TITLE: Sick Day

AUTHOR: Demon Faith

FANDOM: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation

PAIRING: Sara/Warrick

SUMMARY: Sometimes you’re sick. And sometimes your boyfriend happens to be sick too…

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own CSI; if I did, certain events would never have come to pass.

NOTES: On the occasion of Neen going back to school and requiring ‘cheer up’ fic. I hope you realise I’m writing het for you, hon; this is indeed an occasion.

Sara Sidle did not get sick. Ever. And if she did have a persistent sniffle or a few aches, she prided herself on dragging herself to work and soldiering on. It’s not as if her work was her life, but as her life went to work, it only made sense really. At least, that’s what she told herself. Warrick would probably laugh.

This morning, however, was not like other mornings. Today, when she tried to drag her body up, gravity most definitely had other plans and reminded her who was really the boss around here. Her head felt like Greg had been playing heavy metal for three hours straight, and her mouth felt like the cotton wool mess only produced by Nick’s family moonshine. She didn’t even bother cataloguing the protests of various muscles and her entire respiratory system, but had a feeling that if Doc Robbins saw her, he may mistake her for a cadaver.

It seemed Sara Sidle would finally be taking a sick day.

A buzz of the doorbell made her moan. She glanced over at the clock – oh! Time for her lift, but there was no way her body would permit movement to the door and her vocal chords hadn’t quite grasped whispering yet, so yelling was quite out of the question. She heard the scrape of a key in the lock, followed by a second before the door was carefully opened and footsteps trod lightly through the apartment.

“Sara?” His voice was hesitant, a hint of concern radiating from the words. Sara smiled.

She fixed her slightly blurred attention towards the door and her smile widened as a familiar head popped round the door.

“Wow. What happened to you?”

He approached with a slight smile that nevertheless lit up the room, and perched on the edge of her bed. He reached over to smooth back her hair, and she closed her eyes at the sensation.

“God sick, Wawwick.”

A low chuckle then. “Yeah, I can see that. I think you’re taking the day.”

Her knight leaned across her for the phone, and she forced up a hand to trail the soft fabric of his shirt. So, no light, no life today. Staying at home in bed and waiting for a visit late in the evening – she wondered if she could make in to the TV, and whether daytime television was worth it.

“Hello, can you put me through to Grissom’s office? It’s Warrick Brown.”

Sara curled her hand around his, lightly extending each finger between hers, observing the chocolate and vanilla contrast with childish wonder. She tuned back into Warrick’s conversation.

“Yeah, she’s dying here, Gris. And…I think I feel something coming on.”

A forced cough then, as he turned his head and winked at Sara. Her hand froze on his, and a slow smile spread over her face – maybe being sick wouldn’t be so bad after all.

~

As the sun rode high in the sky, Sara considered the possibility that she was the luckiest woman in the world.

Okay, so she was sick, but that was becoming rapidly irrelevant as the day progressed and she discovered the nursemaid buried inside her Warrick Brown. A tea his grandmother swore by had restored most of her senses and eased the burning in her chest, but that hadn’t prevented him from swinging her up into his arms and carrying her out to the balcony with blankets. Cocooned in warmth, the sun had shone down on her as Warrick had bashed around in her kitchen, humming along to the radio.

Yes, Sara was feeling very glad to be sick that day.

She looked up as Warrick emerged onto the tiny balcony, holding out a sundae glass with a grin all over his face.

“Chocolate and vanilla sundae, with chocolate sauce and caramel. I couldn’t find any chocolate sprinkles.”

He looked most upset by the fact and Sara had to laugh. She cupped her hands around the cool glass, and shuffled further into the light. She took the long spoon and scooped out a mouthful, slipping it onto her tongue and relishing the pure sweetness for a long moment. Looking up, she saw Warrick gazing at her, and she ducked her head again, a blush settling high on her cheeks.

“You look amazing.”

“Warrick, I’m sick. No one looks ‘amazing’ when they’re sick.”

He leaned forward and tilted up her chin, looking straight into her eyes. “You always look amazing.”

Sara knew she was a mess, sick, but she couldn’t stop the kiss if she tried. Gentle lips told her she was beautiful, she was brilliant and that maybe, just maybe, she could conquer the world. She believed those lips, held onto the sensation as long as she could, before finally needing to breathe.

Then, she practically coughed out her lungs. Warrick came close, hand rubbing her back and murmuring with a half-chuckle about disturbing the sick. She shot him a look. When her breathing returned to almost-normal, she stood carefully and motioned to the chair.

“Sit with me?”

Warrick smiled and slipped in behind her, letting her flop back against him and dip once more into her ice cream. Being sick was damn near perfect.

~

It was late when Sara woke and realised that everything had shifted. She was back in bed, carefully tucked in, and the whole apartment was dark. A glance at the clock told her it was gone ten, and she hauled herself into a sit, reaching out for the lamp. The dull orange light illuminated a scrap of paper. She picked it up and squinted at it, then, laughing, picked up the phone and hit 1.

“Hello?”

“You sound sick,” she said, amusement creeping into her voice.

“I am sick, Sara.” His voice was still honey, playful even as he frustrated.

“Maybe, tomorrow, you should take the day.”

She hoped her voice was innocent, not in the slightest way hopeful or insistent. She thought she might have failed.

Warrick laughed down the phone, then promptly sneezed. Sara suppressed her smirk.

“I think I may just do that.”

And the world was perfect again.