Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part One - Analysis
(Let the Seller Beware)

It was a short drive from the Newman residence to Tuscadero High School, only a few miles. Yet for every one of those miles, Sara Sidle cursed Gil Grissom with all the swear words that she'd ever picked up in her lifetime, all the non-swear-but-still-pretty-vile words she'd ever heard too, and for good measure, even made up a few new ones.

This was, after all, supposed to be her day off. Not that she minded being paged per se, after all, she'd worked on her day off before, and she never complained about it, apart from that one time that she'd been all but falling asleep in the lab. She did her job, did it well, put in all the overtime that was asked of her and more. She'd be known to drop everything, just because Grissom called her up and asked her to help him.

Everything, including her job, her home and her life in San Francisco, all because Gil Grissom dialled her number, sounding as stressed as she'd ever heard him sound, and uttered those three little words. "I need you."

She'd been on the next plane.

She'd told herself that she'd gone because she liked a challenge, and because she wanted to help out a friend. She'd told herself that she'd stayed because she wanted to make a change in her life, that she wanted to explore new places, new opportunities. She'd grown up around the Bay Area, moved away for college before returning home; a stint in a whole new city would do her the world of good, and working at the number two crime lab in the country wouldn't hurt either.

She told herself all those things, but she'd known, way deep down in her heart, with that little voice that she tried to ignore, that none of those were the real reason that she'd picked up sticks and relocated her life. The real reason was the voice on the other end of the phone, the words that he'd said, and the fact that she'd had something of a crush on him ever since she'd met him at that forensics seminar.

She'd lied to herself then as well, telling herself that she was only interested in learning more about forensics and entomology, that she didn't meet too many people who had the same level of interest in the former as she did, and that she knew very little about the latter and wouldn't mind learning more. That was why she'd gone to him after the seminar, telling him that there was a point she wanted further clarification on, wondering if they could discuss it over coffee. He'd blinked once, then twice before agreeing, and she'd wondered what she'd let herself in for. But he came out with her, and coffee turned to dinner, which turned into dinner the next night before he had to fly back to Vegas. They exchanged email addresses and phone numbers, and thus began a correspondence between the two of them that forged a friendship that bridged the gap of mentor and student.

She's still not sure when that friendship turned into a crush, or when that crush turned into something deeper, but she suspects that the latter happened at some point during her first few months in Vegas, possibly when they sat outside for hours, watching bugs nesting on a badly decomposing pig, or maybe when they were discussing the Mile High Club in an aeroplane bathroom. She doesn't remember the exact moment she remembered that she'd fallen in love with him, but she remembers the exact moment that she realised that things were never going to change between them, that he'd never return her feelings.

They were standing in the lab and he'd excluded her from an investigation that he was doing, not telling her what it was about, what relationship it had to the case, not even when she'd referred to a similar experiment she'd done in San Francisco. She'd tried to tell herself that she was being silly, that it was just Grissom being Grissom, and she was just about succeeding. Until he told her to clean up the ground beef that he'd left behind.

She'd been working with him for a year and a half, they'd had untold meals together, and he'd never known that she was a vegetarian. They'd spent all that time together, she'd thought that they'd been working towards something, and it was brought to her attention, with stunning clarity, that he'd never seen her. Not like that.

She'd filed her request for a leave of absence pretty soon after that, but even that hadn't got through to him. She'd stood in his office, watched him reduce everything to a petty little quirk, little realising that it was symptomatic of a far larger problem. She wanted him, yes, she couldn't deny that. But more than that, she wanted his respect, wanted him to look at her and see her, and if she wasn't going to get that, then she really didn't want to go through every day knowing what she was missing and having it thrown in her face. She wasn't happy with the decision, but she'd made it.

That's when things had really got confusing.

He sent her a plant.

She'd scratched her head over that one, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. The card was no help, "From Grissom" written in a hand not his own, and he'd never mentioned it to her, nor she to him. She'd accepted it for what it was, an apology, and she'd gone for a long walk, calmed herself down and convinced herself that she'd over-reacted before. That she could work with Grissom, that she'd get over her feelings for him, that she was fine with the two of them just working together. She'd ripped up her leave of absence form, and tried not to feel awkward around him, though she's not sure how much she succeeded. She remembers on that first case after that, sitting in a hockey arena with him, trying to act normal, trying not to read anything into the fact that he'd sent her a plant, because after all, it wasn't as if it was a dozen red roses. He still didn't see her as a woman, just as a colleague, and she was fine with that she told herself.

She'd half wanted to bite her tongue off when he'd said that his favourite sport was baseball, and she'd observed that it figured that he'd love it, what with all those statistics and all. She'd heard the bitterness in her own voice, but Grissom appeared not to, saying merely that baseball was a beautiful sport.

She'd really wanted to bite her tongue off when she'd heard her own reply, more than a little caustic. "Since when have you been interested in beauty?"

She'd stopped thinking about biting her tongue and concentrated on picking her jaw up off the floor when she heard his reply. "Since I met you."

Of all the things that she'd ever expected him to say, that threw her for a loop, and by the time she was able to think clearly, he was heading towards the ice, ready to begin work.

She'd let herself believe, for just a moment, that things might be changing between them. Surprise of surprises though, Grissom had gone on about his business as if nothing had ever happened, and she'd been left wondering if she'd imagined things.

It was around then that Hank had come into her life again.

It had been work-related, unsurprisingly enough. He'd been one of the paramedics who had responded to Warrick's call when Nick had been thrown out of a window by Nigel Crane. He'd found her in the hospital, recognising both Nick and Warrick from cases they'd worked together before, and he'd taken her down to the cafeteria for coffee, trying to allay her fears, telling her that Nick was going to be fine.

Then he'd asked her out again.

She'd dithered uncharacteristically over whether to accept his invitation, stalling him with the excuse of work. He'd accepted it happily, telling her that he'd call her in a couple of days to reschedule, giving her time to run it through in her own head. She knew that it probably wasn't fair to date him when she was hung up on Grissom, but she was also slowly but surely coming to accept that if something was going to happen with her and Grissom, it would have happened by now. Besides, Hank was a nice guy, and she'd felt a spark between them that first time that they'd met. She'd literally smelled like death, and while his stomach hadn't been able to take it that well, he'd still found her a few days later, bringing her out for coffee, asking her for her number, giving her his. She hadn't called him though, not for a long time, and when she finally did take the plunge and asked him out, he'd sounded surprised to hear from her. Surprised, but happy.

Which was about how she summed up her feelings about their first date - their first first date that is, not the one post-Nigel Crane. Happy because it did go well, that she'd enjoyed herself, surprised for the same reason. Having Catherine drop a severed finger on to the table in front of them had been a bit of a downer, to put it mildly, but Hank had handled it well, understanding when she had to go to the lab straight away, calling her every now and again, keeping in touch, but not asking her out, not until that day in the hospital.

Once Nigel Crane had been caught, he'd called her again, and this time, it had been she who asked him out, and they'd moved into what could only be described as a very slow-moving drift into more than friends, but not quite a serious relationship. Their crazy work schedules made it hard for them to get together sometimes, so despite the fact that Greg, Warrick and Nick were all perfectly happy to call Hank her boyfriend, even to heckle Sara about it, she was more reticent. She told herself that they were taking things slowly, that she didn't want to go too far too fast, and tried to forget that for two years, she'd been more than halfway in love with her boss.

She was doing fine with it until Philip Gerard showed up.

Grissom hadn't know about Hank, of that she was absolutely certain, and if she hadn't been, the look on his face when Gerard brought up the matter would have cinched it. She'd launched into a denial that had sounded hollow even to her own ears, knowing that she could have just handed Gerard and his team an ace in the hole. She'd felt bad about that, but it was nowhere near as bad as she'd felt when Marjorie Wescott brought it up on the stand. She'd kept her game face on though, handled it well she thought, only to be completely blindsided when Wescott brought up her relationship with Grissom. "Just how far will Ms. Sidle go on the evidence to please her boss, Gil Grissom, whether he returns her attentions or not?" she'd said, and Sara had been torn between wanting to rip Wescott's and Gerard's heads off, and dying of mortification on the spot.

She'd contented herself with the knowledge that no-one from CSI had been there to hear that, and ignored the memory that Wescott had unwittingly evoked in her. Her and Grissom, standing close, the night air cool around them, scent of flowers in the air, and Grissom's cheek, the skin soft under her hand. The look in his eyes, the quickening pace of her heart, the sure and certain knowledge that something had passed between them in that split second, something fleeting and ephemeral as the morning dew.

She'd pushed the memories back ruthlessly, remembering instead Grissom's words to her before she'd left for court, that she deserved to have a life. She knew what he was doing, even if he didn't. He was cutting her loose, setting her free, telling her in not so many words that she shouldn't wait around for him.

She'd realised that herself a long time ago, but the realisation still stung a little.

Not as much though, as what had happened today. It had been her day off, and as per Grissom's wish, she fully intended to get on with her life. Hank had asked her out, she'd accepted, and he'd driven them up to a vineyard in Pahrump. They'd been having a nice time, had just finished dinner and were contemplating dessert when her pager had gone off. She'd known right then and there that it couldn't be good news, had hardly even had to look down to see the words "Come in. Grissom." To his credit, Hank had taken the news well, simply standing up and saying with a shrug and a smile, "I should've known it was too good to be true." She'd apologised profusely, blamed Grissom, and he'd waved a hand, telling her that he understood.

For some reason, even as they began the drive back to Vegas, that had made her smile, because she knew that not many men would be so understanding.

She'd kept smiling until she actually saw Grissom, and even then her first words had been an apology for not getting there sooner. His attitude when he'd pointed out how long it had been since he'd paged her had thrown her off her game, maybe that was why she'd reminded him of his words to her, him telling her to get a life. She was even more thrown when he looked at her guilelessly, with the words, "Did I?" He wasn't acting either, it was clear to her that he really didn't remember that he'd said that to her, and the fact that once again he'd managed to pierce her with such an off-the-cuff comment made her face freeze. Him telling her that she was working solo, his manner brusque, his tone dismissive was the icing on the cake though, because this wasn't the Grissom that Sara was used to working with, and she realised with a start that she didn't really want to get to know this Grissom. She'd stood for a second, looking down at him, waiting for him to say something, anything, to let her know that they were ok.

Instead he'd just looked at her, putting on his goggles, a reminder that her presence there was disturbing his work. Frustrated, she'd turned away before she said something that she'd regret, giving Nick an exasperated look as she walked by him, his consternation at her being allowed to work solo only adding to her bad mood.

Was it her fault that she'd been out of town when she was paged? Was it her fault that she was out getting herself a life instead of sitting beside the police scanner? That she'd had to go to her place first to pick up her car, to the lab to pick up her kit? Was it her fault that Grissom was acting like an ass?

Hence the turning blue of the air in her car on the way to the high school, and the use of language that would have even her rather permissive parents washing her mouth out with soap. Pulling into the parking lot, she'd taken a minute to pull herself together before getting out of the car, grabbing her kit and making her way towards the football field. She wasn't sure who the detective assigned to the case was, but she soon found out, flashing a grin at the tall dark-skinned man as he turned towards her. She'd met Detective Lockwood a few times, had worked cases with him and Nick once or twice, but she'd never worked solo with him before, didn't know that much about him. She did know that Nick had worked with him on numerous occasions and thought very highly of him, which was a big plus for him in her book.

"CSI Sidle," he greeted her with a nod. "You on your own?"

"Yep," she said, returning his nod, adding another one of his own when he stretched out his hand in invitation, indicating that they should get started. "And Sara's fine, by the way."

"Cyrus," he told her, looking down at the ground as they made their way to the bleachers and down. "Watch your step," he told her unnecessarily. The remnants of sundry fast food products and their wrappings littered the stands, leading to only one conclusion.

"There was a game here?" she asked, stepping over something that could have once upon a time been a hamburger, her stomach roiling in protest at the sight.

"That's not where the action is," he told her. "Though frankly, I wish it were." They were at the end of the steps by now, and she looked at him curiously. "You have dinner yet?" he asked her, and while she was surprised by the query, she answered it.

"Yeah. Why?"

He didn't pull any punches with his reply. "You might be seeing it again. Mandy Kirk. Seventeen."

"Seventeen," Sara murmured, shocked as ever at the waste of such a young life.

"Senior," Cyrus continued. "Janitor found her."

As they reached the end of the field, Sara greeted David Philips, who was crouched over the body of a young girl. Looking down, Sara could just about make out what had begun life as a cheerleader's uniform, the crimson and white of the school colours stained with the crimson of the girl's blood, and she understood Lockwood's comment about dinner. "Eviscerated," she murmured, more to herself than the two men. Cyrus suggested something about a mountain lion, David concurring on the possibility, but Sara was already reaching out with her tweezers, pulling out a piece of ribbon from the wounds in the girl's abdomen. "It's a cheerleader," she murmured. "She had to have good lungs. How come nobody heard her scream?"

The two men had no answer to that, and she was only dimly aware of Cyrus straightening up. "I have to go talk to the family," he said. "You two will be ok here?"

Both Sara and David looked up. "I'm almost done," David said.

Sara meanwhile, was casting an eye over the football field. "Big crime scene," she said dryly. "I'll keep busy."

Even with what they'd just seen, Cyrus's lips quirked up in a quick smile, one that vanished as soon as his eyes drifted back to Amanda Kirk's body. "I'm sure you will. I'll call you if I find out anything. Keep me updated."

"Sure," Sara replied, turning her attention back to the body and David. "Let's get to work."

***

There was no need for this, she told herself as she walked, at the same time as she told herself that there was no harm in it. There was nothing wrong with taking the long way from the locker room to the car park, the long way taking her past Grissom's office. After all, she'd hardly seen him since that unpleasant conversation at the Newmans' pool.

She just wanted to check in with him, say hi.

See if she could sort out the rather confusing jumble of thoughts going around in her head about the various men that she'd been interacting with during this case.

She'd been with Hank when the page had come in, and she'd hated to turn around and tell him that she had to go back to Vegas, in part because she was enjoying herself, and she didn't really want to leave, and in part because she was afraid that it would lead to a fight. The opposite had been true in fact; just like he'd been on their very first date when Catherine had put a severed finger on the table in front of them, he'd understood that she had to go to the lab, had taken it better than she'd ever imagined. He'd told her to call him when she was free again, and he'd actually called her in the middle of the case to check if she was free for dinner. Unfortunately, she'd been in the middle of, as Greg had put it, "driving someone else's porcelain bus" and thus hadn't been too keen on dinner, but it had meant a lot to her to know that he wasn't holding a grudge, unlike some people.

She'd spent a fair amount of time with Greg during this case as well, and the fact that the young lab tech had more than a passing interest in her relationship with Hank notwithstanding, she always enjoyed their conversations. Greg's ebullient nature and natural flirtiness never failed to bring a smile to Sara's face, and when she was sifting through someone else's stomach contents, that took some doing. She'd never had a little brother, but she imagined that that was what her relationship with Greg most resembled, the banter, the laughter, and the competition for the last word. Most of the time, Greg won that particular contest, but she'd pulled off a win when she'd got an answer on DNA out of him, but he hadn't got an answer on Hank out of her, and she just knew he was itching to get her back on it again. There was the occasional something like that in her relationship with Grissom, the banter, the flirting, but it was never that light-hearted, that uncomplicated.

But the person that she'd spent most time with over the last couple of days, the person who had really surprised her, was Cyrus Lockwood. She hadn't known him that well prior to this; usually when she'd worked with him she'd been paired with Nick, and the two of them were such good friends that she'd spent half the time feeling like a third wheel. This had been the first case she'd worked with him solo, and she had to admit that she wouldn't mind doing it again. Not only was he was a first rate detective, but he kept her informed about what he was doing, kept in touch with her too so that there would be no surprises. He was a quick thinker too, she'd found that out when they'd been in Chuck Darwell's hospital room, and he'd seen the nurse with the bag of stomach contents.

"Anything he throws up no longer belongs to him," he'd told Chuck's father, adding, "PD, public domain." His face hadn't betrayed any measure of disgust as he handed the bag to Sara, for which she gave him credit, and when they were walking back out to the car, she discovered that he had a sense of humour as well.

"Some men give candy and flowers," she'd observed dryly, forgetting for a second that Nick wasn't around to act as a buffer for the joke, and when she'd realised, she'd wondered how he'd react to it.

She needn't have worried though, because he'd just looked down at her out of the corner of his eyes, his tone matching hers. "I like to be different," he'd told her, and she'd grinned at him, before changing the subject back to the case at hand and what they might do if they found out that Chuck was involved, or if he wasn't.

He'd been sympathetic to Nicole Exmoor when he'd cuffed her as well, and Sara had been able to see in his face that he was as shaken by what they'd found out as she was. He'd cuffed the sobbing girl gently, telling her that he was arresting her for Mandy Kirk's murder, and they'd stood side by side for a moment as they'd watched her be led away.

In the bright daylight afterwards, he'd walked her to her car, telling her that he'd be in touch with her about the report, double-checking that she was ok to get back to CSI, and she'd acted like she was fine, telling him that she'd talk to him later. But she couldn't help noting that he was almost a complete stranger to her, and yet he was acting with more concern than her boss, someone she considered a close friend.

And then it hit her, somewhere between Tuscadero High School and North Trop Boulevard - when did she start comparing every man in her life to Gil Grissom?

Even after he'd been off with her at the Newman place, even when she was pissed as hell at him, why was he still the one that she seemed to spend her time thinking about? Even when she'd been avoiding him during this case, even when she was pretty sure that he was avoiding her too? The rational part of her mind told her that that thought was being ridiculous, that there had been any amount of times that she'd been working on a case that she and Grissom hadn't talked to one another, had missed one another like ships passing in the night.

There was no reason that this was any different.

Except that somehow, it was.

She didn't know if it was because she was with Hank, or because she used to have a thing for Grissom. She didn't know if it was because she still had a crush on him, or because it was something more than that. She didn't know if it was just because he was her mentor, her boss, or something more than that. All she knew was that she hated being on the outs with him, hated the way that it made her feel.

Almost as much as she hated going to him like this, feeling as if she was some pathetic little girl, grovelling for his attention.

But she was at his office door now, and he was sitting at his desk, looking through some papers. He didn't hear her approaching, didn't know that she was there, so she could just look at him for a few seconds, pretend to herself that things were normal between them, that there was nothing amiss.

"Good night," she called out, seizing on the moment of normalcy, hoping that the gesture, the smile that went with it, would dispel any ill feeling that might be hanging around the room.

"Good night Sara," he replied, but nothing else. Nodding, Sara turned to leave, but she stopped when she heard his voice. "Nice work on the high school case."

He nodded twice as she met his eyes, and she didn't say anything for a moment. She knew that this was Grissom's version of an apology, that it was the most she was going to get, and she was more than happy to accept it. Still though, she couldn't silence a little voice in her mind that pointed out how all he had to do was say those few words, give her just a little hint of praise, for her to forgive him anything.

Doing her best to ignore said voice, she took a deep breath, saying words that had been on her mind since the last time she'd talked to him. "I'm…uh…sorry I missed your page."

He looked surprised as he looked up at her, either at her words or because she hadn't accepted his words as the dismissal she'd rather suspected they were. There was nothing she could do about the latter, but as for the former, she was telling him the truth.

She was sorry that she'd been delayed in answering him, was sorry for the result of it, the bad feeling between them.

But she wasn't so sure that she was sorry for what she was doing. After all, Hank was a nice guy, and Grissom had told her to get herself a life, had told her that she deserved one.

There was no reason that she couldn't have both, was there?

"It's just, um ..." She wanted to explain how she felt, what she was thinking, but it was hard to put the thoughts into words when he was looking up at her like that. "You tell me to get a life and then I get one, and then you expect me to be there at a moment's notice. It's ... um ... confusing."

She stopped then, unsure of how to go on, sure that if she said anything else, or if he did, that she was going to tell him just how she felt about him, or worse, that the tears she could feel rising in the back of her throat would spill out. He glanced down at his desk, evidently fighting for words himself, and she took the opportunity to move away, not wanting to know what, if anything, he was going to say.

There were some things, she told herself, that she really was better off not knowing.

She made it to the door of the lab before a familiar voice called her name, and surprised, she turned to find herself looking at Hank's smiling face as he came towards her. Slightly taken aback at the sight, she felt a smile creeping across her face. "What are you doing here?" she asked, tilting her head as she looked up at him. He was still in uniform, having that slightly rumpled, just off-shift look that she was coming to recognise, and she noted almost absently that he wore it well.

He shrugged, looking slightly abashed. "I thought that since we got interrupted in Pahrump, and since we're both coming off shift, that you might want to get some breakfast." He flashed her a quick grin, shoving both hands in his trouser pockets. "I mean, if you don't, that's fine too…"

He really looked as if he thought that she might refuse him, and Sara grinned broadly, making up her mind in that instant. "I'd love to," she told him honestly, and the smile that he gave her in return was a great help in banishing any residual bad feelings that her conversation with Grissom had left. "Let's go," she said, falling into step beside him, walking out into the morning sunshine.

She didn't look back.

Chapter Text

A Fool for Lesser Things

Part Two - Spells

(A Little Murder)

He knew he was late when he walked into the bar, but he was pretty sure that it wouldn't matter. After all, Nick Stokes was hardly a model of punctuality himself, usually having got himself tied up in the crime lab, chasing some lead or other, putting in more overtime than was good for any sane person. Not that, Lockwood reminded himself with a grimace, he had much room to talk. He'd ratcheted up more than his fair share of overtime this month too, though none of them had been as unpalatable as the dead cheerleader in the high school football field. He'd seen hundreds of homicides in his career, but it always seemed to be worse when there was a kid involved. This one had been even worse, involving evisceration and PCP and kid perpetrators who didn't even know what they'd done. Cuffing a seventeen year old girl whose body was shaking, either from sickness or from sobs of horror at what she'd done had been a decided low point in his career, and he still hadn't quite managed to banish the bad taste from his mouth, even now.

He did have to admit though, as he sat down at the bar and ordered himself a beer, that there had been one advantage to working that particular case, that being the large amount of time that he'd got to spend with a certain brunette CSI. He'd met Sara on numerous occasions, had worked more than one homicide with her and some of the other members of the CSI graveyard shift. But he'd never worked a case one-on-one with her before, had never spent quite so much time with her, and he had to admit that what he'd seen intrigued him.

He knew, of course, that she had to have a pretty strong stomach. She must have, just like he had; otherwise, they never would have made it as far as they had in their line of work. That being said, when he'd seen the state of Mandy Kirk's body, he'd had to look away for a second, had to fight hard against his gorge rising. Not for Sara such matters though. A look of disgust and shock may have passed across her face, but she'd hunkered right down, got straight to work. He'd had to admire that about her.

