Disclaimer: They're not mine

Rating: K+

Spoilers: None really

Pairing: WS

Summary: In response to the "Anywhere But Vegas" warricksara LiveJournal Community challenge.

And I'd like to say thanks to everyone who reviewed the WS stand-alone "Citrus": Megara1, Geeky Annie, Kelly, MissyJane and Hayesfever. Reviews were, and will be, greatly appreciated.

Enjoy! Love LJ xXx

- o -

North-West.

- o -

Sara Sidle gazes at the seat in front of her. She is in Row 16, Seat 112 and, on the fold-down table of the airline seat, she can see an almost-perfect thumbprint on the plastic and is resisting the urge to lift it. She shakes her head and laughs softly at her work-obsession; no doubt it'll only worsen during the four days in which she attends this conference without any practical work. It wasn't her fault, she reasons in her mind, she was just somehow born with some kind of knack for noticing the tiny details and for always, always, wanting to find the truth in anything. It had always been that way, ever since she was a child.

She shakes her head, as though trying to shake off the childhood memories, and makes herself think about the last time she was at the lab. She'd been grabbing her jacket from the locker before heading to her car before she left. Warrick had been the lounge. She'd smiled and told him she'd call him when she got there – she didn't know where the words came from, they just fell out of her mouth. And he'd smiled back, said he'd like that and wished her a safe flight. She'd never been on a plane before; it's not like her parents ever had much money, or time for family holidays, growing up.

Her eyebrows arch slightly and she sighs; she's back onto the whole childhood thing again. How appropriate, she ponders, as the plane begins its descent into San Francisco International Airport.

When she'd heard about the conference in San Francisco, she'd stayed quiet. Normally she'd have jumped at the opportunity and Nick and Warrick would've laughed at her for it but, still years on, she wasn't all too sure how she'd react being back here again. Grissom had asked her if she'd wanted to go. He'd called her into his office one morning and suggested it to her – now that was just cruel; she had been planning on pretending to have not heard about it. And the way he looked at her – as though waiting for her to object so he could ship her off to some more counselling – it actually made her angry. So she looked at him right back in the eye and told him, firmly, that she'd love to go.

She'd been lying, of course. She couldn't think of anywhere in the world she'd like to visit less. As the plane touches down on the runway, she rolls her eyes. Trust me, she thinks, trust me to get myself into a situation like this, just to try and prove something to someone.

-------------------------------

Now she sits in the back of a hired taxi cab and stares out of the window at the increasingly familiar setting that rushes past the glass. She had to admit that, despite everything, it was kind of cool to see the chauffeur holding up the sign with her name on it before leading her to the organised car.

Lost in various thoughts, she is still dazed when the car slows down and the door is courteously opened for her by the driver. She smiles at him as he hands her a folder filled with the details of the conference.

"Thanks," she says vaguely and, it's only until the car has begun to drive away, that she realises where she is.

Frozen to the spot at the door, Sara opens the folder and checks the address of where she's staying again. It's right here. Right where she's standing. Right where she grew up.

Sara feels sick, actually physically sick. Behind closed eyes, she gets flashes of memories: a punch thrown, her mother's beaten face, the dull emptiness in the eyes of her father. It's all coming back now and, with the car disappearing down the street, she still can't bring herself to go in, despite not having anywhere else to go. Instead, she sits on the wall outside and pulls out her cell phone.

Grissom? No, not Grissom – he'd either overreact or sound infuriatingly as though he'd expected this to happen. Definitely not Grissom. Nick? Well, Nick would worry something was really badly wrong and make her tell him everything. An older brotherly type and fiercely protective; she couldn't call Nick. Catherine – Catherine would be busy. She would have good intentions and try to hear her out, but inevitably, she'd be in the middle of something with work, with Lindsey – it wasn't fair on her to call up just because she wanted to hear a friendly voice. Well then the obvious choice.

"Warrick?" she asks, hearing his voice slightly muffled down the line. He clears his throat.

"Hey – Sara?" he recognises her voice and sits up in bed having got home from a shift five hours ago and due to go on again tonight.

"Oh shit, did I wake you up? Were you sleeping?" Sara hears the tiredness in his voice and remembers he'd have finished up not too long ago. "I'm so sorry. I'll hang up – go back to sleep."

"No, no, it's fine, Sara – don't hang up. What did you call about?" he rubs his eyes and gets out of bed, pressing his cell to his ear using his shoulder as he pulls on a T-shirt.

"I said I would," she replies. He pauses, hearing something different in her voice. He narrows his eyes at the empty space in his bedroom, picturing her standing in front of him and avoiding his eyes as she answers.

"What's this really about?" he asks. She sighs.

"I just – I just wanted to hear a familiar voice," she tells him. His laugh rumbles through the receiver and almost ripples through her, breaking a smile onto her lips as though it was just so easy.

"Missing me already, huh?" he jokes.

"Must be," she returns with trademark sarcasm.

"Well, I miss you too," he answers. Sara stops for a moment. There was something genuine in his response.

"Warrick?" She thinks she hears him swear indistinctly to himself

"I – uh – I gotta go, Sara. I'm on again tonight." he says hurriedly. "Will you call me later? Tell me what it's like; I've never been to San Fran."

"Sure. Bye, Warrick." Sara folds her cell phone closed and looks at her feet for a while before remembering where she is and stands up, decisively.

She could do this – it has been years; it'd be ridiculous if she couldn't get past this. Feeling better, she pushes the door of the Bed and Breakfast she'd grown up in open.

