Spoilers from: Playing with Fire (Season 3)

Part One

She lingered longer in the shower than she meant to, her subconscious demanding an escape from the reality of her life for moments longer than her conscious had intended to allow. Head tilted back, the hot water pounded down into her face, and she turned her face just slightly so that she could breathe through her mouth.

Today. Today. Today. Today. This was it. Today. Everything changed. Today.

Eyes closed, she willed all the chaotic uncertainty away from her mind, desperate to find some seed of peace to cling to. 'Calm. Calm. This is the right thing to do.' She told herself 'I promised I'd be there for him. I've got to do this.'

'I've got to. Oh God.' Her eyes opened, dark painful pools full of the misery she couldn't put in words. Her chin dropped down, nearly to her breastbone, and she slumped against the wall. "What am I doing?" She whispered.

Bracing now water-wrinkled fingers on the tiled wall of the stall, she folded her arms on the gray-ceramic tiles and cradled her aching head into that pillow. What she was doing was keeping a very old promise. And, while part of her was more than happy to do this, it was the threat of change that scared her so much.

Loss.

'He's dying. I have to do this.' Her breath came in shallow gasps, fear more than anything else. She loved him. She did. She always had loved him. He was a part of her world in a way no other friend could be, and the fact he was dying from complications with leukemia was ripping her beating heart out of her chest.

'I can do this. I can.' She breathed, seeing soulful blue eyes smiling up to her in her mind. 'It's not that hard. And, really, what does it change?'

He'd never be released from the hospital again. He'd never share a bed with her (not that he had), cuddle with her, dance with her, give her a Christmas present or make a quick phone call just to shoot the breeze between his shifts. He was going to die. And soon. And, while it would hurt so much to remember him, the chance he was offering to her now would soothe her heart so much. Just to have something of him left in her life would provide some comfort for the pain and heartache of losing him. A bittersweet blessing, she supposed. 'I can do this.' She straightened. 'I can so do this. And I will do this. I want to.'

With one hand, resolute with her determination, she snapped the water off and pushed back the shower curtain that shielded the stall. Briskly she toweled herself dry and wrapped another towel around her dark hair. 'Get dressed, put some makeup on and get going. I have.' She squinted up at the clock, eyes intense with concentration. 'I have forty-five minutes to get to the hospital. Yikes.'

Nothing like a deadline to force the butterflies into nearly complete submission.

Hastily, she threw open her locker and pulled out the plastic wrapped garment hanging so demurely on the hook. Her fingers skimmed over the plastic reverently, the faint tremble in her hands barely noticeable, before she gently set it down on the bench and turned back to her locker. The nylons, heels and her small makeup back surfaced next, and lastly her bra and panties, both matching and delicate.

'Move. You don't have time to dawdle.' She reminded herself as she gazed down at the assemblage on the small bench that ran parallel to the row of lockers. 'Get dressed. Get going.'

The sheer nylons flew on her slender legs chasing the panties that she'd slid on first. Then, snapping her bra with impatient fingers, she reached for the plastic and stripped it off. The soft barely-pink suit with the delicate cut and soft weave was so pristine and elegant it took her breath away. The tailored line of the jacket would skim her torso lovingly, and the skirt, while short, still hung just above the knee in a cut designed to emphasize that this was a woman.

Even if it was immodest to say so, she knew she'd look stunning. 'Camisole.' She reminded herself, looking at the deep V-neck of the jacket. Turning around, she rifled through her sports gym-bag in the locker and came up with the ivory lace undergarment and slid it over her head.

The fabric of her suit was too delicate and pale to risk getting makeup on. Even a shimmering white eye shadow would mark it horribly, and that was the last thing she wanted. So, clad in panties and camisole, she quickly moved to the washroom facilities and commandeered a sink and mirror for her own uses.

She'd never worn much makeup. A hint of lipgloss, a touch of eye-liner and on bad days, concealer for the bags under her eyes. Today, however, she would make Catherine proud. Her makeup kit wasn't as sparring as the blond CSI liked to think, she had the full compliment of gear, she just rarely used it as she preferred to feel her skin free of the cosmetics.