Just like he'd had to admire her dry humour, the first evidence of which he'd seen when they walked through the halls of Tuscadero High School, talking about soccer bunnies and how out of touch the Principal was with teenagers' sexual habits. Her demeanour had sobered somewhat, humour, dry or otherwise, vanishing when they'd seen the shrine to Mandy Kirk that had sprung up at her locker, but by the time they'd visited Chuck Darwell at the hospital, it had returned again. He'd seen the evidence of that himself when he'd handed her a bag filled with Chuck's stomach contents, seized as part of the public domain. He'd expected her to act disgusted - he was fairly disgusted himself just holding it, couldn't imagine having to actually slough through it - but she'd just quirked one eyebrow upward, a cheeky smile on her face. "Some men give candy and flowers," she quipped wryly, and for the first time since that god-awful find at the football field, he'd felt a broad smile fighting to break across his face.

"I like to be different," he'd told her, and they'd walked back to the car, discussing what might happen if she found something to prove that Chuck was involved, wondering how someone could do something like that.

They'd got their answer all right, when she'd called his cell a few hours later. She'd opened up with something about how Greg Sanders had asked her what it was like to be driving someone else's porcelain bus, and how she'd heard every smart comment under the sun about it. He'd apologised half-heartedly for his part in her having to do that, though he'd got a little bit of a kick out of listening to her rant about it. She'd turned serious when he'd asked her if she'd found anything else, and she'd told him about the tox report, and the twenty milligrams of PCP that they'd found, along with the piece of human skin. He'd felt his stomach turn over at that, and had made himself think of something else, anything else other than the image that that called up, and to his surprise, had only been able to chase it away by picturing her face as she'd made that quip to him in the hospital.

He hadn't wanted to think about that too much, not when he still had to close the case with her, but when he'd gone back to the hospital with her, and later, when he'd been in the locker room with her as she talked to Nicole Exmoor, he'd seen a different side to Sara Sidle. Yes, this might be a woman who was able to look at the most terrible wounds with barely a flinch, who took having to look through someone else's stomach contents completely in her stride. This might be a woman who was tough as nails, who knew how to get her job done. But, he also realised, this was a woman who was able to feel compassion for a couple of kids who had got high, got in way above their heads, and done something that they never would ordinarily have been capable of. A woman who spoke gently, almost apologetically, to them when she told them that they were going to be arrested. Whose words to him as they watched Nicole Exmoor being led away - "Hey, Cyrus, next time somebody says experimenting with drugs is harmless remind me of this." - had been uttered in a tone of such quiet pain that his palm had literally itched with the desire to place it on her shoulder or back as some small sign of support.

He hadn't though, knowing that she wouldn't appreciate it, knowing that it was going way over a line he had no business crossing.

Trouble was that in the couple of weeks since that case, he'd realised that he'd already crossed that line without even realising it, and that there was no getting back over the other side.

Not that he really wanted to.

He was so lost in thought that he jumped when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, turning as he looked at the man who was sliding into the stool beside him. "Man, you're lost in thought," chuckled Nick, his good humour as ever in evidence. Cyrus tried for a moment to remember if he'd ever seen Nick Stokes in a bad mood, failing utterly and dismissing the notion as unlikely. "Tough case?"

That, Cyrus decided, was one way of putting it, though he didn't mean it in the same way as Nick had. Deciding only to think about the case he was working on right then, and that he wouldn't mention Sara to Nick at all, he shrugged, and promptly dodged the question with an ease born of years of practice. He knew from long experience that very few people who asked how his day had gone really wanted to know. "Homicide's never a picnic," he said simply, raising his beer to his lips. "You?"

Nick waved to the bartender, indicating that he'd like a beer, and ordering another one for Cyrus while he was at it. "I was working with Sara and Grissom on that homicide at the Little People's Convention," he said, words that had Cyrus looking at him curiously, only to see Nick frowning. "I don't even know if that's the right grammar on that."

Cyrus decided to ignore his confusion. "I heard about that," he said instead.

Nick nodded his thanks to the bartender as he put down two bottles of beer in front of them. "Turns out the perp was the father of the fiancée of the murdered guy," he said. "He didn't want his daughter - who's a five foot seven stunner - involved with a dwarf." He took a sip of his beer, shaking his head. "My ex-girlfriends' fathers are looking better and better right now."

Cyrus could certainly relate to that one. "Mine too."

Nick snickered. "Sara was the only one of us who kept it remotely real - she told me that she'd much rather deal with getting skin cells from a rope than that cheerleader case you two worked on a couple of weeks ago."

"She said that?" Cyrus didn't even think as he spoke the words, and when he realised what he'd said, consoled himself with the thought that it had been Nick who'd brought up Sara's name. He himself hadn't gone fishing, the subject had come up naturally in conversation. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Nick chuckled, raising his beer bottle to his lips. "Oh, she's gonna be living off that one for a while," he said, taking a drink. "We went for lunch day before yesterday, I ordered a Caesar Salad? The woman turned green at the table, made me change my order. Said it was gonna be a long time before she could look at one again."

Cyrus, having heard from Sara in graphic detail the reason why, waved his hand to forestall any further details, but he couldn't keep from looking at Nick askance. "Sara doesn't strike me as the squeamish type," he mentioned, and Nick shrugged.

"Oh she's not, but there's a line, you know? And I think she just found herself on the other side of it." He took another sip of his beer, shaking his head as he put it down. "Don't get me wrong, Sara can hang with the best of us when it comes to gore. She's pretty cool."

"She certainly is." Cyrus didn't think that there was anything wrong with him saying that. After all, he was only agreeing with Nick about a mutual acquaintance of theirs; there was nothing wrong with that, surely? But he realised too late that there must have been something in his tone to give him away, or maybe Nick was just unusually perceptive, because he turned his head sharply to look at Cyrus, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He didn't say a word at first, just stared hard, leaving Cyrus to ask, "What?" He didn't mean to sound so defensive, and mentally kicked himself.

"Don't tell me…" Nick drew each word out slowly, carefully, as if he was giving each word time to settle in his brain, giving himself time to come to terms with his discovery. "You don't…" He held Cyrus's gaze for a moment longer before a big grin split his face, and he looked down at the bar, chuckling. "Another one?" He was talking to himself more than Cyrus, incredulity written all over his face. "What is it about this woman?"

Cyrus frowned, completely lost. "Stokes, you want to speak in English there?"

Nick shook his head again. "Sorry man," he said, doing his best to sober up, but his lips still twitched irrepressibly. "I just never expected you to fall under her spell too."

"Under her spell?" Cyrus recognised the words, but the context was lost on him still.

"I'm making it sound worse than it is," Nick told him. "Fact is, Sara lives for her work. Doesn't sleep, maxes out on overtime, lives in the lab… and yet for some reason, every guy she comes across seems to fall head over heels for her." Putting down his beer, he started ticking them off on his fingers. "David the assistant coroner would do anything to get near her. Greg in DNA? First time he saw her, his eyes nearly came out of his head, and it's not gotten better. Bobby Dawson in Ballistics lights up when she walks in, and if I didn't know better, I'd swear Archie's taken a bit of a shine to her…" His voice trailed off as he pondered the various other suitors of Sara Sidle, and Cyrus couldn't help but draw the obvious conclusion. It was something that he'd noticed about the two of them the first time that he'd ever met Sara, when they were all working Chief Rittle's murder. He'd been at the CSI lab, trying to find Brass for something that he couldn't even remember now, and on his travels, he'd passed by the fingerprint lab, had heard Nick's voice coming from the room. Figuring he might know where Brass was, he'd gone in to ask, recovering quickly when he'd seen that Nick wasn't alone. Nick had told him that he hadn't known where Brass was, but he'd introduced him to Sara, who'd given him a ready smile and apologised for not shaking his hand. "Gloves and fingerprint powder," she explained, and he'd understood. Nick had teased her though, said something about her lack of manners and how he couldn't take her anywhere, which had led to Sara protesting, and some pretty decent dinner theatre.

Cyrus had thought at the time that it was just a teasing, brother-sister vibe. Now he wasn't so sure. So he asked.

"And where do you fit into this?"

The instant the words were out of his mouth, he heard how they sounded, and he didn't blame Nick when he looked sharply at him, eyes wide. "Man, you do have it bad," he pronounced flatly. "Sara's like a sister to me. Nothing more, nothing less."

There was too much honesty in the other man's eyes for Cyrus to do anything but believe him, so he nodded. "So she's seeing someone then?" Because a woman like that, with all those guys falling over her, would have to be.

So he wasn't surprised when Nick nodded, but he was surprised at the pang that shot through his heart at the sight. "Yeah, a paramedic. Hank something… I'm not sure how serious though, she won't talk about him."

Cyrus nodded, lifting his bottle to his lips, draining the last of it, signalling the bartender to bring them another. "Paramedic?"

"Yeah, they met on the job…pretty funny story actually…" Nick launched into a tale about rappelling from a helicopter, and a dead decomposing body in a duffle bag, and while it wasn't really something that Cyrus was interested in hearing about, he let him talk. Because after all, he was talking about Sara, and that was something that did interest him, boyfriend or no.

Chapter Text

Part Three - Conversations

(Fight Night)

Sara didn't even try to keep back a smile as she watched Brass lead a handcuffed Javier Molina from the interview room, feeling the familiar sense of satisfaction that came with a case being closed, with the bad guy being brought to justice. This was one of the reasons why she loved her job.

She was standing up from the table when she heard Warrick's voice, low and teasing, behind her. "I don't see a spit bucket around so this must be a real smile…"

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she swung around, fixing him with a hard look. "Funny," she said, in a tone that conveyed it was anything but, and he laughed, holding up his hands as if in surrender.

"Little touchy there are we?"

He was laughing, but she wasn't; in truth, it was a sore subject for her. "Like I said, every CSI has a problem area…" Except that she hated admitting to hers, in any arena, the perfectionist in her hating to admit to any flaws.

"I know that," Warrick told her, interrupting her. "It's just gratifying to know that you're human is all."

He was still joking, still teasing, but for some reason the barb went straight to her heart. It shouldn't have, she knew that, after all, it was far from the first time that she'd ever heard that charge levelled at herself. It was just that she thought that she'd changed, or at the very least was making an effort to change, her relationship with Hank was proof of that. She was doing what Grissom had told her, she was getting a life, she was getting over him.

She'd thought she was doing a good job of it.

"Speaking of human," Warrick continued, unaware of her thoughts, "How's the boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend?" She blinked, shifting on her feet slightly. "What boyfriend?"

Earlier, she'd resisted the temptation to roll her eyes, now Warrick showed no such willpower. "Hank?" he asked, putting a world of questions into one word, a wide smile spreading across his face. "C'mon, I've seen the way he looks at you…"

"We're friends," she said, strangely reluctant to let Warrick in on the fact that they were quite a bit more than friends, had been for the last number of weeks. Which was odd, because this was Warrick, and if there was anyone that she would have shared details of her personal life with, it was him, her friend lacking both Grissom's taciturn ways and the little brother teasing of Nick and Greg. Of course, the last time she'd told Warrick something about her relationship with Hank, it had been all over the CSI lab in days. Still though, he'd surely learned his lesson about it, there was no way he'd let the same thing slip twice, not if she warned him not to. She was all ready to tell him the truth, but what came out instead was "We hang out sometimes…"

"Uh-huh." Warrick clicked his tongue, eyes dancing, obviously hugely amused. "I believe you." Except that he clearly didn't, and she didn't blame him in the slightest. Her tone wouldn't have convinced even herself. "Shame about that though…that you're not dating him I mean…"

The way his voice trailed off signalled loud and clear that he had a zinger lined up for her, and she resolved that she would not ask him. She would not.

"Why?"

His whole face lit up, as if he couldn't believe that she'd bitten, and he wasn't the only one. She mentally kicked herself as he said, "After the thing with the wraps, him leading you to them like that? You owe him a big thank you…" His meaning was clear, and she felt a rush of heat coating her cheeks, one that only grew stronger when he broke into more laughter. "Sure you don't want to reconsider your answer?"

There was only one thing for her to do - gather what remained of her dignity and make a graceful exit. "I'm not answering that," she said, sailing out of the room, hearing him following after her, still chuckling, but at least not saying anything further on the subject on the way back to CSI.

It might have been that he was giving her a break, or it might have been that he was trying to get into her good books, but either way, once they got back to CSI, Warrick offered to get a jump on the case paperwork, an offer which she was only too glad to accept, no matter what might have spawned it. Promising to catch up to him in a few minutes, Sara made her way to the break room, helping herself to some of Greg's famous coffee, pouring herself a cup, before turning to see Nick sitting at the table, a scowl darkening his features. "Hey," she said, her brows raising in surprise when she received barely a grunt in response. "What's up?"

"You know what a piffling is?" he asked, looking up at her almost angrily, and she blinked in surprise.

"It's a young puffin isn't it?" she replied, not sure from whence that bit of useless knowledge came from, and not understanding when his look of anger changed to surprise, and he lifted a hand in mingled shock and confusion.

"You see? You know that, and it's no big deal. Grissom goes on about bugs and he's learned. I make one nature reference, and I get mocked."

Sara narrowed her eyes, sure that she'd missed something somewhere. "I wasn't mocking you," she said, running over her words to make sure.

"Not you," Nick allowed. "But you want to tell me why you and Warrick get to work the boxing murder, Catherine gets to work the gang member murder, and I get stuck with a smash and grab?"

Sara shrugged her shoulders. "Luck of the draw?" she suggested, but Nick's exasperated look told her that it wasn't the answer he was looking for. "Sorry."

Her hasty apology had him shaking his head. "You know what I mean," he muttered, and she did, having had this particular conversation with Nick in varying stages of sobriety over the last couple of years.

"We've all got cases like that," she reminded him. "Remember the gorilla skull?"

He snickered. "Yeah," he allowed. "And I did manage to clear my case quicker than any of the rest of you." His grin was teasing, and this time, she didn't rise to the bait.

"There you go," she told him, raising her coffee cup in salute to him. "Besides, it was a solo case…isn't that what you've always said you wanted?" The memory came to her, of him crouching near the Newman swimming pool when Grissom had sent her to work the cheerleader case at Tuscadero High School; when she'd been called in on her day off, when she'd walked off in a huff with Grissom over the attitude he'd given her, when Nick had stared at her, wondering why she got to work solo and he didn't.

His eyes darkened, and she knew that she shouldn't have said that, should have quit while she was ahead, but it was too late now. "Well, you know what they say Sara," he said quietly. "We should be careful what we wish for."

She was saved from having to make any reply by a third presence entering the room, and she blinked in surprise, because only a second earlier, she'd been thinking about a case they'd worked together. "Stokes," Cyrus said, looking directly at Nick at first, as if he didn't realise that Sara was in the room. "You're late." Looking then at Sara, he nodded again. "Sara."

"Hey Cyrus," she said, eyes darting between them with interest as Nick looked at his watch, any darkness in his countenance being chased away by a look of surprise. "Late for what?"

"Pick up basketball game," Cyrus told her, and she regarded them both in surprise.

"I never knew you guys played."

"Couple mornings a week," Nick confirmed. "When Lockwood feels like getting his ass kicked."

"He exaggerates," Cyrus scoffed, and Nick chuckled softly, shaking his head, looking from Cyrus to Sara.

"I really don't. You should come watch if you don't believe me." He was talking to Sara, but his eyes were going between Cyrus and Sara, and there was something in his eyes that Sara had never seen there before and didn't understand. She looked to Cyrus as if he would help her out, but his face remained impassive.

"Good as that invitation sounds," she said, draining her cup in a couple of large mouthfuls, "Some of us aren't finished our case paperwork, and if you think Warrick is gonna do it on his own…" She let her voice trail off, letting them imagine Warrick's reaction that that particular suggestion. "Best of luck to you though."

"You're sure you won't come and cheerlead for us?" Nick quipped as she walked out of the room, and she didn't reply, just turned slightly and fixed him with one of her strongest patented Sara-glares, his laughter following her down the hall.

Chapter Text

Part Four - Realisation

(Blood Lust)

Sara looked neither left nor right as she made her way to the ballistics lab, though she may have uttered a few colourful names underneath her breath, all of them directed at Grissom. She knew she was probably being childish, but she'd wanted to be there when he was testing the gun, the case that they were working on getting more interesting by the minute. It wasn't such an unrealistic expectation either she told herself, because after all, they'd found the damn gun together, the least he could do was keep her apprised of what he was doing about it.

The second the thought formed in her head, she changed her initial assessment about maybe being childish. She was definitely being childish, and she forced the thoughts to the back of her mind. After all, the case was hot, he was running with the case, and she did it with him all the time. Dimly, she recalled flinging those same words at Warrick once upon a long ago, and mentally sent an apology his way.

By the time she got to the ballistics lab, she was able to speak coherently, even normally, without a trace of rancour. Almost. "You know, you could have waited for me," she said, seeing Grissom seated at a microscope, looking just as Catherine had described him, meditating on the revolver, not even looking up.

Look up he did though when he heard her voice, pushing away from the bench. "Take a look at this," he said, and she did as she was asked, without question.

"Looks like burnt skin," she said, and Grissom concurred.

"I think maybe someone palmed the cylinder gap."

Sara had a sudden mental image of someone, a youngster, inexperienced with weapons, holding the gun, hissing in pain as the heat of the barrel scorched their skin. It had happened more than once, she knew that; she'd seen it. "Todd Branson had GSR on his jacket," she reminded Grissom. "If we could get his DNA off this revolver, we could tie him to this."

It was a significant lead, and she didn't understand why he wasn't more excited. "Burnt skin is useless for DNA," he told her, and she felt a smile coming to her face, because she knew something that he didn't, a rare enough occurrence.

"Yeah, but what about sweat?" she asked, noting how he kept his face perfectly neutral. "There's a 17% chance of DNA recovery from the shooter's perspiration."

"17%?" He echoed her figure, and she felt a smile bubbling up inside her, fought to keep a straight face.

"Yeah. New paper out of Australia. You haven't seen it?" His face was still blank, so she did what she did best, recite statistics. She'd copped a lot of grief for it over the years, mostly from Nick and Warrick, but she'd always had an affinity with numbers, could remember obscure figures with no trouble at all. "17% chance of DNA recovery from the grip of a gun," she intoned. "67% chance from a cigarette, 32% chance from the brim of a hat." And then, just for fun, in the hopes of catching him off guard, she followed up with, "Would you like a copy?"

How she managed to keep a straight face, she didn't know, but Grissom didn't hesitate. "I don't need one. I have you." He took a beat, leaving that to sink in, before adding, "Swab the pistol grip; get it to DNA."

With that, he stood up and walked off, leaving her shaking her head as she sat down to do her job. Swabbing a pistol grip wasn't exactly the most strenuous of activities though, it gave her plenty of time to think about what he'd just said to her.

"I have you."

What the hell had that been supposed to mean? Had it come from Nick or Warrick, she would have dismissed it as a joke, it would have been impossible to do anything else. They would have been smiling as they said it, smirking at the very least, their eyes dancing with devilment. Grissom's face though, had remained inscrutable, his tone could have fit a thousand different adjectives, rendering his meaning unclear.

But it wasn't the first time that he'd done something like that to her, thrown in a phrase out of nowhere that she had no idea how to take.

"Since I met you."

"You sure know how to light up a room."

For God's sake, he'd sent her a plant to stop her leaving. He'd told her that she deserved to have a life, but had gotten snippy with her when she'd got one.

How was she supposed to fathom this man?

It wasn't, she remembered, even the first time he'd done something like that while on this case. She wasn't even supposed to be at a crime scene that day, she was supposed to be at a forensic anthropology seminar. Not that she was heart-broken about missing it, it wasn't like she was at a vineyard in Pahrump on a date or anything, but what she'd said to him was true. The seminar was required, and she was down to take it. It was part of the continuing education program, and she'd have to make it up at a later date, but Grissom hadn't taken any of her excuses. Instead he'd told her that everyone else was someplace else, he'd run down the particulars of the case, and he'd followed it all up with three little words that had had a sense of déjà vu wrapping itself around her shoulders like a warm blanket.

"I need you."

Those were the three words that she'd heard in her San Francisco apartment a little over two years ago, the words that were responsible for getting her to Vegas in the first place. She never would have left were it not for those words, and the memory of them had been enough to get her to stay when he'd asked, in the hope that, with the student/teacher barricade from the seminar removed, they could be more than friends.

Two years ago, she'd smiled down the phone and asked, "How can I help?" and when she'd heard them again, she'd done the exact same thing.

There had, she realised now, been one big difference, and her hand stilled, the gun only partially swabbed as the thought threatened to bowl her over.

Two years ago, those three little words had left her giddy as a schoolgirl, hopeful and expectant that her life was about to change.

One year ago, those other words, "Since I met you" chief among them, had sent her into a tailspin, one where she wondered if he was finally coming around, if he was noticing her as more than just a co-worker, if he might finally make a move on her.

But he hadn't.

And now, hearing those words - "I need you," "I have you" - it didn't have that effect on her anymore. Oh, she smiled, in part because of the memory, in part because it was nice to hear - words of appreciation from Grissom were few and far between, no matter how vague the context - but she didn't feel the urge to deconstruct every syllable, every minute distinction in the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes.

Was she puzzled over it, did she wonder if he meant anything by it?

Yes.

Was she going to lose sleep over it?

No.

Slowly, carefully, yet almost mechanically, she finished swabbing the gun, putting the bindle into an envelope and writing the label as neatly as she could, pleased to note that her hand wasn't shaking, though her heart was beating a mile a minute, the force of her revelation still coursing through her.

She wasn't sure when it happened, but somewhere in the last few months, she'd got over Grissom.

She'd told herself that she was, after all, while it wasn't serious, she was dating Hank, but she'd never really believed it, not in her heart. This was different though, this was knowing it for sure with every fibre of her being.

And she smiled as she set off for the DNA lab, because it felt good.

A familiar voice calling her name startled her out of her reverie, and she turned curiously, still with the smile on her face, and she felt it grow wider when she saw Hank. "Hey," she said. "You got my message?"

He nodded, jogging up to her. "I thought this seminar was super-important, couldn't be missed?" he asked, and she shrugged.

"You know Grissom," she said, holding up the envelope. "Nothing's more important than the case." She felt the urge to roll her eyes, and was only partially successful in restraining it, catching herself mid-roll.

Hank didn't miss the look, chuckling to himself before eyeing her seriously. "So um… you gonna be working non-stop?" he asked then, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets, looking at her with tilted head. His lips were twitching as if he was keeping back a smile of his own, and she had the strangest idea that she knew what he was going to say next. "Or will you be free to get something to eat later on?"

Sara pretended to ponder it for a moment, though she already knew her answer. There was plenty to be done on the case, but she was certainly entitled to a dinner break; she'd worked through enough of them after all. "I think I can fit you into my schedule," she finally told him, not bothering to hide her smile when she answered, and Hank didn't try to hide his after that either.

"I'm on my break in two hours," he said, checking his watch. "I'll meet you outside?"

She nodded, already taking a couple of backward steps. "I'll see you then."