Sara looks around her; it's very different to how she'd left it. Under new management, the place has been modernised, revamped, renamed – it looks almost different. Almost.

"Can I help you?" the man at the counter smiles kindly at her. She looks startled for a moment and then smiles back.

"Yes, I believe I have a room booked," she says, leaning an elbow on the desk. "For a conference."

"Oh, another one of the CSIs?" he asks, knowingly. "Yeah we've got them from all over for this conference: Seattle, Boston, Washington, Chicago... Where're you from?"

"I'm from the Las Vegas branch," she answers, thinking this isn't going too badly.

"Oh so not too far then," he says pleasantly, opening up a thick binder of bookings. "Are you Sara Sidle then?" She nods and smiles. The smile drops from her face, however, when the man tilts his head to one side, thinking hard.

"Sidle...Sidle..." he mutters to himself and turns back to her. "I've heard that name somewhere before. Have you been in the news or something?"

Sara pales. She feels sick again; as though her insides have taken on a new heaviness. She runs a hand awkwardly through her hair, avoiding his eyes.

"I – I actually – I've just remembered somewhere I have to – uh – be." she says breathlessly and, grabbing her luggage with shaking hands, dashes out of the door.

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Sara's standing on the balcony of the motel she checked into some hours ago. She'd been pacing the balconied corridor and her poky room for hours, ever since she'd left the Bed and Breakfast at about 11. She glances blankly at her watch; it's now almost 9 with the sun setting in San Francisco. She's skipped lunch and dinner without a thought and, drinking some mineral water, she still feels queasy. It was just that look, she shudders as she sees it again like a sick echo: he still remembered.

She shivers though it's not even cold and leans over the railing of the motel staring out across the car-park, towards the street opposite, lined with various little shops. She stares out, trying to breathe steadily, watching but not seeing. A woman walks along the opposite sidewalk pushing a buggy; two teenagers zip past on rollerblades; a Wal-Mart bag spirals down the street; a car pulls into the motel car park; a dog barks in someone's back yard.

Sara jumps suddenly. Her ringing cell phone snaps her out of the daze. Pulling it out of her pocket and flipping it open, she smiles for the first time in hours at the name that lights up the screen.

"Hi Warrick," she puts on a cheery voice. "I'm sorry, I was gonna call..."

"That's fine," he cuts her off gently. She leans her chin on the palm of her hand and gazes desolately out across the street without saying anything. She listens to him breathe for a moment down the line.

"Still want a familiar voice?" he asks her, noting her unresponsiveness. She sighs.

"More than you'll ever know."

He pauses. "How about a familiar face?"

"Huh?"

"Look down."

Standing by the open door of the Tahoe that's just pulled in, Warrick raises a hand in a half-wave and folds his cell phone shut. Sara runs, she literally runs, down the steps towards him. Fighting the urge to throw her arms around him, she digs them deep into the pockets of her jeans and only grins at him.

"You drove all the way down here?" she asks incredulously. He shrugs.

"Didn't exactly have time to buy a plane ticket," he offers.

"But enough time to take the 9 hour drive?" Sara raises her eyebrows.

He smiles sheepishly. "8 and a half." he corrects her. "Traffic was good." She shakes her head in amazement.

"Just for me?"

"Who else?" he touches her shoulder gently and she looks up at him as he tells her softly: "You sounded like you might need someone tonight."

"I thought you were on tonight." she murmurs to the floor.

"I had some extra holiday time kicking about," he explains. "Aren't you even gonna pretend to be pleased to see me?" She laughs.

"I'm sorry, Warrick – I'm just so surprised," she apologises. "I am. And you were right."

"About what?"

"About needing someone." she admits quietly. Warrick looks down at her and, deciding against all tension and all barriers, he wraps his arms around her.

"So what's going on then, Sar?" he whispers into her hair. "I went to the B&B that the conference guys said they'd booked rooms in and the man there said you ran out on them."

"How did you find me?" she talks into his shirt, avoiding the question.

"I was gonna drive down the place they're holding it and ask, but I saw you standing out here," he replies. "Are you okay? What's wrong?" She pulls her face out from where she'd buried it in his chest and looks at him.

"Can I tell you later? I don't – just, not now." she struggles for some words but he smiles and nods; it wasn't an empty dismissal, she meant it – she would tell him, one day.

"That's fine. Have you had any dinner?" Warrick asks.

Sara shakes her head. "You checking up on me?" she kids. He grins.

"Of course. A guy doesn't drive about 500 miles to chat with a friend," he tells her. "Want to get some dinner?"

"Okay," she agrees, feeling her nausea slip away. "Come up – I just need to change." She draws back from him but takes his hand and, as he pushes the car-door closed, she leads him up to her room.

"So this is better than the B&B, huh?" he wonders out loud as she changes. Sara sticks her head around the door of the bathroom.

"Sure. More...interesting," she reasons.

"Interesting?"

Sara emerges, buttoning up a different shirt and smiling weakly. "Yeah, like – how did they manage to get a stain on the ceiling?" She points up to above the doorframe where a nasty brown-yellow smudge sprawls on the ceiling.

"Lovely," he comments, wrinkling his nose. Then he looks at her. "And you're telling me you kinda like this sort of thing?" He sighs and turns her face to his with two fingers lightly under her chin. Sara glares defiantly.

"I'm telling you that..." she trails off, seeing the look in his eyes and drops the defensive comeback. "I'm telling you I'm glad you're here."

When she leaned up to his lips in the dank gloom of the motel room, feeling his fingertips lightly touching the skin of her back, she couldn't help but think that it was strange – it was strange: she suddenly wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

- o -