'Foundation.' She mentally checked off as she used a soft sponge to blend the soft ivory color into her skin. 'Eyeliner. the gray.' Her mouth opened into a silent 'oh' as she lined around her eyes, reactionary more than intentional. Quickly she did her eyeshadow and applied the mascara before reaching for lipliner and her favorite gloss.

'Looks good.' She nodded to herself, shifting her head slightly. 'Needs blush. I'm too pale.' The brush and a soft rose blush manifested instantly and with a light touch were dabbed just below her cheekbones. 'Better. Mascara and set with the powder and I'm good to go.'

Taking a few minutes more, she brushed out her naturally curly hair, and rather than blow dry it straight, she whisked it into a french roll, grateful that the shoulder length tresses were long enough to go up without any loose bits straying awkwardly out of place. 'Get dressed, girl. You have twenty-five minutes left.'

The skirt and jacket were no sooner on, and her feet had no sooner stepped into the two-inch heels when the locker door opened behind her. "Drat." She muttered. "Busted." Somehow, she had hoped to get away without any of her coworkers seeing her.

"Sara?" Catherine Willows gaped openly at the slender back facing her. "Is that you?"

Resignation ruled, and Sara grabbed her remaining gear and stowed it into the locker before snapping the lock shut. "Yeah. I've got an appointment this morning." She muttered an excuse before the older woman could ask the question.

Tossing a look over her shoulder, she silently chuckled at the fish-out-of- water look on Catherine's face. "Something wrong?" She asked, trying for the casual tone of voice of no worries.

"No." Catherine shook her head, still staring. "You look wonderful." She blurted, as she moved closer, walking around the bench to get a good look at Sara. "That suit is stunning."

Despite her intentions of staying casually indifferent, Sara blushed. "Thanks." She mumbled.

"Did I miss something?" Catherine eyes the younger woman's face with the same analytical intensity she reserved for her crime scenes. Her eyes started at the crown and shifted carefully down to brows, eyes, nose and lips. She nodded. "Someone getting married?"

Sara swallowed hard. "Err. yeah. A friend of mine."

"Ah." Catherine pursed her lips consideringly. "Male or female?"

"Male." Sara hedged. She glanced at the clock nervously. If she didn't get out of here now, not only would she be late getting to the hospital but also the guys ran the risk of seeing her. Damn.

"Uh huh." Catherine leaned back against the locker, and loosely folded her arms over her chest. "You're awfully nervous, Sara. There's something more. What is it?" Her maternal instincts were roaring that something was up, and being a mother, she wanted answers now.

Sara shook her head, her hair staying just as it ought, thanks to the thick heaviness of her curl and the dampness of her hair. "I can't tell you." Apology laced her tone. "I want to, but I can't. I promised. and it'll all make sense later, okay?"

Catherine frowned, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Ah." Tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth, she nodded shortly "You know, I was kidding before but now I'm worried. Does Gris know?"

Sara shook her head again, and reached for her small purse. "No."

"Anybody around here?"

Again she shook her head.

"Sara - are you sure everything's okay?"

"Wonderful. It's just a wedding. Don't worry about it." She smiled gamely. "Honestly, you'd think I was being blackmailed or something to dress nicely and attend a wedding."

The other woman didn't even twitch. "Maybe." She muttered. Something was. off. Wrong. "I'm telling Grissom to pair us for the next shift." She warned Sara. "And, then you're going to dish. I want to know everything that you're not telling me."

Fortunately, Sara felt confident that her foundation and blush kept the pallor from showing on her face. It didn't matter, but still, the idea of talking about William so openly to people. To admit she was waiting for one of her best friend's to die in the coming days. To cavalierly admit she was marrying a man she loved, but wasn't in love with, because he wanted her to inherit his estate and to give birth to his children posthumously.

Oh yeah. Now there was a conversation she wanted to have.

End PT 1