Once he'd turned, making his way down the hall, she took a couple more backward steps, moving in the direction of the DNA lab, yet not losing eye contact with him immediately. When she realised what she was doing, she turned, checking left and right for other workers, but to her everlasting gratitude, there seemed to be no-one around who would report to the others that she'd been staring after her boyfriend with a sappy smile on her face. Nick and Greg would have a field day with that one, and her cheeks burned at what they might come out with.

She'd taken a lot of heat from various people around the lab about her relationship with Hank, and she'd always downplayed it. Not that that had been hard; for a long time, there hadn't been much to downplay, and she'd still been holding a torch for Grissom.

But now they were dating, and she was over Grissom.

The scientist in her, the analytical mind, whirred to life, wanting to know just what that meant for her, for them, but she shut it down firmly, telling herself that it was too early to begin thinking like that. Hank was a nice guy, she had fun with him, and that was more than enough for now.

For later? Something might happen, and if it did, fine. If it didn't, well, that was fine too.

That much settled, she walked in the door of the DNA lab, giving Greg her best and brightest smile. "Greg," she said, placing the evidence envelope between them, leaning on the bench and turning on all the charm she could muster. "Have I ever told you that you're a DNA genius?"

Chapter Text

Part Five - Drydock

(High and Low)

Walking through the lab, Sara could barely keep a rein on her impatience, though she had, at least, stopped muttering under her breath about bureaucratic nonsense, red tape and arcane rules. It had got to the stage that people were literally running the other way when they saw her coming, and after pottering around her apartment during hours of the day when she'd normally be in the lab, she'd decided to stop complaining about it and actually do something about it.

The only person she knew with the power to help her was Grissom, so she headed to his office, fully prepared to wheedle, cajole or beg, anything to get her back out into the field. Catherine was working a shooting solo, Warrick and Nick were losing no time in telling her all about their murder, in which the vic literally appeared to have fallen from the sky. All these interesting cases, and where was she? Stuck processing evidence, pushing paper inside the lab.

This hadn't been her first attempt, but she hadn't managed to find Grissom, and he didn't appear to be anywhere around the lab. She'd asked a few people if they'd seen him, had tried his cell, all to no avail, but as luck would have it, this time he was in his office, though standing at his desk, folders underneath his arm. He had all the hallmarks of someone who was on his way out the door, so she knocked on the door frame lightly, expecting him to turn around. When he didn't, she frowned, knocking a little harder on the door, combining it with the words, "You got a minute?"

He turned then, blinking in surprise. "I didn't see you there," he said simply, and she shrugged her shoulders, taking a couple of steps in.

"I stopped by a little while ago," she said. "You weren't here."

"I had an errand to run," he said, his tone clipped, his manner brusque, and it was Sara's turn to register surprise. She knew that people often talked about Grissom's manner and lack of people skills, but she couldn't recall a time when he'd ever addressed her in quite that tone. The memory of a poolside conversation at the Newman residence came to her, and she brushed it aside - she didn't want to think about that now, didn't want to get retrospectively pissed off at him, not when she was here to beg him for a favour.

"OK," she said simply, cutting him off before he could say anything else, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "I was just wondering if I could ask you something."

"As long as it's quick," was all Grissom said, and Sara took a deep breath, realising that this might be harder than she'd thought.

"I'm dry-docked," she told him, cutting straight to the point. "I'm maxed out on overtime, I can't get out into the field and lab work is driving me crazy." Her main problem out in the open, she chanced a whimsical smile. "Can you help me out?"

"No." The word was uttered in that flat, brusque tone, without a hint of a smile on his face. There wasn't a chance that he was joking with her, and she felt herself deflate slightly. It wasn't so much that he was saying no, she'd expected that. It was the way in which he said it, his whole demeanour.

Still though, she gave it another try. "C'mon Gris, those rules are ridiculous…when a case is hot, you have to run with it, you know that as well as I do-"

"Sara." Her name was said in the tone that she knew better than to argue with, the tone that she'd heard of, had heard used, but had never had directed at her before. She wasn't sure if it was the tone itself or the shock of it that still her tongue before she got to point out that the only reason she maxed out on overtime this month was that he called her in on the Todd Branson murder. "Those rules are made for a reason. Not only that, but you max out on overtime more than any other CSI I've met."

"Exactly my point!" Sara's eyes grew wide with surprise, because when had Grissom ever not bent that particular pesky rule for her? "Grissom-"

"Sara." There was that tone again. "The decision stands." He held her gaze for a long moment, then walked out of the office, leaving her standing there, wondering what the hell just happened.

It didn't take long for Sara to recover, deciding that if Grissom wouldn't listen to her, then there might be someone else that he would listen to, and it didn't take her long to figure out who it might be. Thus, she abandoned all prospect of talking Grissom around, instead choosing to seek out someone who had charm in abundance, someone who had plenty of practice at getting around Grissom.

She found Catherine in one of the layout rooms, bags of what looked like twigs laid out on the table in front of her. Wondering what in the world that had to do with a shooting, Sara decided that it wasn't that vital that she know, instead coming straight to the point, as she had with Grissom. "Can you help me out?"

Catherine barely looked up from her twigs. "Uh…depends."

While not a ringing endorsement, it was still more encouraging than her entire conversation with Grissom. "I can't get out into the field because I'm maxed out on overtime for the month," she said simply, leaving it to Catherine to fill in the blanks.

"Ah. And you're confined to the lab, huh?" From Catherine's continued interest in her evidence, it was clear that she didn't consider this a problem, certainly not in the same way that Sara considered it a problem. In fact, Catherine had her own set of suggestions as to what Sara should do, which she lost no time in sharing. "Well, hey, look, it's regular hours. I mean, go have dinner with the boyfriend ... Hank, right?" There was just enough of a pause after the word boyfriend for the word to sink in with Sara before Catherine named him, and from the sassy little glint in her colleague's eye, Sara knew that she was on a fishing expedition. Even though she'd been asked about it more times than she could count, she still had never come out and confirmed to anyone from work that she and Hank were dating, and there was no way she was going to do it now. Seeing that she wasn't going to get a reaction, Catherine continued. "And, and ... go, go to a spa."

Sara told herself that she wasn't going to react to the line about Hank. She wasn't going to do it. But the words came out of her mouth anyway, and the second she said them, she wanted to take them back. "Hank is not my boyfriend." It was a categorical denial, and a complete lie, but Catherine couldn't know that, though the look on her face when she glanced up at Sara pretty much gave the game away. Still, Sara rushed to cover up the lie in the hopes that Catherine would forget all about it, following up with an objection that even she found weak. "And you know, those places are filled with bacteria."

Catherine didn't comment on either refutation, going on the offensive. "Sara, I don't make the rules around here. You've got to talk to Grissom about that."

Except that she already had, and had got nowhere. Under normal circumstances, Sara would balk at letting Catherine know that she'd failed at something, much less let her know that she needed her help. But these were not normal circumstances; there was still a lot of the month left to go, and the thought of being confined to the lab for the duration was enough to make Sara swallow her pride. "Yeah ... he's, um, not really in a talking mood."

She smiled as she said it, somewhat embarrassed, and Catherine looked up at her in what looked like mild surprise. "What makes you think he's going talk to me?" Sara merely shrugged in response, giving her that same smile, because if he was going to talk to anyone in the lab, it was going to be her; besides which, Catherine was able to turn on the charm like no-one else she'd ever met. If Catherine could read her thoughts, she didn't comment on them, instead telling Sara, "Get some rest."

With barely contained impatience, Sara fought the urge to beat Catherine over the head with one of the sticks in front of her. Nick had said the same thing to her, so had Warrick. Even Hank had said it, and she was getting nigh on sick of it. "I'm not tired," she protested, knowing from Catherine's face that she didn't believe her. "Really. I'm not tired."

Knowing that Catherine didn't believe her, she turned, walking out of the room, going back to the DNA lab where she was helping out Greg.

***

Making his way to the DNA lab, Cyrus couldn't keep from hurrying, though he did try. Not very hard though; after all, he'd been waiting for this evidence for what seemed like a long time. He'd been on the hunt for this murder weapon for a long time, and if his luck held, the traces of blood that had been on it would conclusively link it to his suspected killer. He would have crossed his fingers were he the superstitious type, but instead he just settled for throwing a quick prayer up to whomever might be listening as he walked into the lab.

He expected to see Greg Sanders there, the lively spiky-haired lab tech who normally handled such cases, and he was thrown off his stride when he saw a familiar crown of dark hair wielding a pipette, transferring a sample of liquid into a test tube. "Doing your own lab work now Sara?" he asked, taken aback when she looked up at him, not with the smile that he'd been half-expecting, but with a narrow eyed glare.

"Don't you start too," she all but growled at him, and he held up his hands in genuine confusion.

"You want me to go out and come back in?" he suggested, only partly joking, and Sara looked hard at him, as if to ascertain if he was serious. When she realised that he really didn't know what she was talking about, she was instantly contrite, or as contrite as one could be when she still looked pissed off.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you like that…I'm sorry." She laid down the pipette, turning to face him and leaning against the bench. "I've just been hearing a lot of jokes at my expense… gets a little old."

He narrowed his eyes curiously, deciding it was safe to take a couple of steps closer in, ready to run at any moment. "You want to let me in on the secret?" he asked, and she looked to the ceiling, shaking her head.

"I maxed out on overtime for the month," she told him. "I'm confined to the lab. Hence, helping out Greg."

"And she's doing quite well too," Greg pointed out, hustling past them, a folder of results in his hand. "Might make a real lab tech out of her yet."

Sara made a sound that was halfway between a chuckle and a growl, and Cyrus might have reacted more to it were he not trying to nab the rapidly moving Greg. "Sanders, you got those results for me?"

"Somewhere in the pile," Greg told him, barely breaking stride. "But if I don't get these to Ecklie like, five minutes ago, you'll be finding my DNA under his fingernails… Sara, help the Detective, will you? Meredith Lambert."

"Sure." Sara wasn't looking at Greg when she replied, but Cyrus was, and he was pretty sure that for all Greg's haste, he paused slightly on the way out, his gaze flickering from Sara to Cyrus and back again, a devilish smile on his face. As quickly as Cyrus noted it though, it was gone, and so was Greg, and he told himself that he was being paranoid, that he'd been hanging around with Stokes too long, turning back to Sara, who, good as her word, had moved over to another bench, looking through a pile of papers there. "I swear," she muttered to herself. "I don't know how he finds a thing…"

"So you're not allowed out in the field?" Cyrus asked, following her over, receiving a half-glare for his concern.

"No," she said viciously. "Regular hours until the start of next month."

She sounded as if she'd been sentenced to bread and water, and Cyrus couldn't help laughing. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It is." There was no trace of good humour in her voice, and Cyrus stopped laughing quickly. "Lab work's ok…" Even he could tell that that was a lie. "But it's not the same, you know?"

"Don't let Greg hear you say that," Cyrus told her, trying to lighten her mood, receiving a snicker as reward for his efforts. "Seriously though," Cyrus continued. "You're the first person I've heard complain about not being able to work overtime."

She gave him a long-suffering sigh in response. "Catherine told me to go to the spa," she told him. "You know how much bacteria is in those places?"

He didn't, nor did he want to. "So do something else. Go see friends, see a movie, go to the carnival…"

He'd meant it as a joke, but she looked up at his words, laying down her papers. "The carnival?" she repeated thoughtfully. "Man, I haven't been to a carnival in years… outside of a case a couple of years ago… one used to come every year when I was a kid, my parents would always take us…"

"Yeah?" He'd never heard Sara talk about her childhood before, in fact, knew very little about her personal life at all, and he couldn't deny his interest.

"Yeah…I used to love all the rides…but especially the Ferris wheel… it'd go up and you'd be able to see all the way over the bay…" Her voice trailed off, lost in memories. "I haven't thought about that in years," she admitted.

"There you go," he told her. "There's a plan for you."

"Maybe," she said, going back to her papers again, all professionalism again, and she didn't look up again until she came to one particular folder. "Here's your name," she said, flipping open the folder, eyes screwing up in concentration as she read the page. "According to this, the blood is a definite match to Meredith Lambert." She looked up at him after she said the name, and he felt the biggest smile starting to spread across his face. "I take it that's good?"

"That's very good," he told her. Off her curious look, he explained. "Meredith Lambert was found dead two weeks ago at her residence. No-one was home, allegedly, nothing was taken, place was smashed up though. Husband had no alibi, but we had no evidence on him."

"Until now?"

"Until now," he confirmed. "That knife was found in a park where they used to go jogging on a regular basis…wrapped in a piece of newspaper dated the day of the murder." He grimaced slightly as a thought occurred to him. "Now we just have to tie the knife to the husband."

Sara's nose wrinkled in thought. "Nothing on prints?"

"Knife and paper both clean," Cyrus reported. "Unfortunately. And we checked the kitchen, the garage, everywhere. No knives missing, no receipts from buying knives… not that it looked especially new…see for yourself." Opening the folder in his hand, he took out a photograph of the knife, handing it over to her. When she took it from him, she frowned, holding it up, observing it from several different angles. She did that for so long that he had to ask, "What, you see something?"

Her next question surprised him. "Husband wasn't a diver by any chance?"

Cyrus's eyebrows raised. "He was. Is that important?"

"With this knife? I'd say so."

"How?" Cyrus didn't understand, and he wasn't shy about saying so. "I mean, it's an all purpose knife, anyone could have used it…"

"And I bet anyone did," Sara said. "See how the handle's all beat up? But that's not why it's important." She was walking past him to the door when she stopped. "Who's the CSI on the case?"

"McCafferty. Day shift."

She narrowed her eyes. "Cheating on the graveyard shift? Detective, I'm hurt."

"Right," he said flatly, but his lips twitched. "You're gonna share what you know anyway though."

She tilted her head, as if she was considering it. "You talked me into it," she said, motioning him to follow her. "McCafferty's not gonna mind me snooping; she's pretty cool. Come on."

She led him to the layout room, finding the evidence box, finding the knife easily and signing it out. "Initial there," she said, handing him a pen, pointing to her name. He did so, looking at her in silent question. "This way we can say that you couldn't find someone on days and asked me to help out."

He blinked. "You said McCafferty wouldn't mind."

"She won't. But when you're dealing with one of Ecklie's people, you cover yourself."

She was gone again, and he found himself once more following in her wake, feeling all kinds of new respect for Nick and anyone else who had to try to keep up with Sara when she was running with a case. "He's really that bad?" he asked, having heard all about Conrad Ecklie, none of it very pleasant, and Sara literally shuddered when she replied.

"Worse," she said simply. She didn't say another word until she got to the print lab, nodding at the woman sitting there. "Mind if I rob your station Jackie?"

Jackie just looked at her. "It's all yours," she said, as if she was surprised that Sara had even asked. "I was about due for a break." She nodded at Cyrus as she left, but Cyrus barely noticed, so intent was he on Sara. She was moving with the speed of someone who knew exactly what she was doing gathering all the equipment she needed and laying it on the table beside the knife. Snapping on a pair of gloves, she took the knife from the bag, holding it up in demonstration.

"This is an all-purpose knife, you're right about that," she told him. "But a lot of divers use them…they come in handy when you're in the depths of the deep and you're not sure what might be coming at you. Or if you want to take samples of what's growing down there."

To say that Sara knew about this was a surprise to say the least. "You're a diver?" he asked, and she laughed, shaking her head.

"Not me. My older brother used to, and his buddies. Diving, surfing, jet skis, anything to do with water. However, while he loved the sports, cleaning up after himself was never his strong suit. He used to pay me to do it…and I used to let him." She was fiddling with the knife, her features a mask of concentration. "Which is how I know that this happens…" With a triumphant smile, she popped the blade out of the knife, the handle popping open into two equal halves. "I saw from the pictures that they only dusted the outside, right?" Cyrus nodded his assent and Sara moved towards what looked like a large glass box. "McCafferty's from Vermont," she told him. "Not a lot of diving knives sold there."

"You think you can get a print off that?" Cyrus asked, stepping closer to her to better see what she was doing, and she shrugged as she reached for a small foil container, putting a few drops of liquid into it.

"It's worth a shot," she told him. "I know that my prints would have been all over the inside of Mike's knife." She paused then, holding the knife up. "Though I might do you one better." She angled the knife, pointing out a stain at the base of the handle.

"Is that blood?" Cyrus couldn't figure out how it would have got there, inside the blade, but once again, Sara had an answer for him.

"Could be…I've nicked myself on these things plenty…the blood runs down, gets in between the grooves." Reaching for a bindle, she took a swab of it. "It could be animal blood…but then again, you might get lucky." She labelled the bindle, then returned to the glass box. Placing the small dish into it, she put the knife handle and blade onto the shelf within, closing the lid and flicking a switch. Instantly, fumes began to pour into the box, and as Cyrus looked, patterns began to form on the plastic. He didn't need to see the triumphant grin forming on her face to know that she'd hit pay dirt.

"You've got a print?" he asked, just to be sure, and she leaned closer to get a better look.

"A good one too," she announced. She was already reaching for her tape lift. "I'll scan it in, run it through the databases…hope for the best."

She flashed him a gap-toothed grin, and he couldn't help his reply. "Guess lab work's not so boring after all huh?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, but seconds later, she was smiling too.

Chapter Text

Part Six - Revelry

Decorations were hung up all over Nick's living room, and if his neighbours found it confusing that their neighbour was having a Christmas party at ten o'clock in the morning, then no-one had so far commented on it. Nor had anyone called to the door, asking them to turn down the music, Greg having decided that he was manning the stereo, playing DJ to impress the chicks, his words, not Sara's. At present, he was leading several lab techs in a spirited chorus of "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer," much to Sara's amusement, and that of Warrick, who was standing beside her.

"How much has he had to drink?" she asked from her perch on the edge of Nick's couch. Greg certainly showed all the hallmarks of one who had significantly partaken of the Christmas spirit, but then again, this was Greg, so you never could tell.

Warrick's next words bore out her point. "Worryingly little," he observed, raising his own bottle of beer to his lips. It did little to wash a bad taste out of his mouth if the look on his face was anything to go by. "Is this the never ending version of this song?"

"I think he's just making verses up," Sara told him, biting back her own grin.

"Yeah." Warrick's attention was diverted when their gracious host walked by them. "Hey Stokes!"

"Yeah?" There was a broad smile on Nick's face, despite the fact that Greg was showing no signs of playing any decent music, and that the entire graveyard shift seemed to have descended on his house. Of course, that might have had something to do with the fact that tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and that Nick had that night's shift off so that he could catch a red-eye home to Dallas for the holidays. He hadn't stopped talking about it for weeks.

His good mood didn't do anything for Warrick though. "Man, what were you thinking letting Sanders near your stereo?"

Nick shrugged easily, throwing Greg a look over his shoulder. "I didn't let Greg do anything, he just showed up there and refused to leave." When he glanced back at Warrick, he seemed hard-pressed to keep back a smile of his own. "What, you want to go over there and give him lessons?"

Sara bit the inside of her cheek, the better to hide her smile. She knew, as did many of the shift, that Warrick sometimes DJ'ed at clubs owned by friends of his as a way to blow off steam. She'd never seen him, usually she was stuck working on his nights off, though she'd heard from other people who had that he wasn't half bad. She didn't think that he'd do anything about it now though, so she was surprised when Warrick took a step in that direction. "Not a bad idea," he said, and she and Nick watched him go for a second, then looked at one another, identical smiles appearing on both their faces.

"This should be pretty interesting," he said, and she laughed outright as the possibilities unfolded themselves in her brain.

"Hope your homeowner's insurance is paid up," she cracked, enjoying the look of mild panic that appeared on his face.

"Don't say that…" he moaned, looking over at Warrick and Greg, whose conversation was lively to say the least.

Sara might have tried to reassure him, but her attention was caught by someone coming towards them, and she smiled up at him. "Cyrus, hey," she said, her voice making Nick turn towards the detective with a smile.

"Hey man, you made it!"

Cyrus shrugged. "I figured I'd drop in for a few minutes," he said, looking around him. "Quite a crowd."

"Yeah." Nick didn't look quite as comfortable with it as he had mere minutes before; perhaps the homeowner's insurance joke had been a bridge too far. "Here, let me get you a beer…"

"Just one!" Cyrus called after him before he looked down at Sara. "Having a good time?"

Sara nodded up at him, surprised at how true it was. She wasn't usually one for mingling socially outside the office, had never been to one of the lab house parties before, though she'd always been told that she should. What had made her go this year she wasn't quite sure, but she knew that she'd changed a lot since this time last year. This time last year she was working all the hours God sent, pining after Gil Grissom and wishing for something she could never have. The Donna Marks case had started her along the road that had led her here, led her to phone Hank, to begin to get herself a life, and suddenly, she was very glad that she had.

"Sara?"

Cyrus's voice brought her back to reality, and she blushed slightly, hoping that he'd blame it on the heat of the room. "Sorry," she said. "Just spaced out for a sec there."

"I hope you're not driving." His words were slightly reproving, and she shook her head.

"Nick's got the cab company on speed dial," she assured him.

"Good." Then he paused, a confused, almost pained, expression appearing on his face. "What the hell is this music?"

Sara tilted her head to one side, listening intently, before cracking up. It was a techno version of what might at one time have been "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus," and as she looked over at the stereo, she laughed even harder at the look on Warrick's face. Even as she listened, Greg upped the volume just a little bit more. "Turf war over the stereo system," she told Cyrus when she'd got her giggles under control. "Good job you're a homicide cop, we might need you later."

"Not a chance," he told her instantly. "I'm off the clock till after Christmas."

Sara narrowed her eyes at him, especially when Nick came over, the smile back on his face when he heard Cyrus's words. "Isn't it great?" he asked, and Sara shot him a look too.

"Shut up," she said, but the effects of her amusement over Greg's music choice rendered her glare pretty toothless.

"To be so young and so bitter," Nick said, mock-mournfully, and Sara just rolled her eyes, opening her mouth to give as good as she'd got. She was interrupted though when Archie bounded up, a smile on his face wider than she'd ever seen.

"OK guys," he said, pointing a camera at them. "Smile."

Her hand flew up instantly. "Oh you're kidding me."

Archie looked only slightly deflated. "It's the newest Olympus digital camera… 2.0 mega pixels, 2.5X optical zoom, 3X digital zoom… it does everything but talk to you, though just give me time for that... my parents gave it to me for Christmas."

Nick's expression was a cross between confounded and surprised. "Your parents sent you that?"

"You do know it's not Christmas yet?" Sara added, but Archie was irrepressible.

"Since I'm not getting home for Christmas-" he said, with a pointed glare at Nick, "They sent it to me. I'm impatient, they're generous, what can I say." A beat. "Except thank you." Another beat. "And smile."

Sara shook her head, preparing an objection, but Nick wouldn't have any of it, pulling her to her feet. "C'mon Sara," he said, propelling her into the middle of him and Cyrus. "Why wouldn't you want your photograph taken with two such handsome men as ourselves?"

