his face. I had done it; that would be the final nail in the coffin that drove him away.
So I was surprised when he didn't crawl out of my bed and head for the door. Instead, he reached over tentatively and grasped my hand. He didn't have a magic wand to wave over me, instantly fixing all that was wrong in my life. He only had his love, which he used to fill the cracks between the pieces of my heart. Soon I was shaking with sobs, and he gathered me in his arms as the story spilled out.
That was almost a year ago, and he's still lying here beside me, this time his even breathing signaling he is peacefully sleeping, spooned behind me in the bed of our new home. Things haven't been perfect this past year, but we have never expected perfect. The coolness of his gold wedding feels good resting over my abdomen as I grin with the secret knowledge held inside. In a few months, there will be an addition to our new family, someone who will be innocent enough to believe in fairytales and Prince Charming.
And even though I don't believe in happily ever after, I can't help but think we've come pretty damn close.