With another shake of her head, Sara smiled dutifully, though it wasn't as much of a chore as she'd thought. His deed done, Archie was off to photograph someone else, and she sat back down again, looking at the two men. "I was wondering who had the camera," Nick observed. "I kept seeing flashes out of the corner of my eye."

"I'm surprised you even had to ask," Sara told him, because she hadn't known that the camera was there at all. "Archie's our resident A/V wizard," she explained to Cyrus, who was looking at little confused.

"And techno-geek," Nick supplied, but his good humour was short lived, chased away by the sound of breaking glass. "Oh no no no…that's so not good…"

That was all it took for him to be off in search of the culprit, leaving Sara and Cyrus alone, him standing before her, her arms braced on her knees. "He's freaking out," she told him, and he tilted his head in acknowledgement.

"Clean-up's gonna be something," he said. "Glad I'm not gonna have to help out."

"I think I'm gonna be very busy on a case," she agreed, before looking up at him curiously as his words registered. "You're not staying in town for Christmas?"

He shook his head quickly. "Oh no…that's a sure fire way to get called in for overtime. I'm heading back to Reno."

"Reno?" She lifted an eyebrow, and he nodded.

"Family Christmas," he told her, and for an instant, she thought she saw a shadow flicker across his face, but it was gone too quickly for her to be sure. "I'm heading over to my sister's later on this afternoon; we're flying back together."

"Your sister lives in Vegas?"

"Moved here two years ago, her husband got transferred. They've got a little girl too… not so sure I'm looking forward to spending time on a plane with her…" His thoughtful expression was crowned by dancing eyes, and she knew that he was looking forward to it, no matter what he might be projecting. "You're not going home?" he asked, and she shook her head. She couldn't remember the last time that she'd been in Tomales Bay for Christmas.

"My parents aren't too big on Christmas," she said, a mild version of the truth. "Besides, Cath's taking the day to be with her kid, and Nick wanted to head back to Texas - I think his mother threatened to disinherit him if he missed another Christmas-" She paused for a second, because it was there again, some little flicker of something indefinable on his face, gone in an instant. "So Warrick and Grissom and I are left on night shift," she added, recovering well.

"You're very calm for someone working on Christmas," he observed, and she shrugged.

" I can handle it," she told him. "I'm not big on Christmas either." His eyes narrowed, and he looked at her if she was speaking in tongues. "I take it you don't agree."

"It's what you grow up with, you know?" he asked. "Christmas was always a big thing for us… my mother, she'd start preparing right after Thanksgiving, and then she'd want to leave everything up until Easter." His face lit up in a soft smile. "Used to drive us crazy." It was his turn to space out then, staring at the floor for a moment, and she didn't call him on it, just waited for him to come to. When he did, his eyes narrowed, and she actually saw him shake himself. "What was I saying again?"

"I think you were about to rub it in some more that you were off-work for a few days," she told him, and the look in his eyes told her that he appreciated the lie.

"Would I?" he asked, all innocence, and while she had a smart retort all ready, it was swallowed up by a blast of music from the stereo, a tune that sounded familiar but that she just couldn't place. Her gaze swung around to the stereo, and to her surprise, she saw Greg pulling Catherine out to the centre of the floor, a circle forming around them, with more people joining them in a line.

"What?" she heard herself say in baffled amusement, just as Greg bellowed, "Who else can Time Warp?"

Closing her eyes for a moment, she began to laugh, then looked up at Cyrus. "Away you go," she told him, and he held up one hand in a "halt" gesture.

"I don't dance," he told her. "And certainly not like that."

From her seat on the edge of the couch, someone moved in front of her and she couldn't see properly, so she stood up, moving over to the circle, feeling him moving beside her. Greg and Catherine were by now each at the head of a line, everyone following them, Catherine following Greg, and Sara looked up at Cyrus before looking back at the hilarious sight in front of them. "I'm with you," she told him. "I'm staying well out of it."

True to their words, they did stay out of it, the most they did was clap along. It didn't end at the Time Warp though; when that was done, Greg had cued up the Macarena, and he was halfway through the Hokey-Pokey when Warrick finally had enough and pressed the stop button. Greg's face was a picture, his language less than parliamentary, and she and Cyrus were still grinning when they faced one another again.

"This is the crack DNA scientist we trust our evidence with?" Cyrus asked, and Sara nodded with a perfectly straight face.

"Scared yet?" she asked, and Cyrus looked across at Greg again, bemused.

"Just a little," he admitted, and all Sara could do was laugh. "Hey," she said, looking at something over his shoulder. "I think Nick wants you."

He turned, and sure enough, Nick was there, waving over to him. "Better see what he wants," he said, saluting Nick. "I'll catch you later?" he asked, and she nodded, heading over to the buffet table, grabbing herself a fresh beer and a handful of chips.

She barely had the first mouthful swallowed before a voice appeared at her elbow. "OK, Sara, I've got to ask…" The voice trailed off, and turning, Sara found herself looking at Lea, who was regarding her with open interest. Sara blinked, because she didn't know Lea all that well, though what she knew, she liked. "Who is he?"

Sara frowned, not understanding. "Who's who?"

"Don't play coy with me." Lea wagged her finger from side to side, and Sara wondered how many beers she'd had. Lea did have a reputation as being free-spirited, but this was more relaxed than even Sara had ever seen her. "That hunk of tall dark and handsome that you've been monopolising ever since he walked in the door."

It took a second for the penny to drop. "Cyrus?" Sara asked. "Cyrus Lockwood?" Her eyes flicked over to where Nick and Cyrus were talking, and Lea followed her gaze.

"The guy Nick's talking to," she confirmed, and Sara nodded.

"That's Detective Lockwood," she told her. "Cyrus."

"Cyrus…" Lea drew the name out, rolling it around her tongue, eyeing Cyrus up and down. "Detective Hot…" She snickered, raising her bottle of beer to her lips as she muttered, "He could question me any time." Sara laughed more in shock than amusement, Lea looking at her appraisingly. "Oh come on, don't tell me you've never thought it."

"Not once," Sara said, about to tell her that she was dating Hank, that Cyrus was just a friend, but stopping short. That would be the first official confirmation that she really was dating Hank, and in a situation like this, it would go around the room like wildfire, growing more exaggerated with every telling. She had no doubt that if she had said that, office gossip would have her engaged or pregnant, or perhaps both, by the time she started her shift later that night.

"Right." Lea's tone redefined scepticism, but she didn't take that line of thought any further. "So," she said instead. "What's his story?" At Sara's confused look, she elaborated. "Married? Taken? Gay?"

"No to all," Sara answered. "You interested?"

Lea looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "You're kidding right? Have you looked at him?" To prove her point, she stared over at Cyrus, and Sara found her gaze drawn there too. "I mean…" This last was followed by a sound which Sara guessed was meant to indicate at least attraction, more likely arousal, and not for the first time that evening, Sara found her cheeks growing warm. "So, is he seeing anyone?" Lea demanded, her eyes boring lasers into Sara's.

"Not as far as I know," Sara told her honestly. "Though I wouldn't know for sure… Nick's a better ask."

"But you're not interested?" Lea asked, and Sara would have laughed were it not for the fact that Lea's eyes were serious, her expression concerned. "Because it looked as if the two of you were having a moment…."

Sara laughed out loud at her choice of words. "We weren't," she assured her, and Lea looked vaguely hopeful.

"Seriously? I mean, I don't want to step on any toes…" Her hands were spread as she talked, the picture of sincerity, and Sara hastened to reassure her.

"You're not stepping on any toes Lea," she told her. "Go for it."

A broad grin broke out on Lea's face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Sara didn't have to think twice. "Cyrus is a great guy. Get over there."

Lea didn't have to be told twice, and Sara moved off herself, finding Greg and Warrick still arguing over the music, herself and Catherine ending up playing referee between the two. She stayed there for a long time, talking with them, and with other people who came and went, but every so often, her gaze would turn to the trio across the room, Lea Nick and Cyrus. By all appearances, Lea was turning on the charm pretty thickly, Cyrus looking bemused, Nick looking distinctly amused, but she couldn't tell from where she was if Lea was having any luck.

She got her answer later though, when Cyrus waved to her across the room as he left the party alone.

Chapter Text

Part Seven - Endearments

(Recipe for Murder)

Sara shone her flashlight around the closet, ostensibly looking for some form of evidence of foul play, in reality searching for an escape hatch of some kind. Absent the ground actually opening up and swallowing her - and what, she wondered, were the chances of a convenient earthquake in Las Vegas in the next few minutes? - it seemed as good a way as any of getting out of here.

She was only dimly aware of the sounds of the three men talking in the bedroom, standing around the body of Linda Damen, so preoccupied was she with her slip of the tongue. How, she wondered, had she let her guard down long enough to call Hank "baby" while on duty, and in front of others no less? It had surprised him as much as it had surprised her; she'd seen that much in his eyes, and from the corner of hers, she hadn't missed Detective Sulik's hard double take either. Warrick hadn't looked up from the blood-soaked covers, but she wasn't fooled by that, for she'd seen the corners of his mouth twitching, and knew that the absence of any teasing looks then only meant that he was saving them for later on, when they were alone and he could get away with saying anything. Most probably, he'd start with the fact that she'd called Hank baby at all, considering that she'd spent the last few months denying that Hank was her boyfriend, before moving on to the fact that she, for once, had brought her personal life into the office. If she was lucky, he'd start when the two of them were alone, but more likely, he'd wait until back at the lab, probably around Nick and Greg, and then it would be a case of the cat being let well and truly out of the bag.

She was chiding herself for what she'd said and when she said it when another thought occurred to her. This wasn't the first time that she'd called Hank baby. It had been said on odd occasions before this, at her place or his, in the heat of passion. She just wasn't sure that she'd ever used it so casually in conversation before, and not just with Hank, but with anyone. She'd spent the last few months telling people that she and Hank weren't dating, trying to tell herself that they weren't serious, that it was nothing heavy, even after her "I'm over Grissom" revelation in December.

But if it was all those things, then she wouldn't have called him baby in front of everyone.

If she ever got enough courage to step foot outside this closet again, she might be able to find the courage to tell him that, to do something about it.

Her inspection, and her brief introspection, was interrupted by Hank appearing at the closet door. He was smiling, and she felt herself blushing anew under his gaze, but he didn't look offended, and he didn't look upset. He did look happy however. "I'm going to hit the road," he told her, and she was about to say something, anything to him, when she caught the look in his eyes, and just about had herself prepared for his post script. "Baby." The word was said with a teasing grin, and she knew that he was thinking, the same thing she was. That she'd never called him that in that way before, and that it must be a good thing.

A good thing except for the timing she reminded herself, so she grinned self-consciously, saying "I'm sorry." Because she knew that this was going to go the rounds, she knew that they were both going to catch hell for that, and she knew it was all her fault.

But as he smiled at her, as she looked into his eyes, she was surprised to discover that she really didn't mind all that much.

After Hank left, Sara went about her work the same way that she always did, managing to put her mortification out of her mind for the time being. She was lucky in that she was working with Warrick, who made it easy on her, not saying anything as they processed the scene. He was all business, acting as if nothing had happened, and for that, Sara was grateful. She knew that if she'd slipped like that around Nick that he'd be plaguing her for details, and if it had happened around Catherine, she'd be doing the same. Had it happened around Grissom, she was pretty sure that she just would have passed away peacefully on the spot, and given Doc Robbins a really interesting autopsy to review for the medical journals - the first person to ever literally die of embarrassment.

They took the stained shirt that she found in the closet with them back to the lab, along with the bloody footprints, the razor blades, sheets and other assorted evidence that they thought might be useful, and Sara had almost forgotten to be on her guard when Warrick finally spoke. "So…" he said, and the way that he drew the word out instantly put her on notice. "You got something you want to tell me?"

Sara shook her head slightly, affecting amnesia. "No," she said, but the heat on her cheeks would have told him otherwise, and he hooted with laughter.

"Baby?" was all he said, and she tried to parry again.

"Yes sugar?"

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Just friends huh?" His voice was full of scepticism. "Uh-huh." When she didn't say anything, he continued. "You and I are just friends…Nick…Greg…Archie… you call any of them baby?"

Sara closed her eyes, tilting her head back against the seat, rubbing her hand across her forehead. "You're enjoying this," she accused him, and he chuckled again.

"No doubt." But he paused then, and when he spoke again, his voice was serious. "How long?"

"The last time I told you something like this, the entire lab knew I had a date within hours," she reminded him, her unspoken question obvious, and he just gave her a look.

"But this time I still remember the bruises," he said, and she laughed, because she hadn't punched him that hard. "How long?"

She shrugged, blowing out a deep breath. "Couple months," she told him honestly. "I mean, we started seeing one another casually in the summer-" She left out the bit about Hank seeing them in the hospital when they were waiting for news of Nick, because she knew that he still felt guilty about being outside when his friend and partner had needed him, the ghost of Holly Gribbs rearing its head. "-But it only got more serious after the Tom Haviland case."

Except that she was lying to him. Because that hadn't been when it had got more serious. Then, she'd still been more than a little hung up on Grissom. She hadn't truly made the choice to move on with her life, to forget about him altogether until the next week, when he'd called her in on her day off, given her attitude because she couldn't get to him on a moment's notice, had moved her away from the main case to a smaller solo with Cyrus Lockwood. It had been after that, when she'd talked to him in his office that she'd walked away from him, and literally run into Hank, going to breakfast with him instead of heading home alone and brooding.

That had been when everything had changed between them and she knew it, but there was no sense in telling Warrick that. As it was, he now knew significantly more than anyone else in the lab, because she'd made a conscious choice not to let anyone know about her personal life. From what Marjorie Wescott had said to her on the stand she knew that there must have been some talk going around about her and Grissom, and after the thinly veiled accusations that had masked as her cross-examination, Sara wouldn't have put it past some lab gossipmonger having two and two make ten, putting it around that she was only dating Hank to make Grissom jealous. It had seemed a safe thing to do, to keep things quiet until she knew for sure what was going on between them, and she'd worried about broaching it to Hank, worried about how he'd take it, but in fact, he'd told her that if she wanted not to tell people, that was fine with him, that he'd follow her lead. Hence his surprise at the crime scene tonight, because her calling him baby there would have been the last thing on his mind.

Warrick gave a low whistle as he worked out exactly how long ago she was talking about, and his voice was impressed when he glanced at her. "You hid it that long?"

She shrugged. "I didn't want everyone knowing, everyone talking about it…"

"Like they weren't doing that anyway," Warrick snickered, and she had to give him that.

"OK, point taken." She sighed, wondering how she could make him understand. "It just seemed easier that way."

"I can see that," Warrick murmured, slowing down to take a right turn, not speaking again until he'd completed the manoeuvre. "And if you want me to keep quiet about you seeing Hank, you got it."

His unexpected offer had her head whipping around, peering at him in suspicion. "Seriously?"

A slow nod, staring straight ahead. "Yup."

He might have only said one word, but his face spoke volumes. "You're still going to spread the baby thing around though, aren't you?" She was nodding as she spoke, not the slightest hint of a question in her voice, because it was as close to a sure thing as she'd ever come across, and she wasn't surprised in the least when he smiled.

"You bet. I mean…pet names? That's too good." She rolled her eyes as she looked out the window, waving a hand dismissively. Undeterred, he continued. "Just tell me one thing… what does he call you? Sweetheart? Darling? Sugar pie?"

Closing her eyes, she just laughed.

Chapter Text

Part Eight - Admission

(Got Murder?)

Cyrus walked into the diner and looked around for Nick, pretty sure before he did so that it was going to be a waste of time, and not being in the least bit surprised when it proved to be so. After all, Nick had managed to be on time or, shock of all shocks, early the last few times that they'd met up; he'd been bound to revert to his past habits sooner or later. Cyrus himself was a little earlier than usual today, based mostly on the fact that he was starving, so he sat down in one of the booths, reaching for a menu, resolving to order the second the waitress came over to him. Nick had done it to him often enough, he was bound to understand.

As it happened, Cyrus was just placing his order when Nick came in, sliding into the booth across from him and turning a smile up to the waitress. "Whatever he's having, make it two," he said, in a slightly deeper accent than Cyrus was used to hearing from him, but the waitress didn't know that, and she bestowed a beaming smile on Nick as she walked away. "Sorry I'm late man," Nick told him, holding his hands up. "One of those cases."

"Yeah. I heard you were on the eyeball case," Cyrus said with a smirk, recalling the shudder that had coursed through Brass's body as he'd detailed the particulars of the case. Cyrus had been waiting a long time to find something that would crack Brass's cool facade, and he was deeply appreciative that he'd been around to see it.

His phraseology seemed to have a similar affect on Nick, whose head twisted sharply to the side as if he was remembering something unpleasant. "You know things are bad when that's the best part of the case," he said, words that had Cyrus looking at him in amazement. This part of the tale he hadn't heard from Brass.

"Seriously?"

Nick nodded, opening his mouth to speak but stopping when the waitress came back over to them, all charm and batting eyelashes, filling their coffee cups. Nick grinned up at her again, but didn't speak until she was gone, and only then after a fortifying gulp of coffee. His words however, came out of left field. "Did you know that average Nevadan generates more waste more than three times waste than the average American? Thirteen million pounds per day."

Not sure how to respond, Cyrus opened his mouth, then closed it again, raising his coffee cup to his lips. "No."

Nick chuckled. "Neither did I, until I spent hours searching a landfill for a dead body with Sara and Catherine. Sara went to some recycling forum in March, and she's got a head for numbers that you would not believe."

The twinkle in Nick's eyes though, had nothing to do with Sara's affinity for numbers and everything to do with his habit of dropping Sara's name into random conversation in the hopes of eliciting a reaction from Cyrus. Cyrus knew that, and kept his face carefully blank, concentrating on the case. "So the body that the eyeball belonged to was in a landfill?"

Again, Nick gave a slight shudder. "I swear, I can still smell that place. But yeah. Long story short, that, and other evidence, helped us to find that her name was Kelly Easton. She ran out on her husband and kids five years ago. Came back to town wanting to start over. Except that her daughter, Nora is now a high school senior with a serious Electra complex."

About to take another sip of coffee, Cyrus's cup froze halfway to his mouth. Running Nick's words through his head to make sure he'd heard what he thought he'd heard, he laid the cup back down on the table, staring at the other man. "You're telling me… "

Nick nodded when his voice trailed off. "She killed her mother because she didn't want her father belonging to anyone but her." Silence fell between the two men, broken finally by Nick's quiet words. "There are days… "

"Hear hear."

There was another silence then, each man lost in his thoughts, before Nick visibly shook himself, eyes opening wide as if to clear them. "In other news… " he drawled, a slightly singsong quality in his voice, and Cyrus felt his guard go up automatically. "It seems you have a bit of a fan in the CSI lab."

"That a fact?" Cyrus leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms against his chest, lifting an eyebrow. He had a pretty good idea what this was all about, but he wanted Nick to do all the digging. With any luck, he'd bury himself, and certainly showed a willingness to do so.

"Come on man, you know who I'm talking about."

Cyrus shook his head, affecting his most innocent demeanour. "I have no idea."

"Right." Nick shook his head, chuckling softly. "Lea is all over you like a rash at Christmas, and you walk out of the party without as much as her phone number?" His voice rose at the end in pure disbelief. "You know how many men in that room would have given their right arms to be you?"

Cyrus shrugged, hiding his smile with difficulty. He'd caught the looks that Nick was giving him out of the corner of his eye at the party as they'd talked with Lea. Ostensibly, she'd been talking to the two of them, but her attention had been devoted to Cyrus only, and she hadn't been at all subtle as to her intentions. "I had a flight to catch," he told Nick again now, the same excuse he'd given at the time for leaving so soon.

"Yeah, yeah, family Christmas," Nick said dismissively, waving his hand. "That's no excuse for not getting her number." He paused, looking down at his coffee cup, stirring it mock-thoughtfully. "She's been asking about you … "

"No." The word was uttered with force, completely on instinct, and Cyrus had never meant anything more. There was only one place that Nick could be going with this, and he didn't want to entertain it.

"It'd be no trouble." Nick continued unabated. "Neither of you are seeing anyone, and she's a nice girl … I mean, I know she looks wild, and yeah, that's because she is but … "

"You sound like my sister," Cyrus interrupted, rolling his eyes. "She's always trying to set me up too." Except that she wasn't as upfront about it as Nick had just been. Kim's latest attempts at marrying him off had involved dinner invitations where he thought he was just going to spend some time with his sister and her family. Once there though, there would invariably be some friend of hers, dressed to impress, and he'd have to make small talk with her while Kim and Rick hovered in the kitchen "preparing dinner". Repeated pleas on his behalf to cease and desist all such activities had resulted in Kim haranguing him for hours about how it was time for him to find a nice girl and settle down, and he wondered when she'd begun channelling the spirit of their grandmother, a dragon of a woman who had drilled that message into him and his two sisters the second they'd turned eighteen. "Plenty of introductions," he told Nick. "The odd first date, the even fewer second date. Not many people can understand the hours a homicide cop works."

Nick rolled his eyes, obviously agreeing with that assessment. "Ain't that the truth." Cyrus thought he might leave it at that, but Nick was just beginning. "Which if you think about it, Lea would. I mean, she got transferred back from dayshift because she preferred working nights." He stopped then, something just occurring to him. "Though that might also have had something to do with Ecklie … "

"Stokes, you're not fixing me up with Lea." Cyrus tried again, this with a different tactic. "She just didn't seem like my type."

Which, if flimsy, was certainly the truth, though nowhere near the whole truth. The whole truth centred somewhere around the fact that when he thought of the Christmas party, when he pictured a brunette that he'd spent time with, had chatted with, laughed with, had a great time with, it wasn't Lea who came to mind.

Instead he pictured Sara's ready smile, her gap-toothed grin flashing as they'd watched Greg and Catherine leading the Time Warp, had watched Greg and Warrick almost coming to not-so-good-natured fisticuffs over the music that Greg was playing. He hadn't stayed for long at the party, but what little time he had, he'd spent with her, only leaving her when Nick had called him over. A few minutes later, Lea had joined them, and after a while of feeling like the spider to her fly, he'd made his excuses and left, citing family obligations, waving to Sara as he'd left.

Not, he told himself once again, that it mattered, because nothing was going to happen between them. He'd known that she was dating someone, Nick had told him as much months ago, and he'd had a pretty good notion that it was still going on, not least because he was sure that Nick would have told him if Sara was a free agent. Going on this conversation, he'd probably be offering to fix them up. But it hadn't been Nick who had told him that, it had been Sulik, who'd been working a case with Sara and Warrick the previous week. Cyrus hadn't heard many of the details, had only come in part of the way through the conversation but from what he could gather, Sulik was having great fun recounting how Sara Sidle, the ultimate professional, the iron woman herself, had been working a scene with her paramedic boyfriend, and had forgotten herself and called him "Baby" in front of everyone.

By this time, Cyrus thought that he had a pretty good handle on Sara Sidle. She wouldn't have done something like that were she not pretty serious about the guy.

But that was fine he told himself, not for the first time. She was entitled to her life, she was entitled to date anyone she liked. They were just friends, and he could live with that.

"And what is your type?" Nick asked him, bringing him back to reality. "Sara?"

Cyrus blinked, because his tone was serious, almost confrontational, and Nick had never taken that tone of voice with him when talking about Sara before. "Sara and I are friends," he said flatly. "That's all."

"Uh-huh." Nick didn't sound like he believed him, and his next words confirmed that. "You know … if you were to be interested in Sara … you could always just ask her out." He wouldn't meet Cyrus's eyes when he suggested it though, so he didn't see Cyrus shake his head.

"She's already dating someone," he said quietly, speaking to himself as much as Nick. "I'm not getting in the middle of that."

It was more than he'd ever said to Nick on the subject, and as close to an admission of his feelings for Sara as he'd ever come to giving. It also had the undeniable ring of truth to it, and maybe that was why Nick didn't push it further, just changed the subject to the latest round of NBA games, a subject which could, and did, keep them occupied for hours.

Chapter Text

Part Nine - Surprise

(Random Acts of Violence)

By the time Sara had walked from the entrance of the CSI building to Lea's lab, she'd heard from no less than three different people the details of Warrick's blow-up at Grissom, every word he'd said in exact detail. She'd known for a long time that the place was gossip central, but the speed of this rumour surprised her nonetheless; it seemed like everyone had either seen it, or had been talking to someone who had seen it. Sara knew better than to believe the scuttlebutt - after all, she'd heard false stories about herself more than once - but this seemed to have the ring of truth to it. She'd talked to Warrick earlier on, asked him how he was doing, and he'd all but bitten her head off. She'd wanted to voice further concerns, to ask him if he should be on this case at all, but she decided against it when she saw the look in his eyes.

She hadn't seen Warrick look at her like that in a long, long time, and it wasn't a memory that she wanted to revisit.

She put the thought out of her mind as she greeted Lea. "Hey," she said, dropping a file on the bench, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at her expectantly. "Got my test results for me?"

"They're here somewhere," Lea muttered, leaving her microscope, going to the pile of papers at the edge of the bench. "I got a little backlogged."

"You're busy tonight?" Sara asked, making conversation, receiving a raised eyebrow in response. "I know, I know," she said quickly, holding up a hand. "You're always busy."

"True," Lea allowed. "But that's not what it was … " She looked from left to right, lowering her voice. "You heard about Warrick and Grissom, right?"

Sara nodded. "From three people." She paused, wondering if she should ask, deciding that she'd rather know. "Was it as bad as they're saying?"

Lea chuckled. "I wasn't there," she said. "But Warrick losing his temper? I'd say so."

Which was exactly what Sara had been thinking, but confirming it didn't make it sit any easier with her, the opposite in fact. "Yeah," she sighed, reaching up to rub the bridge of her nose.

"In other news … " Lea said, drawing each word out. "I analysed the funny powder you found." Sara perked up at those words, and Lea gave her a grin. "I thought you'd like the sound of that. Mexican brown and mannitol, just like you thought."

Sara nodded slowly, taking the page from her and looking at the results. "So … " she murmured, thinking it through. "Drugs in his system, drugs in the crack between the glass and the wood of the table, but no obvious paraphernalia … "

"Someone cleaned up after him," Lea concluded.

"Someone cleaned up after him," Sara agreed. "The living room was scrubbed clean, not a fingerprint, not a hair out of place … looks like I'm searching the rest of the house." That meant hours of fingerprinting and checking the place with a fine tooth comb, not the easiest of things to do on a solo case.

"Sounds like fun," Lea quipped, and Sara kept back a smart retort with considerable effort, literally having to bite her tongue. She did roll her eyes though, giving the other woman a smile to take any sting out of it, taking the page and her file and taking a step towards the door.

"Sara?" Lea's voice stopped her, casual as could be; too casual, Sara realised at once. "The detective on your case … " Her voice trailed off, and Sara nodded, prompting her with the name.

"Lockwood?" When there was still no response from Lea, whose face was still inscrutable, Sara put the folder back down on the table, forgetting about processing a scene for a few moments, in favour of collecting evidence of a different kind. "What about him?"

Lea suddenly found something very interesting in her microscope. "You're friends with him right?"

"Isn't everyone?" Sara asked, because she didn't know of anyone who didn't get along with Cyrus, and it was then that she remembered a similar conversation and what her advice had been. "You know, I never asked you how things went with him after Christmas," she grinned, knowing that she was on the right track when Lea looked up at her from over the top of the microscope. Unlike Sara though, she wasn't smiling.

"That would have been a very short conversation," Lea said dryly, rolling her eyes. "Since nothing actually happened."

Sara knew she was doing a lousy job of keeping the surprise off her face, and was too shocked to care. "Nothing?" she asked, because Lea was the kind of girl that all the guys went for; she'd lost count how many guys she'd heard express their admiration for the lab tech.

"Not a hint of interest," Lea confirmed. "Oh, he talked to me, and he's a really nice guy, but romantically? Nothing."

Sara raised an eyebrow, not sure of what to say. "He did say that he had a flight to catch," she suggested. "Maybe he was in a hurry."

Lea was looking at her, and while her face might have been vaguely neutral, there was a hint of something in the twist of her lips, in the tilt of her head, that told Sara she was thinking more than she was letting on. "Yeah," she said flatly. "Maybe that was it."

"You should have a word with Nick," Sara continued. "He knows Cyrus pretty well … "

She stopped when Lea began shaking her head. "I'm not sure that it would do any good," she said. "I know when a guy's interested in me Sara, and that's not the vibe he was giving off." She held Sara's gaze for a long moment, and it looked to Sara like she wanted to say something, or was waiting for Sara herself to speak, but either way, Sara had nothing more to add. Perhaps Lea saw that, because she waved her hand, looking back towards her table of work again. "Anyway, this isn't getting your scene processed … or my evidence."

It was a clear dismissal, but the notion that she was missing something didn't sit well with Sara. "OK," she said, having no choice but to follow Lea's lead. "We'll talk later?"

She heard the uncertainty in her voice, and Lea must have too, because she gave Sara a wide, genuine smile. "Yeah. Count on it."

Chapter Text

Part Ten - Drowning

(One Hit Wonder)

When Sara left the hospital - and she had no earthly clue how long she was standing in that corridor, watching the officer reading Melissa her rights, looking at her through the wired glass door, wondering what the hell had made her do it - she had no destination in mind, no grand plan as to where she was going to. It shouldn't have surprised her therefore, when her car seemed to steer itself to North Trop Boulevard and the CSI lab, because this place had always been her sanctuary, the place she knew she would always be assured of a welcome. Except that she didn't really have a reason to be there at the moment; it was the end of the shift, the case she was working on was all tied up with a neat little bow, and she could go home if she wanted to.

Except she didn't want to go home. She knew that Hank was still working, so there was no chance of him coming over, curling up on her couch with her and making her forget all about her worries, or at least letting her get them out of her system. The moment that thought hit her, her stomach, in knots since she'd worked out that Melissa had lied, twisted once again, because she knew instinctively that she didn't want to talk to Hank right then. She knew that he'd be perfectly solicitous, kind and caring, that he'd do anything to make her feel better. Any woman on the planet would be grateful to have a man who would smother her with that kind of attention, but Sara knew, from the deepest part of her soul, that were she to be faced with that right now, she wouldn't be able to take it. She'd push him away, push him away hard, and that would make the two of them feel worse.

That knowledge didn't sit well with her, any more than the knowledge of what Melissa had done, so she pushed it out of her mind for now, telling herself that she was just upset, that she didn't really feel that way about Hank, and it was just her mixed up emotions talking.

In any case, he was working. He wasn't available, so it didn't matter anyway. The thought of going home to her empty, silent apartment wasn't appealing either; knowing that she would be able to hear the walls whispering to her, telling her that she should have left well enough alone, that she should never have re-opened the case. Those whispers would war with her conscience telling her that she did the right thing, that she couldn't have done anything else, and she'd spend a restless few hours tossing and turning and trying to relax until her next shift.

That might have explained why she found herself drawn to the lab, except that she didn't want to talk to anyone there either, especially Nick, who had warned her in not so many words that she might be biting off more than she could chew with the case. Even he couldn't have guessed what she'd found, and she was sure that he'd undoubtedly want to talk to her about it, make sure that she was ok, and she was pretty sure that his friendly concern would provoke the same reaction as Hank's solicitude.

She heard his voice as she walked down the hall, and she acted on instinct, ducking into the locker room, sinking down on a bench there, wishing she knew what she should do, how she should be feeling. On one hand, she'd solved her case, gotten to the root of the situation. That was her job, what she was paid to do, and she should feel good about it. On the other hand though, she'd just put a good friend of hers in jail, and as someone who tended not to make friends easily, tended not to trust people easily, that smarted.

There were two things though, two sentences spoken in that hospital room, that disturbed her more than anything.

The first had been spoken by her, in response to Melissa telling her that she still believed in justice. She'd felt the final piece of the puzzle clicking into place then, said it as the thought occurred to her. "You never expected to live, did you?" Doc Robbins had told her the odds of the operation's success; she knew that Melissa had to have known them too. It was the only thing that made sense. Melissa had thought that she was going to die, and she wanted Sara to uncover the truth after she was dead.

Which threw Sara into a tailspin, because Melissa was her friend. She'd been worried about her, had spent every minute of Melissa's operation with her stomach in knots, had gone to the hospital to seek out Doctor Stewart the second she'd calculated that Melissa should be out of surgery. By some stroke of luck, Melissa had survived, but if she hadn't, she'd banked that Sara would still seek out justice for her dead friend, and then that she wouldn't keep what she found to herself, even if it meant besmirching Melissa's memory.

Melissa was her friend, and Sara couldn't believe that she'd put her in that situation.

Any more than she could believe her reaction to it, because she knows no matter the outcome of the operation, she would have re-opened the case. And if she'd found out the truth, she knows she would have fought long and hard with her conscience over what to do - let sleeping dogs lie, or tell the world what Melissa had done.

But Melissa hadn't died, and she'd turned her friend in.

What kind of friend did that make her?

The other words that were stuck in her head were Melissa's final words to her. "Out of all the CSIs, I knew I could depend on you."

Meaning that not only did Melissa know that Sara would leave no stone unturned in her search for justice, but that Melissa also thought Sara would have no qualms about turning her in.

What kind of friend did that make her?

Sara sucked in a deep breath, pushing her hair back away from her face, telling herself sternly that she needed to stop analysing this so much. She'd done what she had to do, the only thing she could do.

She'd done her job.

Suddenly though, she found herself wondering if that was all it was cracked up to be.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the locker room door opened, and she looked up to see Grissom standing there. He paused for the briefest of seconds before going to his locker, beginning to take his things out of it, and he didn't speak at first, which suited Sara fine. She knew that Grissom, and perhaps Warrick, were the two best people at CSI to come across when she didn't want to talk to anyone; both men adept at reading the signals and circumspect enough not to push her.

Which is why she was surprised when Grissom finally spoke. "Nick told me about the Winters case," he said, all the while concentrating on the insides of his locker. "You ok?"

She was nowhere near to being ok, and she didn't even try to deny it. Instead, she side-stepped the question, telling him, "The cop read Melissa her rights right there in the hospital room. You think you know somebody."

She'd thought she'd known Melissa, the brave D.A who loved her husband, lost him tragically, and got on with her life in spite of the aftermath.

Just like once upon a long ago, she'd thought she'd known Grissom, had thought that she was in love with him. Had known it as a matter of fact. Then she'd come to Vegas, filled with hope, worked with him on a daily basis, and she'd begun to question whether they could ever have a future together. Then she'd realised that they didn't, not as anything more than friends anyway, and she'd moved on with her life.

"I never think that," Grissom told her now, and she looked up at him curiously.

"Ever?" Her voice was flat, and she didn't look at him for long, because she knew from that brief glance that he was Grissom at his most Grissom-like, dispensing wisdom in the form of haikus, and she knew damn well that she wasn't going to get a straight answer out of him.

There were a lot of straight answers that she'd never got out of Grissom, much to her disappointment, and that had played a large part in her deciding to move on with her life, forget about him.

"When I was a kid," she found herself saying, as she remembered the first time in her life she'd ever felt like this, that sense of disappointment, the knowing that she'd got someone who meant the world to her into trouble. " I was playing hide-and-seek one day and I found this plastic bag under my big brother's bed. I thought it was a bag of dirt so I took it to my mom. Turned out it was his bag of weed. He was grounded for a year." She could still remember the furious screaming, the walls of the bed and breakfast fairly shaking with its force, her parents furious, her brother equally so, calling them hypocrites. She remembered her own tears, feeling that it was all her fault, remembered her brother telling her as much, her mother later on telling her that it wasn't. She remembers how her brother barely spoke to her for weeks, her big brother that she thought hung the moon and stars.

"The best intentions are fraught with disappointment."

There was the haiku that Sara had been waiting for, and it had the ring of the familiar about it. "Emerson?" she guessed.

"Grissom" he replied, the quiet word making Sara turn to look at him. He lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing more, and in the absence of any response on her part, Grissom slowly turned and walked away, leaving her sitting there on her own, surrounded by her own guilt and ghosts.

She could have been sitting there for minutes or for hours, but eventually she pulled herself up, pushing her hair back from her face, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Sitting here wasn't going to do her any good; she might as well try to go home and get some sleep, or failing that, read a book, go out for a walk, anything but sit and brood over things. Maybe she'd call Hank after all, see if he was due a break any time soon.

She opened the door, stepped out into the bright hall, still lost in thought, not looking where she was going. Thus, she was most surprised when she walked into someone, apologies automatically spilling from her lips as she looked up into the concerned brown eyes of Cyrus Lockwood.

***

For one of the few times in his life, Cyrus wasn't looking forward to going to the CSI lab to be walked through a case, not even when the case involved spending time with a certain dark-haired CSI that he'd long since been carrying a torch for. He hadn't wanted this case; no-one in the homicide department had wanted this case, but he drew it for a couple of reasons; firstly, he hadn't been in Las Vegas during the original investigation three years ago, secondly, he was the last guy in, the low man on the totem pole, and thus got the jobs that everyone else declined.

Not that this was going to be a hard case; far from it in fact. The evidence was, allegedly, neatly tagged and catalogued, and knowing that Sara was in charge, Cyrus didn't doubt it. They had a confession, made to the same CSI. All the pieces had fallen perfectly into place, except for one important thing.

The murderer was a respected District Attorney, and she'd damn near gotten away with it.

That's why Mobley had given him the case, even though strictly speaking, there was no need to have a detective looking over it at all. As far as Mobley was concerned, Melissa Winters had hoodwinked the police department three years ago, and he wanted to find out how the hell it happened, and make sure that it didn't happen again. Though he hadn't said as much to Cyrus, his implicit instructions had been "Don't screw this up" and Cyrus knew that he was going to have to give a full account when next he saw the Sheriff.

Which is why he was at the CSI lab now, even though it was pretty near to the change of shift time, even though he himself could have been on his way home. He could have waited until the next shift, but this way he got to go home afterwards, have some dinner, catch some sleep before facing into reporting to Mobley, both of which were sound ideas, if not absolute necessities.

The lab was as quiet as he expected at change of shift time, and he saw a few faces he recognised, but not the one that he was looking for, and when he saw another face that he knew, he called out. "Hey Stokes."

Nick turned around, head still stuck down in the folder that he'd been looking through, holding up a finger to indicate that Cyrus should stay silent for a moment. Cyrus did so obediently until Nick looked up, giving him a distracted grin. "Hey man. What brings you here?" He looked at his watch as he spoke, as if to confirm that it really was the time that he thought it was.

"The Winters case," Cyrus said flatly, even the name of the case depressing him further. Nick seemed to know what it was all about, because his eyes widened in recognition and he nodded. "I just thought I'd stop by to see if Sara's still around."

The second he mentioned Sara's name, he remembered who it was he was talking to, and realised that he might have made a slight tactical mistake. Ever since Nick had found out that he was interested in Sara, he'd had immense amounts of fun bringing her up in conversation with Cyrus just for the pleasure of seeing his reaction, every so often dropping hints that he thought they'd be good together, that he was going to try to set them up. Most of the time, Cyrus just kept his mouth shut, not saying anything, hoping that Nick would get bored with it, but so far every time he thought that that might have happened, Nick would do it again.

But not now, and Cyrus realised when he saw the look on his friend's face that it was a measure of how bad Sara must be feeling over this, and how worried he was about her, that he just shook his head. "She's probably around here somewhere," Nick told him simply. "But I don't know… she's taking this pretty hard."

"Yeah," Cyrus sighed. "I thought she would be." Because he'd seen the two of them together, Sara and Melissa, only a few months ago when the three of them had worked together on the prosecution of Nicole Exmoor and Chuck Darwell, the two teenagers who had killed Mandy Kirk. The details of the case were enough to make his stomach turn, even now, but Melissa hadn't turned a hair, and faced with Nicole's tears, her obvious remorse, had done what she could to help out both teens, allowing them to plea-bargain for far lighter sentences than they might have otherwise expected. Both Cyrus and Sara had argued in the teens' favour, recognising the unusual circumstances, both believing that this was in no way a pre-meditated crime, and Melissa had been willing to listen to them, had believed in them. There had been quite a bit of media interest in the case, and many a prosecutor would have used it to make a name for themselves, but not Melissa, and that had impressed Cyrus to no end.

But what most stuck in his mind from that case was the snapshot of Melissa and Sara sitting side by side in the courtroom corridor the morning of the preliminary hearing. They'd been there before he arrived, so he'd had to walk the length of the corridor to get to them, so he had plenty of opportunity to observe them. They hadn't been talking about the case, he knew that for sure by the smiles on both their faces, by the way that Sara threw her head back and laughed over something Melissa had said. He'd thought that he'd seen Sara relaxed, during the brother and sister like banter that she'd engaged in with Nick the first time that he'd met her, but seeing her like that, he'd known that he'd been wrong. Not only that, but he'd also got the impression that the Sara Sidle that most people talked about - workaholic, prickly, quiet, stand-offish - was a mask that she wore, and that the woman who was shooting the breeze with her friend was the real Sara. He'd wondered what it would take to get her to look at him like that, and when he'd approached them, seen her mask of professionalism slip back into place, he'd wondered if he ever would.

And now she was faced with testifying against the very woman who she'd been gossiping happily with only a few months ago. Why wouldn't she be upset?

"I know she went to see Melissa in the hospital," Nick told him, and he nodded, having known that already. "But not if she came back." He shrugged. "Sorry."

Cyrus waved his hand. "It's ok. I'll take a look around, see if I can find her. If not, it'll wait."

Nodding, Nick turned, giving him a jaunty wave as he walked off, leaving Cyrus to wander the labs, looking for Sara. He checked everywhere he could think off, all the places around here that he'd previously seen her, but there was no sign of her anywhere, and he was just about to give up, resigning himself to having to find her again later that he literally walked into her.

One look at her confirmed the need for Nick's worry. Not only was she pale, but her skin was actually drawn, her eyes unfocussed. She'd taken two steps out of the locker room when they met, and she walked right into him, completely unaware of the fact that he was there. Even when she looked up at him, apologising profusely, he had the unsettling feeling that she wasn't quite sure who he was, that as far as she was concerned, he could have been anyone.

"Hey, it's ok," he told her quickly, stopping her in mid-flow, holding up both his hands. "No harm done."

She gave him the barest hint of what might have been an embarrassed grin, but it was gone too quickly for him to be sure. "I should be more careful," she murmured, looking down at the ground. He had the suspicion that she wasn't just talking about looking where she was going, but before he had the chance to ask her how she was, she looked up at him, blinking as if seeing him for the first time. "Hey Cyrus. You here on a case?"

He nodded, almost hating to do it, because while it had seemed like a good idea at the time, after seeing her, the last thing that he wanted to do was question her about the Winters case. Since she'd asked him though, he had no choice but to tell her. "Yeah," he said slowly, and he thought that he might have seen a hint of understanding flicker in her eyes. "I'm looking for you actually."

Her lips vanished into a thin line, and she sighed almost violently, causing him to curse Mobley for assigning him to this case. "You're on the case?" she asked, her voice brittle as fine spun glass, giving him the uncomfortable feeling that she could shatter and break if he pushed too hard.

"Mobley's orders," he said. "I was hoping that you'd be able to walk me through it," he continued. "But if you're on your way out … "

He was giving her an out, but she didn't take it, instead squaring her shoulders, visibly pulling herself together. "It's fine," she told him. "Come on." With that, she was off, long strides eating up the corridor as she lead him to the evidence room, locating the box expertly, pulling out a folder with photographs and other sheets of paper protruding from it. She dropped it on the table, resting her hand on it for a moment before looking up at him. "I think I'm going to need some coffee for this," she said. "Care to join me?"

Notwithstanding the fact that he never would have said no to an invitation like that, at that precise moment in time, Cyrus wouldn't have dreamed of denying her anything that she needed. So he told her, "I'd love some."

She led him down the hall to the break room, where she poured them two steaming mugs of coffee, as he sat down at the table, leafing through the evidence in the folder. She seemed to relax more when she took her first swallow of coffee, and upon his first swallow, he could understand why. "This is good coffee," he observed, receiving for his trouble a quick flash of a genuine Sara Sidle smile.

"Greg's pride and joy," she told him. "Blue Hawaiian, 40 bucks a pound, hand-picked, the finest that money can buy." She spoke with the air of someone who was merely quoting that which she'd heard a thousand times, and there wasn't a hint of a smile in her voice. That much of pleasantries over, she reached for the file. "So, what do you know about the case?"

Cyrus shrugged, trying to recall. "Not much," he admitted. "Home invasion, husband was killed, she was shot, perp was never caught."

"Right." Sara nodded, shuffling through the photographs. "Well, when Melissa had her operation, the bullet that was removed was in perfect shape. We cleaned it up, ran it through IBIS, got a match, to a liquor store robbery in Henderson six months ago. Roger Wilder, who Melissa put away for assault five years ago. Three weeks after he got out of jail, Melissa and her husband were shot."

"So you liked him for it." It wasn't a question, but Sara treated it as one.

"Who wouldn't? Except that he said that he just broke into the house, smashed the place up, and the gun just fell from the coffee table." Cyrus made a noise of disgust, and she grinned as she took a sip of her coffee. "Yeah, that's what I said, but I couldn't prove it, or disprove it. So I went back to the crime scene photos, where I'd already noticed something that Flannery had missed-"

"Flannery?" That was a name that Cyrus hadn't heard before.

"Terry Flannery, original CSI on the case. He retired straight after, moved back to California." Cyrus nodded at that piece of information, figuring that the old police aphorism, that the guy you didn't want investigating your murder as either the rookie straight out of the academy or the guy who was a day away from retiring, was true for CSIs as well. "There was shoring, an abrasion ring, around Victor Winters's wound. The only way you get those is if the victim's back is pressed up against something, so Victor Winters couldn't have been standing up like Melissa had said. And when I went back again, actually looked at the shirt he was wearing … I found this." She slid a photograph across the table to him, a man's shirt with horizontal bloodstains. "If he'd been standing, the blood would have dripped vertically," Sara told him, though he'd already figured that one out. "The only way that these stains could have been made was if he was lying down when he was shot."

At this point, Sara took a shuddering breath, following it with another sip of coffee. "So I knew that Melissa had lied, and all the evidence was pointing in one direction."

"Melissa."

"Melissa. I went to see her, told her I knew what had happened. She admitted it, that I'd been right about everything. She said that it was an abusive marriage … that she didn't want anyone to know what he did to her. The shot didn't kill him straight away … he reached out, got the gun, and shot her too … so she hid the gun … thought she'd be able to go back and get rid of the gun later. She knew Flannery wouldn't look too hard, that he'd believe her Seems she uh … she thought that she wasn't going to survive the operation." Sara's eyes, which had previously been going between the evidence folder and his face, now slid away entirely, fixed on a point just beyond Cyrus's head. "And she knew … that she could count on me to find out what really happened." She shrugged, her voice sounding as if there was a bitter taste in her mouth, and Cyrus didn't think it was anything to do with the coffee.

"There was nothing else you could have done Sara," he told her after a long silence in which she still didn't look at him. He knew it was the wrong thing to say when she laughed bitterly.

"I could have minded my own damn business," she said, still not looking at him. "Left well enough alone … but I had to get justice."

Cyrus frowned. "You can't blame yourself for this Sara," he told her. "You did the only thing you could do."

"Did I?" This time, she met his eyes, almost in challenge, and he didn't back down.

"Yes."

She held his gaze for a long moment before she looked down. "You know," she said softly, a mirthless chuckle accompanying the words. "I keep thinking about something Warrick said to me once … he was acting supervisor, I was running with a case and I went into the evidence locker without telling him, ran a check on some stuff … I told him not to make me feel bad for doing my job. He told me that if it was my job, I wouldn't feel bad about it." Another humourless chuckle followed. "Who knew he could be so wrong?"

"You can't think like that Sara," Cyrus told her, leaning over the table, wanting to reach out and touch her but not daring to, knowing that that would be crossing a line. "Melissa had a choice … she could have done a hundred different things. She chose to commit a crime, she chose to cover it up. You did what you did because you were trying to help a friend. You can't be responsible for the evidence you find."

This time, there was a touch of humour in the smile. "You sound like Grissom," she told him, and while it could have gone either way, he decided to take that as a compliment.

"It's a bad situation," he told her. "But there was nothing else you could have done."

Her lips twisted bitterly. "If there was nothing else I could have done, then why do I feel so bad?"

"Because she was your friend," he said quietly. "Because you trusted her." He paused, not speaking until she looked up at him again. "And because you're human," he said when she did, holding her gaze steadily. "This wasn't your fault."

Her eyes stayed locked with his for a moment longer, then she looked away, reaching up with one hand to cover her face briefly. She seemed to have trouble deciding what to say next, shaking her head in mute frustration, and deciding that they'd done enough for now, Cyrus stood up. "Go home," he suggested. "Read a book, watch a movie, have dinner … forget about this for now."

Sara looked up at him and smiled, and while it could have been his imagination, her eyes looked clearer, her face not as pale as it had been. "That sounds like a good idea," she allowed, standing up too, gathering the evidence together, sliding it into the folder. "I'll send you over copies of this later on."

"Take your time," he told her. "Mobley can wait."

She grinned at the words. "I'll tell him you said that," she mock-threatened, and he grinned back at her, walking around behind her, dropping a hand onto her shoulder as he did, squeezing it gently. He was at the door when her quiet voice stopped him. "Cyrus?" He didn't say anything, just turned and waited, looking expectantly at her. It seemed to take an age before she spoke, and when she did, her words were so quiet that he could barely hear her. "Thank you."

Once again, he didn't speak, just nodded in acknowledgement and smiled, walking out and heading home.

Chapter Text

Part Eleven - Dinner

(Lady Heather's Box)

The lab was so quiet as she packed up the evidence that Sara could almost hear her heart beating, could practically hear the sharp taste of disappointment, bitter like bile, rising up her throat. This wasn't what the job was supposed to be like; she was supposed to work out what had happened, track down the clues, arrest the criminals. That was her job, she was good at it. She should have been able to do more on this one.

Not that she expected things to work out every time; after all, every CSI had stories of the one that got away, Grissom even had a cork board full of them in his office. But this case, this was different.

Because it was personal, close to home.

Not that she'd known Eddie, on the contrary, she'd never even met him. She'd heard plenty about him though, from the caustic comments that Catherine tossed around when talking about him, from the disapproving looks that Warrick and Nick got on their faces when his name came up, and most of all from the look of utter disgust that came to Grissom's. A man renowned for his taciturn expression, that, more than anything else, had told Sara loud and clear that Eddie was a nasty piece of work.

But he was still Catherine's husband. Lindsey's father. The subject of her case.

For all those reasons, Sara had wanted to find out what happened to him.

But try as she might, there had been nothing that she could do.

All she could do now was this, box up the evidence, writing labels with a heavy heart, but the pen skidded across the paper slightly when she heard a voice behind her. "So, you're calling it?"

She looked up slowly and turned, giving herself time to prepare her response. Catherine hadn't been exactly helpful to her during the course of the investigation, and Sara wasn't going to forget dragging her off Candeece in a hurry. Nor would she forget the harsh words that they'd exchanged, though she still stood by hers. Catherine had been out of line, she should have been at home with her daughter, and she certainly shouldn't have said the things she'd said to Sara.

Even if it did look like they were true.

Sara was more than a little afraid that they were going to have the same conversation again, but Catherine didn't seem as annoyed this time. In fact, she didn't appear annoyed at all. Instead, she appeared drained, as if someone had sucked the life right out of her, and she looked older than Sara had ever seen her. Which is why the response she gave was the most honest one she could think of. "I got two liars and no murder weapon ... and no choice. I'm going to nail the singer on child endangerment and fleeing the scene, and the dealer goes up on possession for sale." It wasn't the best outcome. Hell, it sucked as an outcome, but it was the best that she could do.

Catherine barely reacted at all, just that same lifeless manner again. Somewhere in her, Sara knew that she understood, that in time, she'd accept that. But not today. Today she sighed, and said, "What a great bedtime story for my little girl."

Sara wouldn't have thought it possible, but the quiet recrimination, even if it hadn't been meant as such, stung more than the angry words of earlier. Sara had known that those weren't true, but this? This had the ring of truth to it. It was one of those strange paradoxes, she reflected. Even though she'd done all she could, she still felt like she should have done more. Even though it was an unsolvable case, she still felt that she should have solved it.

She didn't know if there were words to reach Catherine, but she felt she had to try. The only ones that came to mind were, as second earlier, the truth, forcing the words past a swell of emotion in her throat, prickling behind her eyes. "Cath, I did my best."

Catherine didn't say anything, just looked at her for what seemed like a long time. Then her eyes slid off Sara's face, moved over the evidence slowly, taking everything in. Once that was done, she looked back at Sara, but she didn't say a word as she turned and left the room.

Sara knew what a slap in the face felt like, even without the contact.

She didn't know how long she stared at the open door, wishing that things could have been different, but eventually she turned back to the evidence of her failure, and slowly, methodically, just as she'd been taught, she catalogued each piece, writing it down none too neatly in a shaking hand. She placed each item into the box as if it was the finest crystal, and when it was all boxed away safely, she hefted the box in her arms, bringing it to the evidence room, placing it neatly on a shelf, name and case number front and centre, just as she'd been taught.

She didn't look back as she walked out of the room. Instead she glanced at her watch, realised that she only had a couple of hours before she was due back on shift. There was no time to go home, get some sleep, not that she thought she'd be able to sleep anyway. Even if she did, there was the risk of dreams, Catherine's face, Lindsey sitting wrapped in a blanket, soaking wet and scared to death, gunshots on an audio track. Sara shuddered at the bare memory. Definitely, no sleep in the near future.

She was pressing the buttons on her cell phone before she even realised that she'd made a decision, pressing herself back against the wall, tapping her foot while she counted the rings. She was about to hang up when she heard his voice. "Hey," she said. "It's me."

"Hey!" Hank sounded surprised to hear from her, but not in a bad way she thought, and she smiled despite herself. "How's it going?"

The answer that sprang immediately to mind was "Fairly crappy" but Sara bit it back. If she'd learned one thing about working in the Las Vegas Crime Lab, it was that walls had ears, and what you thought was private wasn't always. "Not so bad," she said simply, hoping that he'd read between the lines of that. "Listen, I've got a couple of hours off, I was wondering if you were free for dinner?"

There was a moment's pause, just long enough for Sara's heart to drop and her appetite to vanish. "Baby, I'd love to, you know that," came the reply. "But I just finished my break … "

She shook her head, even though he couldn't see her. "Don't worry about it," she told him quickly. "It's fine." And funnily enough though, it was, and it surprised her to realise it.

"If I'd known you were going to call … " Hank was still trying to pour oil on troubled waters, and the fact that he cared enough to do it made her smile.

"Hank, it's fine, really." Something that might have been a spark of normality flared in her brain, because reaching out to someone had never been her style, and she told him, "You can make it up to me later."

She heard his laugh and it very nearly made everything all right. "Now that's a date I'm going to keep." Then there was another voice in the background, and a series of muffled words that Sara couldn't make out, and when he spoke to her again, he sounded distracted. "Look, I'm going to have to go…"

"I understand." And she did, because how many times had she said those exact words to him. "I'll talk to you later."

"Bye." And then he was gone, leaving her standing there, alone. Sucking in a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders, resolving to make the best of things. So what if she'd just failed with a case she had a personal interest in, for the second time in a row, some mocking little voice at the back of her mind reminded her mercilessly. So what if her boyfriend had to work and couldn't spend a little quality time with her? She could handle it; she'd handled worse than that.

"Like the fact that you don't care that your boyfriend can't make the time to be with you?" A little voice that she didn't want to hear spoke up mockingly in the back of her head, and in an effort to outrun the thoughts that she didn't want to think about, Sara pushed herself away from the wall, turning in the direction of the locker room, starting in surprise when she walked right into someone. It was completely her fault, because she was looking down at the floor as she'd turned, hadn't been paying attention, and she was halfway through a stumbled apology before she looked up, her words dying on her lips when she saw the amusement in Cyrus's dark brown eyes.

"There a fire someplace I don't know about?" he wondered, and she chuckled despite herself, more in embarrassment than amusement.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," she told him, holding up her hands, and shaking her head towards heaven, because it wasn't the first time that she'd walked into him like this. He nodded in understanding, and she tilted her head, looking at him curiously as a thought occurred to her. "We don't usually see you around here at this hour Detective," she observed.

It was his turn to look towards heaven then, and he did so with a roll of his eyes. "I drew a case with the supervisor of Day Shift," he told her, the last two words delivered in a tone that left her in no doubt as to his lack of fondness for that particular bunch of people. She snickered in sympathy, because she could well imagine what he'd been putting up with, didn't even need him to continue on with, "Tell me, is it possible for Conrad Ecklie to be a bigger jackass than he actually is?" He looked around him carefully before he said that, said it a low voice, just in case the walls did indeed have ears as she'd thought earlier, and she answered him in kind.

"He continues to find new and innovative ways," she replied, and Cyrus actually groaned.

"You sure know how to cheer a guy up. This case is looking better by the minute."

He was kidding, but her answering chuckle was mirthless, and she could feel the bitterness rising like bile in her throat. "I know that feeling," she said, regretting her words the second they'd passed her lips, because he wasn't going to be interested in her problems. If he was working a case with Ecklie, he had more than enough of his own. She shook her head slightly, wrapping her arms around her waist protectively, looking down at the floor, wondering what he must be thinking of her.

It seemed a long time before he spoke. "Sam Vega told me that you two were on the case involving Catherine's husband." His voice was kinder than she'd ever heard it, pitched low so that there was no possibility of anyone overhearing them, and she found herself swallowing hard for no reason that she could articulate. There was another pause, then, "He told me it wasn't going so well."

What could easily be termed the biggest understatement of the millennium drew a bitter laugh from her, and she looked up at him quickly, unable to keep her instinctive reply from coming out. "If you call two liars pointing the finger at one another, evidence that can be interpreted either way and no murder weapon not going well, then yeah, it's not going well." The sharpness of her reply stunned even her, and he blinked, literally taking a step back. Chastened, she closed her eyes for a second, opening them to see him frowning at her. "Cyrus, I'm sorry. I just … " Words failed her, so she closed her eyes again, shaking her head.

"It's rough when it's someone you know." The gentle words penetrated her darkness, and when she opened her eyes again, she saw sympathy in his face. While at any other time that might have raised her hackles, today it was just what she needed.

"Yeah," she sighed, tilting her head back so that it rested against the wall. "That's it exactly." They stood there in silence for a moment, and when she looked back at him, she found that he hadn't moved at all, that he was just looking at her with serious eyes. His whole being radiated concern, and she found herself oddly touched. She hadn't expected that level of concern from him. "There are times when I really hate this job," she muttered, more to herself than him, and he didn't hesitate in his reply.

"No there aren't."

The words were uttered with an air of utter certainty, and her lips quirked up in a brief smile despite herself. "Well … not many anyway," she allowed. Taking a deep breath, she straightened up, rolling her shoulders in an effort to relieve the tension that had settled in them. "I should let you get back … "

The last thing she wanted to do was to delay him, but he didn't look to eager to rush back to the sunny disposition of Conrad Ecklie. "Are you sure you're gonna be ok?" he asked, looking down at her doubtfully.

She smiled, trying to reassure him, but she wasn't so sure that it worked. "I'm fine Cyrus," she told him. He still didn't look like he believed her, so she added on, "Really." The extra word didn't do anything to emphasise her point, in actual fact, it did the opposite. She wouldn't have believed her either.

"OK." He nodded, looking for a second as if he was going to take off, even turning slightly away from her. Then he turned back to her, as if something had just occurred to him. "Look, you want to go get dinner or something?" She blinked, taken aback by his offer, and he added, "Change of scene, different point of view … it might help."

She stared at him for a long moment, not sure of what to say. On one hand, she was hungry, and she certainly needed a change of scene. That was what had prompted her to call Hank, in the hopes that he'd take her mind off the disaster that had been her latest case. But he was busy, had to work, and there was no way she wanted to go home alone right then, where the walls of her apartment would whisper her failure.

On the other hand though, there was a level of intimacy with Hank that wasn't there with Cyrus. No matter how well she got along with the detective, no matter how nice he was, he wasn't her boyfriend, she wouldn't be able to open up to him like she would with Hank.

She opened her mouth, all ready to decline the invitation.

"That sounds nice," came out instead.

***

To say that Cyrus was surprised that he'd ended up having dinner with Sara was something of an understatement, not that he was going to complain about it. He hadn't thought that he'd bump into her in the CSI lab, having genuinely been there to talk to Ecklie about something relating to their case. This had been the first time that he'd ever worked with the day shift supervisor, having heard many stories about how hard he was to work with. He hadn't been looking forward to it, but he'd been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He knew that stories tended to get exaggerated, that Ecklie probably wasn't as bad as people made out.

After five minutes walking the crime scene with him, Cyrus had known that he'd been right. Ecklie wasn't as bad as people made out.

He was worse.

How a man possessing no people skills whatsoever made it to the level he had was a mystery to Cyrus, but one he had absolutely no interest in solving. All he wanted to do was solve the case and hopefully never have to work with Ecklie again, while thanking his lucky stars that he'd avoided it this long.

Seeing Sara in the halls had been an unexpected surprise, all the more so when she literally walked into him. He'd made a joke about it, and while her lips had fashioned a smile, it hadn't come anywhere close to reaching her eyes, and he'd found himself worried about her. She didn't seem like her usual self, her skin pale, her eyes looking a trifle red, and he'd recalled what Sam had told him earlier, about the case with Eddie Willows not going well.

He hadn't intended to ask her for dinner, had meant to just let her go, sure that she'd want to handle it herself. That's what his head had told him anyway, but his heart had over-ruled it, and he'd held his breath as the words hung in the air between them, sure that she was going to say no.

He wasn't sure who was more surprised when she'd agreed.

Either way, they'd picked out a diner that they both knew, taking separate cars there. She'd arrived first and was already reading the menu when he slid into the booth across from her, reaching out for the other menu as he greeted her, scanning it with a practised eye. They exchanged small talk until the waitress came to take their order, and he was surprised when she ordered the vegetarian lasagne. He opted for the non-vegetarian option of the same thing, turning to her in surprise as the waitress left. "I didn't know you were vegetarian," he said, and she nodded, shrugging her shoulders.

"For about the last two years now," she told him. "I could always kinda take or leave it before ... my parents are ex-hippies, so meat was never a big thing for us anyway … "

Tilting his head, several about her words struck him, not least of which was that her parents had been hippies once upon a time. Because he'd got to know Sara Sidle pretty well by this pint, and he'd heard enough stories about her personality to know that the laissez-faire attitude that one would normally associate with hippies was something that one would never associate with her. He declined to ask her about that though, instead choosing to follow up on the timeline question. "So what pushed you over the edge?"

She chuckled dryly, shifting in her seat. Her arms were crossed, resting on the table, and she looked away from him for a moment. "I'm not sure I should tell you before we eat," she replied, and he looked at her strangely.

"We've investigated eviscerated cheerleaders together," he reminded her. "I think I'm beyond the point where I can be grossed out by anything."

She smirked, then shrugged again. "Grissom and I spent an entire night sitting in a parking lot, looking at a dead pig, wrapped in a blanket, and observed the development of larvae, the effect they had on the skin of the pig … "

Her voice trailed off, probably as a result of him shaking his head in confusion. "Why in the world would you-"

Seeing the question coming, she interrupted him by holding up a finger. "See, the skin of the pig most closely resembles the skin of a human being. So, since we can't sit out all night beside a corpse, a dead pig is the next best thing. We had to document the arrival of the bugs, chart their growth … "

There was a devilish smile hovering around her lips giving him the distinct feeling that she was embellishing it for his benefit, but loathe as he was for his constitution to appear less than robust to her, he couldn't take any more of that. "OK," he said, reaching for the water jug and pouring himself a glass, offering one to her. "You know when I said I was beyond being grossed out?" He paused a beat, allowing her to nod. "I lied," he said flatly, pouring her a glass of water, enjoying the smile that lit up her face, the laugh that bubbled freely out of her. After the scene in the hall, he would have bet a year's salary that getting her to laugh would have been a hard job, but it hadn't worked out that way.

"You and me both," she acknowledged. "And that's why I stopped eating meat."

Cyrus nodded. "The things you do in the name of science."

Another chuckle, and he decided that he could definitely get used to that sound, that smile. "Grissom does have some strange experiments," she allowed. "But they usually end up working." She took a sip of water, her eyes dancing with mirth. "I'd much rather him than Ecklie."

Cyrus didn't bother to suppress to the urge to roll his eyes. "Wasn't the dead pig story enough for you? Are you trying to turn me off my food?"

"I would say it can't be that bad," Sara allowed. "Except that it's probably worse." Her expression flickered then, her eyes growing dark for a moment, sliding away from him, and he knew instantly where her thoughts were going.

"Looks like there's a lot of that going around," he said slowly, and she sighed, reaching out and grabbing her fork, playing with it absently.

"Yeah," she said flatly, still not looking at him.

"How's Catherine doing?" It seemed to be a safer topic of conversation, enquiring after the other CSI; less personal than the line of questioning about her vegetarianism and her parents, nothing to do with the case itself. And it was a legitimate question too; he'd worked cases with Catherine, had found her easy to get along with, not to mention a top of the line CSI. It couldn't hurt to ask after her.

Except that Sara sighed, and when she met his eyes, he could see the thinly veiled pain there. "As well as can be expected, isn't that what they say?" Her voice was bitter enough to cause him to wince, never mind her, and she must have realised that because she tried to smile. "She's devastated … and the fact that we can't nail anyone for it doesn't help."

"No." Cyrus's voice was quiet. "It wouldn't." He was quiet for a moment before he thought of something else. "How's her daughter?"

Something that could have been admiration, or amazement, flitted across Sara's face. "You should have seen her in the interview room," she said, with a gentle shake of her head. "This kid has just been pulled out of a sinking car, she's seen her father for all intents and purposes die in front of her, and she's able to give the details of what she saw … and the only thing she cares about is that Catherine not get mad at Eddie." She shook her head, and this time, Cyrus knew it was with amazement. "She's pretty tough."

Cyrus shrugged. "Like mother like daughter, isn't that what they say?"

"Cath didn't look so tough when she saw me boxing up the case," Sara murmured. "I don't know if we're going to get past this." The last was uttered so quietly that Cyrus thought she might have been talking to herself rather than to him, but he couldn't let it go, because he knew it wasn't true.

"I investigated a case once, where I knew the victim … it wasn't a homicide, it was a home invasion … and rape. Victim was the sister of one of my high school buddies; I'd known her since I was fourteen. I remember going to her parents' house to talk to her, seeing her parents, Jack … and the bruises on her face … " Even after all this time, it still hurt to think about it. "I promised her we'd find the guy who did it … but we never did."

Sara's face registered sympathy. "That sucks," she said.

"Yeah. I was the one who told them we were closing the investigation … she cried … Jack stormed out of the room … and her mother told me that she would have expected better from Jessie Lockwood's boy." He shrugged his shoulders. "Allie told me later that she didn't blame me, that she knew I'd done my best … but every time I can't make a case, I hear that voice."

Sara nodded, then her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head. "You mean you're telling me that it doesn't get better?" she asked, deadpan, and he was taken aback, because that hadn't been his intent at all, and he was about to launch into an explanation when her face suddenly broke out in a grin, and he realised what she was doing.

"Just call it payback for not making me feel better about Ecklie," he retorted, but she'd already moved on to another topic.

"Hang on … Jessie Lockwood's boy? Investigation involving a high school friend? That means you worked where you grew up?" Cyrus nodded, and Sara looked amazed. "Wow," she said. "The second I could, I was gone … what's that like?"

Cyrus shrugged, because he'd never really thought about it in those terms before. He'd grown up in a close family, in a friendly neighbourhood, and he'd never really ever wanted to leave. "It was great," he said honestly. "My dad's a fire-fighter, my mom didn't work, but she was active in the community … I think they knew everyone in the neighbourhood." He shrugged. "It's not so bad you know, when you know everyone, and everyone knows you … of course, you've also got-"

"The down side of everyone knowing you." Sara beat him to the punch. "Tomales Bay isn't exactly a beehive of activity outside the tourist season," she told him. "You're from Reno, right?"

He nodded, because he'd told her as much at Christmas. "Yeah. Born and raised and never left until I came here."

"What made you leave?" Sara looked at him curiously, then literally sat back as if she'd been stung. "I'm sorry … you don't have to tell me … "

"It's fine." Cyrus waved a hand dismissively. "It's probably your age old story … boy meets girl, they fall madly in love … boy is on the verge of proposing when girl says that she's in love with someone else."

He paused to let that sink in, and Sara winced. "Ouch."

"Yeah." A sip of water and he was ready to continue. "It's not like I ran away to recover from my broken heart or anything like that," he told her. "But I could see my whole life with her, the house, the kids, the whole nine yards. And once that was gone, I began to wonder if there was more to life than Reno." He shrugged again. "Decided to try something new. So I put in for a transfer, and ended up here. Of course, my sister was already living here with her husband, so it wasn't like I was upping sticks entirely … "

"Which is what I did," Sara told him. "I moved to Boston when I was eighteen and I've never lived at home since."

"You get home much?"

"Not really." Her shoulders rose and fell, and she tapped her fork against the rim of her glass absently. "My parents and I don't see eye to eye all that much … I tried to keep in touch more when I was in San Francisco … but now I'm further away … "

"Not that much further away," Cyrus objected, and he knew he'd gone too far when her face slammed shut, rendering the subject closed.

"It's just easier this way," was all she said, and he decided to let the subject drop.

"So you were in San Francisco … what brought you to Vegas?"

The effect of the question was instantaneous, a bright grin appearing on her face. "Grissom," she said simply. "We'd met at a seminar a few years back, kept in semi-regular contact. They were short of manpower, he asked me to come down here on a temporary basis." She chuckled. "Two and a half years later, here I am."

"Some temporary basis." Something about the way that she looked when she mentioned Grissom's name had him curious; something in her smile, in the way her eyes lit up. It reminded him of the way that his sisters had looked when they first told him about the guys that they had ended up marrying, and what he couldn't figure out was how she could look like that about Grissom yet be dating someone else.

Then the look passed, and he thought that maybe he just imagined it.

Then the waitress came with their orders, and they ate in fits of silence and small talk.

It was a small place and a plate of lasagne, but Cyrus couldn't remember when he'd last had a better time.

Chapter Text

Part Twelve - Drydock Redux

(Lucky Strike)

Cyrus walked through the halls of the CSI lab, looking for Nick and Grissom, both of whom seemed to be doing a great job of hiding from him. He checked all the regular places to no avail, and he was walking by the break room when he saw a familiar crown of dark hair. He knew that he should keep walking, that he was there on legitimate business, but he couldn't resist.

A quick look around assured him that she was on her own, standing with her back to the door, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "That the good stuff?" he asked, and she turned to him, bestowing upon him a smile that almost stopped his heart. Right then and there, he decided that it had been worth stopping here, just for that sight.

"Only the good stuff for graveyard," she told him. "Greg takes good care of us." She glanced around the countertop then, as if looking for something. "You want?"

He held up a hand quickly. "None for me … I'm looking for Grissom and Nick. You haven't seen them?"

She shook her head, wrinkling her nose in what looked like disgust. "Probably out in the field," she said, and he got the feeling that she was an inch away from rolling her eyes, though he couldn't say why.

"I called Nick a few minutes ago," he objected. "He said they'd meet me here." She lifted an eyebrow, tilting her head in consideration of where they might be, and it was then that he remembered where he'd seen her looking like that before, where he'd heard her speak with just that tone in her voice. "You're dry-docked again, aren't you?"

Her jaw dropped, her face showing surprise that he'd worked that out, but to her credit, she recovered quickly, setting her jaw as if to contain her amusement, eyes to the ceiling. "Is it that obvious?" she asked, and he couldn't contain his amusement.

"I'm a detective, remember?" he asked. "I have excellent deductive skills."

She shot him a dirty look, then must have decided that there was no point in denying it. "Yes … I'm housebound. Again."

"You maxed out on overtime again?" Cyrus had never met anyone who had done it once, let alone twice in a matter of months, and she shifted uncomfortably on her feet.

"Yeah … " she said, looking down. "The Melissa Winters case wasn't strictly speaking supposed to be my first priority-" By which she meant that she shouldn't have been working on it at all, but he didn't call her on that and she didn't elaborate. "And I ran hard on the Eddie Willows case … " Which was another case that hadn't worked out the way that she'd wanted it to, and he'd had close-up encounters with her after each of them. "And I guess I lost track of stuff."

He shrugged, all interest in teasing her having disappeared once he remembered the look on her face at the end of those two cases. The look on her face now was a pale relation of those other looks, and he didn't think it would take much to push her back there. "Easily done," was all he said, moving the subject along. "So what are you doing if you're not out in the field?"

"Scut work. Testing samples, delivering messages, checking out everybody else's sandbox … " She made it sound like a fate worse than death, then suddenly her face lightened, a grin emerging. "Though I haven't checked out any carnivals yet."

It took him a second to realise that she was referencing a previous conversation, then he grinned too. "CSI Sidle, I'm shocked at you," he said, shaking his head in mock anger. "I would have thought you'd try harder than that."

"What can I say," she asked, spreading her hands wide, almost spilling her cup of coffee in the process. She took a second to steady it, making a face in the process that almost had Cyrus laughing out loud, but when she continued speaking, it was as if nothing had happened. "I have no sense of priorities."

"Remember who said that," he told her, his tone making it clear that he was joking, and she didn't reply, just rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her coffee. Glancing at his watch, Cyrus realised that he should be getting a move on, and he took a step back, looking over his shoulder just in case Nick or Grissom had decided to materialise there. "I should get going … " he said, intending to tell her that he'd talk to her later, but her voice calling his name stopped him, had him looking hard at her again.

"I … um … " Her lower lip disappeared again as she bit it nervously, and his fingers itched to take her chin in his hand, to physically stop her doing that, because he didn't want her to be nervous around him. Her shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep breath, moving closer towards him, keeping her voice down, even though they were the only two people in the room. "I just … I wanted to say … " What she wanted to say was pushed to the background however, when she was standing right in front of him, as she blinked in confusion, her nose wrinkling. She sniffed the air, looking left to right then right at him. "Do you smell garlic?"

It was her normal tone of voice, and now it was his turn to shift on his feet, but in embarrassment, not discomfort. "Yeah, that's me," he said, trying to be as matter of fact as possible, knowing that he was failing utterly. She narrowed her eyes in silent question, and he had no choice but to answer her. "Some of the guys decided to have a little fun at my expense," he explained. "They decided to decorate my locker with garlic … I'm searching for someone to scrub it top to bottom if you're interested … "

His offer went over her head, her still being stuck on the garlic issue. "Why would they-" she began, then her face cleared, and she burst into peals of laughter.

"Yes … some people seem to think that it's funny to imply that I might be looking for creatures of the night and vampire slayers, and have taken it upon themselves to look out for my welfare," he intoned flatly, carrying on the joke, and while it looked for a moment as if she was trying to school her features into a deadpan expression, it didn't last, another set of giggles escaping her.

"I'm sorry … " she began, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"It's fine," he told her. "Mock me. Everyone else is." But in point of fact, while the laughter from the other detectives had grown really old really fast, he didn't think he'd ever get tired of seeing her laugh like that. Their last few encounters had been so deadly serious that he'd forgotten what a relaxed Sara Sidle looked like, and he thought, not for the first time, that he could get very used to it.

"OK," she said after a second, hand over her chest, taking deep breaths. "I'm fine. Calm again." He lifted a sceptical eyebrow, but she didn't crack, just nodded decisively. "What I was about to say … " Her voice trailed off, and she glanced down at the ground again.

"Sara?" he prompted gently after a moment, and she looked up, her face serious, eyes dark again. She hesitated again, and her mouth was open to speak when a new voice interrupted them.

"There you are," Nick said, looking right at Cyrus, his face falling for only the briefest of instants when he saw Sara standing on the other side of him. "Hey Sara," he said, nodding at his friend. "I didn't see you there."

Nick's eyes were darting from Cyrus to Sara, and Cyrus felt distinctly homicidal urges rising in him, to do both with Nick's timing and the fact that the other man was looking as if he was torn between amusement at interrupting them, and embarrassment for the same. Sara on the other hand seemed to have no reservations about what she should do, taking a step away from Cyrus, giving Nick a smile. "Hey Nick," she said, her serious demeanour instantly wiped away. "Cyrus was just giving me a great idea for decorations for your locker … " Her eyes danced with merriment and Cyrus was dumbstruck at what was the quickest turnaround in mood that he'd ever seen. He mentally added world's best actress to his catalogue of Sara's attributes, nearly missing as he did so Nick's reply.

"Why do I feel scared all of a sudden?"

Sara arched an eyebrow, moving past the two men to the door of the break room. "That would be telling," she teased, tossing them a grin over her shoulder. "Later guys."

Cyrus's eyes followed her progress down the hall, and only when she was out of sight did he focus on Nick's contrite expression. "Man, if I interrupted anything … " he began, and Cyrus held up a hand.

"We were just talking," he told him. "Nothing to interrupt." Nick gave him an "Are you kidding me?" look, but otherwise didn't respond, and Cyrus took charge of the conversation, not wanting to get into round seven hundred and twelve of Nick's opinion of what he should do about his feelings for Sara. "Let me tell you what I found out about Alex James … "

"Hang on man." He thought for a second that Nick was going to talk about Sara, but for once, the other man's thoughts were on work. "I just left Grissom in the layout room, looking at maps of mines. Come on, we'll meet him there, you can tell us then."

Nodding, Cyrus followed him out.

Chapter Text

Part Thirteen - Betrayals

(Crash and Burn)

One thing Sara had to admit about Catherine - no matter what problems the two of them might have had in the past, the woman knew the name of every watering hole in Las Vegas, and she knew the best place to go for every possible eventuality. Thus, when she'd heard that Sara didn't have plans after shift, had suggested that they should go for a beer, Sara, despite her upset, had found herself smiling, commanding the other woman to drive. She'd known that Catherine would find somewhere decent for them to go, and she had; a small bar, reasonably out of the way, one that wasn't crawling with tourists or other lunchtime patrons.

Another thing Catherine had going for her, Sara decided, as she sipped her beer slowly, was that she knew when to talk and when not to talk. She hadn't said much to her on the way here, nor did she talk when they first sat down, leaving Sara at the table and going to the bar herself, returning with two bottles of beer. Her opening conversational gambit had been about the merits of the case, a rant about Sillmont Healthcare, all the while ignoring the proverbial elephant in the middle of the room; Elaine Alcott and her relationship with Hank.

It was Sara who finally brought it up. "How did you know?" she asked simply, and Catherine paused, her beer bottle frozen midway to her lips, but she didn't ask for further clarification, laying her bottle back down on the table, making sure that it was just so on the coaster before she said anything.

"I suspected when I saw the seating chart," she said frankly, all her emphasis placed on the second word. "But I didn't know for sure until after you came back from talking with her."

Sara smiled bitterly, hoping that a swallow of beer would wash about the taste of bile at the back of her mouth. It didn't. "Am I that easy to read?"

Catherine chuckled, but there was precious little mirth in the sound. "Let's just say that I'm pretty familiar with that look," was all she said, and instantly, Sara felt guilty, although she knew that hadn't been Catherine's intention. She'd forgotten though, when she was agreeing to this drink, that Eddie Willows had never been the most faithful of husbands, and when his ghost appeared at the table with them, it served only as a reminder to Sara that she'd failed to find out who'd killed him.

"I never had a clue." Sara was barely aware that she was speaking aloud, but it was the truth. Not that she and Hank were what you'd call serious. They'd been seeing one another since the previous summer, but in an off and on way. Entire days could pass where they wouldn't see or talk to one another, sometimes an entire week could pass without them seeing one another, or going out on a date. That's why it had been so easy for her for so long to turn to people and say that Hank wasn't her boyfriend and mean it, because he wasn't her boyfriend the way that they meant it; where they were seeing one another every day, practically living together. Yes, she and Hank went out, yes, they spent the night together from time to time, yes, she called him baby, but even with that, as far as she'd been concerned, they were taking it slowly, seeing what happened.

She'd thought that he'd read her well, that he knew that she'd never had great luck with men, that he was being a nice guy, trying not to scare her off. She'd even congratulated herself that she'd found a guy who was patient enough to put up with her little foibles, who could accept her for the way that she was.

Now she realised that it was just a handy excuse, that all the times he hadn't been with her, he'd been with his other girlfriend, the one who took him to Hawaii, the one that he was taking to Tahiti. She'd thought she could trust him, she'd thought that she'd known him, and Grissom's words from a few weeks ago, uttered in the locker room when she was so upset over the Melissa Winters case, came back to her. Ruthlessly, she pushed the thought, the memory out of her head. Thoughts of Hank were enough to be dealing with right now; she didn't need Grissom running through her mind as well.

Across the table from her, Catherine gave a snort of disgust. "Join the club," she said. "I never knew Eddie was screwing around on me either." She didn't flinch when she said the name, but Sara was sure that she could see a flicker of pain in the other woman's eyes, see a slight tension in her shoulders.

"Yeah," she said, concentrating on peeling the label off her bottle, anything to avoid looking at Catherine. "But you weren't the other woman. I was." Catherine's eyes narrowed in confusion, and Sara added, "He took her to Hawaii last year. They must've been together for a long time."

And he'd still chased her, still flirted with her over a DB. Still sought her out at the hospital, told her that Nick was going to be all right. Still talked to her friends as if he was her boyfriend, as if he was doing right by her, as if she was the only woman that he was seeing.

The hell of it was that Sara knew, had known for a long time, that they probably were never going to be truly serious. She couldn't see herself marrying Hank, spending the rest of her life with him. Even when she'd slipped, called him "baby" in front of Warrick and Sulik, she'd known that. It had been brought home to her weeks later, when she'd been torn up over Melissa and she hadn't wanted to talk to anyone, not even him. She must have known in her heart, even then, that Hank wasn't a long-term prospect.

So why did she feel so terrible now?

She'd had a knot in her stomach ever since she walked into the Checkerbox and heard his voice behind her. Her first thought had been that he was there in a professional capacity, though she'd been sure he'd told her that he wasn't working. Then she'd seen him out of uniform, had seen his wrist, and she'd realised that he'd been there as a patron, that he'd been hurt, that he could have been seriously injured, or worse.

She'd been freaked out, because she hadn't wanted to lose him, not like that. So she'd gone to him, had bandaged his wrist, had sought him out in the hospital, and it had been there that the wheels had come off the wagon.

There she'd seen him holding Elaine's hand, a distinctly not-just-good-friends air shrouding the two of them. The seating chart had been another piece of evidence, as well as the circumstances of their relationship, how they could go for so long without seeing one another. She'd known Catherine had her suspicions from their conversations in the lab, but she hadn't wanted to admit that her friend was right.

But she'd gone to see Elaine Alcott and she'd seen that picture.

"Creep." Catherine's disgusted pronouncement brought Sara back to reality, and she smiled a weak smile. "Sara, he's a jerk," Catherine continued.

"I make my living separating lies from truth Catherine," Sara objected. "And I never suspected a thing. What does that say about me?"

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Sara, if I've learned anything in my life, it's that we never see what we don't want to see." She shrugged, picking up her bottle of beer again. "And when you don't cheat, you don't suspect."

Sara sighed, strong enough to move Catherine's hair. "I don't even know why I'm so upset," she found herself saying. "I mean, it's not as if I loved him…"

"Totally not the point." Catherine's interruption made Sara look at her curiously. "It's an honesty thing Sara. You trusted Hank, and he turned out to be a complete schmuck. You're entitled to be upset." She drained the last of her beer. "You're also entitled to get a little buzzed. You want another?"

Sara nodded, reaching into her pocket. "I'll get these."

Catherine waved her hand, already standing up. "Forget about it," she said, cutting off Sara's objection. "I'm heading to the little girls' room; I'll get someone to bring them over."

"You got this one…" Sara objected, but Catherine just kept on walking, tossing a sassy grin over her shoulder.

"Then you get the next," she called, leaving Sara shaking her head, never taking her eyes off Catherine as she walked across the room. Taking a swallow of her own beer, she found herself thinking back to one of the last conversations she and Catherine had had, just the two of them. It had taken place in the evidence vault of the CSI lab, and she'd just had to tell Catherine that she wasn't going to be able to find who murdered Eddie. She'd known that her friend was upset, had known that she wasn't thinking straight, that she didn't mean half the stuff she'd said, but that didn't make it hurt any less, and she'd wondered at the time if her friendship with Catherine was ever going to be the same again.

Based on the last hour or so, it seemed as if it was not only going to be the same as it was before, it was actually better.

As the bartender came over, putting two fresh bottles down in front of her, Sara realised that a lot of things were better in her life now than they had been a few weeks ago, even a couple of years ago. She and Catherine were getting on again. Nick and Warrick, both of whom had spent a goodly portion of the last year teasing her about Hank, were two of the closest friends that she'd ever had. She wasn't the same woman who'd come to Las Vegas two and a half years earlier, the woman who could just up and walk away from five years of her life without so much as a second thought. If she were to leave Vegas in the morning, she knew she'd be leaving some good friends behind, knew that it would hurt to leave.

She'd finally done what people had been bugging her to do ever since college; get a life, go out, make friends, see that there was more to life than the lab.

It might have taken, as Catherine pointed out, a complete schmuck to get her to do it, but that didn't make it any less of a big deal.

She may have got burned, but she'd also got over Grissom, and she may have been bruised, but she wasn't broken, not by a long shot.

Things could have been an awful lot worse.

Lost in thought as Sara was, she didn't realise that someone was standing beside her until she heard them say her name. Then she jumped, looking up into the vaguely concerned face of Cyrus Lockwood. "Cyrus, hey," she said, recovering herself somewhat. "I didn't see you there."

"Obviously." The word, said as it was with a smile, didn't come across as a recrimination, and she found herself blushing, looking down at the table. "You looked pretty lost in thought," he continued when she didn't say anything.

"One of those cases," she said, hoping that that would hold him at bay, but when she saw him nod slowly, she knew she wasn't going to be that lucky.

"Yeah, Nick told me you were working that restaurant crash…he said your boyfriend was there. He's ok, isn't he?"

The allusion to Hank had Sara's mouth twisting in a bitter smile, and she reached for her glass of beer, taking a swig to wash away the taste. "Oh he's fine," she said, the beer not doing what she'd hoped it would. "Although he's not my boyfriend any more."

"Oh?" Cyrus's face barely changed at the news; the most he did was lift one eyebrow.

"Well, since he was there with the woman he's been seeing for a year…" Sara said, taking another sip of beer as she spoke, affecting a nonchalant shrug, then shook her head. "I had no clue."

"I'm sorry." And to his credit, he did sound sincere.

"It's not like we were serious," she told him, waving her hand dismissively. "Obviously. But…"

"But it still sucks when it happens to you." His words interrupted her, but they summed up her frame of mind perfectly, and she felt half a smile break across her face.

"Exactly."

"So you're here to drown your sorrows?"

Her smile widened ever so slightly. "Catherine and I are doing some bonding over shared scummy men experiences," she quipped, her words belying the fact that after the way things had been between her and Catherine when she was investigating Eddie's murder, she never thought that they'd get to this point again, certainly not so soon. She saw his eyes flicker with recognition as she mentioned Catherine's name, and she could have been imagining it, but she was pretty sure that his lips quirked up in a small smile. Her words made her think of something though, and she tilted her head in interest. "What are you doing here?"

He rolled his eyes. "Spinning my wheels, trying to chase a lead."

"I thought you were on that carbon monoxide thing with Nick." She searched her memory for what, if anything, Nick had told her about the case, and came up empty. She wasn't surprised at that, after all, what with her own case and her personal life coinciding so drastically, she'd barely been able to remember her own name.

"Different case," he told her. "I'm multi-tasking."

She chuckled. "Very efficient of you."

"I'm an efficient guy. Though it's not like I get a choice in the matter. Mobley's a hard taskmaster."

Remembering the many and varied colourful sobriquets that she'd heard thrown around during her tenure in Vegas, Sara rolled her eyes. "That's one word for it," she replied, and he laughed, a deep masculine sound, a sound Sara found herself with some surprise wishing she could hear more often. The second the thought hit, she pushed it aside though, mentally adding that she should quit after this beer if it was pushing her mind in that kind of direction.

She was saved from having to wonder if that meant anything at all by Catherine arriving back at the table. "Well, I see I don't have to worry about leaving you on your own for long," she said, her eyes glinting devilishly, and Sara wasn't sure if the words were a manifestation of Catherine's personality, or a manifestation of how much beer she'd consumed. Or perhaps both. "Detective." She nodded at Cyrus, her eyes raking up and down his body, and Sara didn't know whether she wanted to strangle her friend or bury her head in her hands.

Cyrus had no such worries. "Catherine," he said easily. "Good to see you again."

"And you." Catherine's eyes darted from him to Sara. "Everything ok?"

"Everything's fine," Sara said, at the same time as Cyrus nodded.

"I was here on business, just came over to say hi." He nodded at Catherine again, before turning his attention back to Sara, and the briefest hint of a smile crossed his lips as he took a step away from the table. "And now that you're in good company, I'll leave you to it…" His voice trailed off, but as his eyes danced, Sara knew he wasn't finished yet. "I'd hate to interrupt the female bonding…"

"Thanks for the thought," Sara laughed, shaking her head, trying very hard not to notice the look that Catherine was giving her.

"Anytime," he said, moving another step away. "Ladies."

"Bye Detective," Catherine said, glancing briefly in his direction.

"See you Cyrus," was Sara's parting call, and she took a sip of her beer, watching him leave. Looking back at Catherine, she could see the other woman's eyes sparkling, a beaming smile on her face. "What?" she asked, more than a little defensively she knew, but it was damned hard to be anything else when Catherine was sitting across the table from her, looking at her like that. For an insane moment, she felt a pang of sympathy for any criminal that had ever been put in that position, but she pushed it away, knowing that she was going to need all her wits about her for whatever Catherine was thinking.

"I'm not saying a thing!" Catherine held up her hands, her eyes wide, the picture of innocence. "Just wondering if I was interrupting something there."

Sara narrowed her eyes, shaking her head ever so slightly from side to side. "What would you be interrupting?" she asked reasonably. "We were just talking."

"Talking?" Catherine lifted one eyebrow, leaning back in her seat. "That's what you kids are calling it these days huh?"

Sara laughed, but this was pure amazement, not humour. "What are you-"

"Sara, you and I are talking." Catherine told her flatly, cutting across her. "You and the good detective were having a moment."

There was something about the phrasing that was familiar to Sara, and it took her a moment to place it. Then she remembered; the Christmas party, Greg leading the room in the Time Warp, laughing over it with Cyrus, and another person saying the exact same thing. "You've been talking to Lea," she decided, and Catherine just shrugged.

"Among other people," she allowed, and Sara's jaw dropped.

"OK, first Nick and Warrick and Greg, then Lea, now you… what is it with the interest that the lab seems to have in my social life?"

Catherine had the grace to look down briefly in acknowledgement. "We're just curious," she said. "And you can hardly blame us Sara. I mean, for the first year that you're here, you hardly ever go out. Then while refusing to talk about it, which automatically makes it more interesting, you begin to date a fairly handsome, if stealthily skanky, paramedic." She paused then, as if wondering whether Sara would take exception to that characterisation of Hank, but Sara let it slide. For one thing, it was dead on the money. For another, she was quite impressed that Catherine got all that sibilance out without missing a beat. She waved her hand at Catherine, encouraging her to continue, and Catherine did so. "And at the same time, you're seen having in-depth conversations with a man who's nicknamed 'Detective Hot'." She shrugged. "We're only human you know."

Sara took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "It's not like that Catherine," she said quietly. "We're friends."

"If you say so." Catherine didn't sound like she believed a word of it.

"I say so."

"OK." Catherine nodded, raising her glass to her lips. "It's a shame though," she said. "There are worse ways to get over one man than in the arms of another." Sara's jaw dropped for the second time in the conversation, dropping a little further when Catherine added, "And what nice arms they are…"

The phrase had Sara laughing again. "You're impossible," she decreed, and Catherine shrugged, giving her a saucy grin.

"I'll drink to that," she said, raising her glass in salute, and Sara didn't think twice before raising her glass and doing the same.

Chapter Text

Part Fourteen - Contrivance

(Precious Metals, Night at the Movies)

Sara checked her watch for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes, crossing her arms across her chest and glancing down the street, wondering where the hell Nick was. Not that she'd expected him to be on time, after all, he'd said that he had some errands to run, and she knew well enough how easy it was to lose track of time. At the same time though, he'd been the one who invited her out. She'd have thought that he'd have enough old school Texas gentleman in him to not be late.

She passed the time by picking up one of the flyers that were on display outside the movie theatre, detailing the movies that were playing during the Hitchcock festival, mentally checking the times of some against her work schedule, wondering if she could book tickets for some. She was pretty sure that it wouldn't be a problem even if she did have to leave work to go to a showing; the times when she voluntarily left the lab were so legendarily few and far between that whenever she was practically pushed out the door when such an occasion arose.

Noting that "Dial M for Murder" was showing on Friday afternoon, she instantly decided that this was just such an occasion.

She made another mental note to herself to thank Nick for drawing her attention to the festival, because if it wasn't for him, she wouldn't have even known it was on. She hadn't even remembered that he'd known of her fondness for Hitchcock films, and he'd reminded her of her once telling him that she hadn't slept the night before because she'd found "Psycho" showing on some channel or other, and she'd watched it before she went to bed. He'd laughed at the time, she remembered that now, reminding her that she functioned on little or no sleep anyway, not to mention the fact that a woman who worked with much scarier things on a day to day basis shouldn't be scared by a black and white film. Her only defence had been that "Psycho" had scared the hell out of her when her older brother had shown it to her as a kid, and childhood scares were still potent so many years later. It had been a week defence, she knew, but Nick had nodded, changing the subject to other films that she liked. She'd forgotten all about that until recently, when she'd heard about the case that Grissom and Catherine had been working on, because she loved "Strangers on a Train" too. Nick had even joked to her that Catherine and Grissom's movie case sounded far more up her alley than theirs, and when she'd questioned his remembrance of a conversation that had taken place over two years ago, he'd simply shrugged and given her that smile of his, telling her that it had been the first piece of personal information that she'd ever shared with him, the first time he'd ever realised that there really was more to Sara Sidle than just work. She'd been slightly taken aback by that, had just mumbled something about how she was sorry she'd missed the Hitchcock festival when it was on at the Art House before changing the subject.

She'd let it go at that, but Nick hadn't, and the next day he'd come up to her, asking her if she wanted to go to the movies with him. She'd given him a doubtful look in reply, asking "It's not Jackass is it?" because she'd seen more than enough of that looking at the McCallum murder tape. Nick had just laughed, telling her that he'd bought two tickets for "To Catch A Thief" and he thought she might like to go with him. He held up the tickets in front of her to illustrate his story, and she couldn't help remembering all the times in the least couple of years that he'd tried to drag her out of her lab, telling her that he and Warrick were going out to eat, or to a club, inviting her along. She'd turned them down more times than she cared to remember, though she knew now that he'd only done it because he cared about her, because he was worried about her. So she'd taken the ticket from him, agreeing to meet outside the movie theatre, covering her shame as best she could.

She was ashamed because he was her friend, looking out for her, and she'd been avoiding him where she could over the last couple of weeks, keeping him at arm's length, talking to him only about the case. She hadn't wanted to hear his concern about her in the aftermath of her break-up with Hank the previous month, hadn't wanted him to continue the conversation that he'd started over coffee in the lab. "Hey Sara," he'd begun, looking more than a little uncertain. "I don't want to cross any lines here, but, uh, I've got this buddy who's not going out with anybody..."

She'd known straight away where he was leading, and her response had been immediate and decisive. "No. No, no, forget it."

Catherine had interrupted them at that point, but Nick hadn't given up easily, insisting that his friend was a cool guy, that she didn't have to be nervous about anything, that he'd never set her up with a loser, that she really should hear him out. She'd stood her ground, refusing to be budged, and he'd eventually let the matter drop, though she was pretty sure that they were going to have this conversation a few more times before he finally got the message. She was equally as sure that she didn't want to start dating again, not yet anyway. Not that she was broken hearted over Hank, she'd never been that serious about him in the first place she reminded herself. However, she'd be lying if she said that she wasn't still a little raw, a little bitter from the whole experience, and she just wanted to lay low for a while, immerse herself in her work. She'd been fine with that before, she could be fine with it again.

"Anything decent?" She looked up with a start when she heard a familiar voice beside her, just not the one she was expecting.

"Cyrus, hi," she said, smiling at the sight of her friend. "Decent? Yeah, I'm just wondering can I be off work Friday afternoon to catch 'Dial M for Murder'." He nodded, a flicker of appreciation showing on his face, and she looked him up and down, surprised to see him there, just hoping that she was doing a good job of hiding it. At least she thought she was until she heard "You're a Hitchcock fan?" coming from her lips, the words laced with surprise, out of her mouth before she could stop them.

If he was taken aback at her phrasing though, he didn't show it, just nodding again. "From way back," he said. "I'd heard about this, saw a poster for it a few weeks ago, but I forgot all about it until Stokes mentioned it."

The mention of Nick's name stilled Sara's tongue, and a vague suspicion took root in her mind. "Nick… told you about this?"

Cyrus nodded, his gaze moving to behind her, then turned his head to look in the other direction. "I'm supposed to be meeting him here actually…someone gave him tickets for 'To Catch a Thief.'" The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was him glancing at his watch. "He's running late though, he was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago…" His voice trailed off and she felt rather than saw him step closer to her. "Hey, are you ok?"

Opening her eyes, she gave him a weak smile, torn between whether she should die of mortification on the spot, or vow bloody vengeance on Nick. "I don't think he's coming," she said, and when Cyrus frowned in confusion, she reached into the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out a ticket. She held it up to him, saw him squint to read it before his hand went to his wallet, pulling out a ticket that was the match of hers. The only difference was the seat number, one was H15, the other H16, and the sight made her grit her teeth. "I'm going to kill him."

Understanding was slowly dawning on Cyrus's face. "You're kidding me," he managed, and she shook her head, rolling her eyes.

"Nick's been telling me about this guy he wants to fix me up with," Sara told him, rubbing the bridge of her nose with two fingers, hoping that the pressure would keep the homicidal urges at bay. "I've been telling him no, but it looks as if he didn't listen to me." She blinked, a thought occurring to her. "I take it you're not seeing anyone either?"

Cyrus was staring at her, his jaw slack, but there was something in his eyes, some spark of something that took Sara aback momentarily. She blinked, but in that instant, it was gone, and she wondered if she was imagining things, especially when Cyrus echoed her earlier words. "I'm going to kill him."

"Stand in line," she commanded, a thought striking her. "Though maybe we should team up."

"We should?" He looked at her askance, and she gave him a jaunty shrug.

"Hey, you're a homicide detective, I'm a CSI. We both know how to work a scene, how to get rid of the evidence…we could get away with murder."

He smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Or…"

That was as much as he said, and she tilted her head in question. "Or?" she prompted.

He looked at his watch, then down at the ticket in his hand again. "Or, since we're both here, we could go look at the film." She arched one eyebrow, and he hastily added, "Look, we both know what Stokes had in mind. But we're here, and I don't know about you, but I do love this film. Besides, he had to work hard to get the tickets, get us both here…" The idea wasn't without appeal, she had to admit that. Cyrus was good company, she knew that, and it was a great movie. "Look, we don't have to run to the nearest wedding chapel," Cyrus continued, and she laughed. "Let's just see the film."

His joke made up her mind. "Sounds like a plan to me," she said, still smiling, and he grinned at her, stepping back and extending a hand, indicating that she should walk ahead of him. She took a couple of steps, then stopped, looking up at him curiously. "Just so I'm clear… we're still going to kill Nick, right?"

He didn't hesitate. "Oh totally."

She nodded. "That's ok then."

***

Cyrus was smiling to himself as the lights went up, feeling more relaxed than he had when he'd first entered the movie theatre. Seeing Sara outside had been an unexpected treat he'd thought, though he'd quickly revised his opinion when she'd told him what Nick had evidently done, especially when Sara had asked him if he was seeing anyone, told him exactly what Nick had said. Nick had joked about it to him, sure, but he'd been doing that for months, ever since he'd found out that Cyrus was interested in Sara, and Cyrus had been telling him every time to mind his own business, not to get involved. He'd never expected Nick to take matters into his own hands, hadn't believed it until Sara had put her ticket side by side with his own, seeing the adjacent numbers there.

His primary emotion had been shock, with an undercurrent of something that was very much like hope. For a fleeting instant, he'd seen that recognition play across her mortified face, and he'd schooled his features into an impassive mask, muttering threats of murder against Nick. That had brought her back to herself, as she'd begun planning how the two of them were two of the best people to literally get away with murder, and as she'd spoken, he'd realised something.

For all he was attracted to her, for all he really did want to get to know her better, she was still the same Sara Sidle that he'd been working with, talking to, for all these months. She wasn't just some random woman that he'd been fixed up with, she was his friend.

Friends could go to a movie together, right? No matter how they got there.

So he'd suggested that they see the film together. She'd lifted an eyebrow, and he'd pointed out that it was a great film, that they both liked it, that they didn't have to elope. It was just a film he was telling her, just between friends.

He was telling her that and he'd nearly sold it to himself, right up until she smiled.

She really did have a killer smile.

He hadn't let her see that, had just let her walk ahead of him into the movie theatre, and they'd found their seats just in time, the lights going down almost the second that they'd sat. The movie was as good as ever, and Sara seemed to know it just as well as he did, if the amount of times that they'd leaned into one another to point something out was anything to go by. All in all, he'd had a thoroughly pleasant time, and judging from the relaxed smile that she threw over her shoulder at him as she moved up the stairs, she had too.

No doubt about it Cyrus thought, he was going to owe Stokes for this.

Right after he killed him of course.

They were walking past the box office when Sara paused, her hands jammed in her jacket pockets, turning to him slowly. He blinked once, tilting his head in silent question, and she jerked her chin in the direction of the counter. "I was checking out the program before you came," she told him, her eyes uncertain. "'Dial M for Murder' is showing Friday afternoon."

He nodded, though he wasn't sure why; it wasn't as if he'd forgotten their conversation of just a couple of hours ago. "That's a good movie," he said slowly, weighing his options carefully. He wasn't sure if she was just making conversation, or if she was saying that she wanted to go. And if she did want to go, there was no reason to think that she would want him to go with her. He knew that the right thing to do would be to nod again, to keep his mouth shut, let her go over there and buy her ticket and not think any more about it.

He was all set to do that, until she nodded, this time with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. It made her look even more uncertain than she had a couple of seconds ago, though it was also undeniably cute. "Yeah," she said, and he literally saw the decision flash in her eyes. "You want to see it too?" The words could have been said more firmly, in fact, he was reasonably sure that that was the effect she'd been aiming for. The delivery though, was more hesitant, more unsure, and he fought the urge to grin at her, either in reassurance or delight, or a mixture of both.

"Depends," he said slowly, keeping his face blank, and her eyes widened slightly in what looked very like panic. "If I say yes am I going to see Stokes and not you?"

The moment he said Nick's name, she realised what he was doing, and she laughed out loud, in amusement or relief, Cyrus couldn't quite tell. "With a ticket for 'Dial M' on the big screen?" she asked, heading for the ticket booth as she spoke. "Not a chance."

"Sounds good to me," he murmured, more to himself than to her, but he changed his tune scant seconds later when she got to the booth and asked for two tickets, fishing the money out of her wallet and sliding it under the Plexiglas window. "How much do I owe you?" he asked her, craning his neck to see the price list for the Hitchcock Festival, but Sara waved her hand dismissively as she turned back to him, handing him his ticket.

"Don't worry about it," she said. "I've got these."

"Oh no." Cyrus's response was instant, automatic, and she looked up at him in surprise, opening her mouth, obviously preparing an objection, not that Cyrus was going to let her start one off. He knew that she was going to fight him on this, and he didn't much care, because it was something that had happened to him before, usually amid accusations of macho piggery. Because while Cyrus was well aware that this was a new millennium, that women were equal to men and were able to, and expected to, pay their way, Cyrus had been brought up by a very old fashioned mother who had drilled it in to her only son from his teenage years that it was the chivalrous thing to do for a gentleman to pay for a lady on a date. To this day, it was all Cyrus could do to agree to split the bill when the time came; to actually have a woman pay for the whole thing was anathema to him.

Old-fashioned? He'd been told that he was positively prehistoric, but he'd been living with that for the last twenty years, and couldn't see himself changing any time soon.

Even if this wasn't a date.

He didn't think Sara would be interested in the long story, so he kept it simple, repeating himself. "How much do I owe you?"

He was becoming very familiar with the Sara Sidle smirk and raised brow; this time, the arms crossed across her chest, hip thrust out slightly, her entire pose indicating amusement. "Are you under the impression that I'm unable to afford two movie tickets?" she demanded, her tone light. She was about an inch away from tapping her foot he figured, but he wasn't backing down.

"I'm sure you can," he told her, reaching for his wallet. "I'm equally sure that I can afford to pay for one." He was holding his wallet with one hand, checking the price on the ticket with the other when she literally took matters into her own hands, plucking the ticket from his grasp.

"Now Cyrus," she said, and he was vaguely and ridiculously reminded of his grandmother's reproving glare when, as a small boy, he'd chased his little sister around the garden with slugs. "If you don't want it, I'm sure Nick would be only too pleased to come with me…" She let her voice trail off, challenging him, daring him to call her bluff, and he had to admit that he could respect that. He knew from her stance, and from what he knew of her personality, that there was no way she was going to back down from this, that they could probably stand here in a stand-off until it was time to go into the theatre on Friday. The only problem was, he didn't exactly want to back down in front of her himself.

Which was when he remembered something else that his mother had taught him - the better part of valour is discretion. In other words she'd told her young son, there are times when it's all right to back down, just as long as you're doing it for the right reasons. When he'd grown older, he realised that Shakespeare might have had trouble with Mom's interpretation of Falstaff's wisdom, but right now, it seemed like pretty sound advice.

"I'm not gonna talk you round am I?" he asked, just to make sure, and she grinned, shaking her head from side to side with a happy smile. She looked pleased to have got her way, didn't seem to be looking beyond that. So he was faintly amused by the look of mild surprise on her face when he said, "Then will you at least let me buy you coffee?"

"Coffee?" she echoed, and it was his turn to flash her a quick half smile, combined with a shrug of the shoulders.

"Since you won't let me pay for my ticket-" He took the ticket from her, holding it up between them for emphasis. "-How about we go get some coffee?"

"Now?"

She seemed to be having some trouble with the idea, but more in an "I'm not sure what's going on here and I didn't see it coming but I'm kinda ok with it" kind of way, as opposed to a "This guy is creeping me out" kind of way, which at least gave Cyrus some hope. "Now would be good," he joked, giving her a wider smile this time, hoping to coax the same out of her. "Or we can leave it till Friday if you prefer."

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, they were more than a little curious. "What do you think Nick would make of that?" she asked, and his heart came to a shuddering stop before painfully lurching to life again. He could feel her pulling away from him, putting distance between them, and he wasn't sure he knew how to stop it. So he did the only thing he could to stall for time.

"We can invite him along if you like."

He was only partly joking, and the smile she gave him was weak in the extreme. "Why do I get the feeling that there's something you're not telling me?" she asked. "It's been in the back of my mind ever since you got here…"

There was only one option left - honesty. "I didn't know that Nick was gonna do this, if that's what you think," he told her, holding his hands up as if to ward off anything she might say or do in the next few minutes. After a pause, long enough for her to say anything she wanted, he continued. "But I'm not gonna pretend I'm sorry that he did." He paused again, looked down at the golden diamonds patterning the crimson carpet of the theatre lobby. When he looked up at her again, her lower lip was once more caught between her teeth, her face doubtful. "I know you were dating someone…and I know you mightn't want to start anything up right now. But bottom line, I like you. I'd like to get to know you better. If it leads to somewhere, that's great. But if it doesn't, if we just stay friends, I'm fine with that too. But right now? I just want to get a cup of coffee with you."

His eyes had been locked with hers for much of the last statement, but he still couldn't figure out what she was going to do, what she was going to say. His heart sank when she looked down at the carpet, her shoulders rising and falling as she sucked in a deep breath. In the suddenly still lobby, her exhalation of breath was like a hurricane wind, and it seemed a long time before she lifted her head to look at him.

Then she smiled.

Chapter Text

Part Fifteen - Dinner Redux

It was almost a week after Nick had sent him to the movie theatre on a pretext, and Cyrus was pretty sure, though he'd deny it were he ever asked, that he hadn't yet stopped smiling. Oh, to be sure, he'd wanted to kill his friend for setting the two of them up like that, even though Nick had long been threatening to do it. Cyrus had just never expected him to go through with it. He had to hand it to the man though; he'd pulled it off, neither he nor Sara having suspected a thing, and Cyrus had even surprised himself when he'd suggested that the two of them go to see the film, regardless of Nick's motives. They'd ended up enjoying themselves, with her surprising him by inviting him to see "Dial M For Murder" with her that Friday, and he hadn't had to think twice.

Then he'd surprised himself, and definitely her, when she'd seen something, figured out that there was something she wasn't being told. He'd known there was no point in lying to her, so he'd told her the truth; that he liked her.

He'd expected her to head for the hills, at the very least to give him hell for not having said something before, or to accuse him and Nick of orchestrating this whole thing. She hadn't though, hadn't said anything, just smiled at him.

They'd gone to a coffee place just down the street, sitting across from one another in one of the little booths looking out onto the street, and thanks to the movie, they hadn't had to look hard for a conversational starting point. He'd been surprised when she told him that she'd never pegged him for the kind of man who was interested in old movies, and he'd laughed, wondering what had given her that idea. She'd flushed red, embarrassed, shrugging her shoulders, looking at him out of the corner of her eye when she spoke. "I guess I just expected you to have the same taste as Nick," she'd said simply. "He likes more … " She'd struggled with a name for it before coming up with, "Action oriented films."

Knowing Nick's taste, Cyrus hadn't bothered to deny it. "I like that too," he'd acknowledged. "Though I sometimes have too much of it in real life to see it on the screen too." She'd nodded in agreement. "The other stuff? I think it's genetic." From her questioning squint, he'd elaborated. "My mom was a huge Grace Kelly fan. You couldn't talk to her when one of her movies was on the television … I still remember the day she died … I came home to find Mom in tears in front of the television … she acted like it was a member of the family that had died."

As he'd finished the story, he'd wondered how the uber-rational Sara Sidle would react to it, and he'd been surprised to see her nodding in agreement. "It was my grandmother," she'd said, a far-away smile on her face. "She actually named her youngest daughter after her … my aunt Grace."

"You're kidding me." Cyrus hadn't mentioned that his mother had wanted to do that when his two sisters were born, his father having over-ruled her.

"I remember that day too," Sara had continued. "My parents didn't believe in television, though we did have one in the B&B. They hardly ever switched it on … me and my brother would have to sneak in to see stuff. I remember Gran calling us, in tears, telling Mom to turn on the television … " She'd paused then, shaking her head, biting her bottom lip. "I remember her singing "True Love" to me as a lullaby when I was a kid … I think of it every time I see that film." He'd smiled at that, his mind's eye filling in the image of her as a child, finding it nothing short of adorable, and she'd flushed red, as if seeing into his thoughts. "That sounds pretty silly huh?" she'd asked, but he wasn't going to let her away with that.

"No," he'd said simply. "It sounds nice." And it did sound nice, because he liked hearing about her life before she'd come to Vegas, liked hearing about more than Sara Sidle the professional that he worked with. She gave him a quick smile before she looked down, and he sensed that she might not be comfortable with going into so much detail so quickly, so he turned the topic to something safer. "So, what other movies do you like? Was a fan working the Tom Haviland case?"

She'd chuckled, rolling her eyes, launching into a discussion about that particular case, more particularly the court case that had ensued, and what she termed the ritual disembowelling of the CSI team. That had led to him telling her about his most horrendous courtroom experiences, the two of them ending up playing a game of "Can you top that?" From there, they'd actually got back to movies and their particular tastes, and he'd been sorry when they'd both reached the end of their coffee cups, and a glance at his watch had told him that it was time he was heading out. From the look on her face, she seemed to be disappointed to have to leave as well, though that might have been just wishful thinking on his part, and he'd made arrangements with her to meet on Friday to see "Dial M."

The last thing that they'd done before going their separate ways was to work out a strategy for dealing with Nick, and no sooner had Cyrus reached his car than his cell phone rang, with the Texan CSI on the other end. Cyrus had bitten back a smile initially upon seeing the name on the caller ID, but his good humour had soon vanished when he remembered what Nick had done, going against what he'd specifically told him. "Lockwood," was all he'd said in greeting, waiting to hear what Nick sounded like.

His friend had been exceedingly chipper, as usual. "Hey man," he said. "How'd it go?"

Playing dumb, Cyrus had leaned back in his seat, making himself comfortable. "How'd what go?"

There had been a moment of silence before Nick had replied, sounding much less sure of himself. "The movie … you and Sara?"

He got points for honesty, but not much else. "I wanted to talk to you about that," Cyrus had told him flatly. "Didn't I tell you not to fix the two of us up? Didn't I tell you that explicitly?"

"Well, I know you said that," Nick had told him. "But c'mon … she's available, you're available, you get on well … "

"That's because we're friends Nick." Cyrus had purposely emphasised the word friends. "I take it you're familiar with the concept?"

"Sure … " Nick had sounded sceptical, drawing the word out, and Cyrus had been able to picture the confused look on his face exactly, as Nick searched for the right words to phrase his question. "So … you ah … you met her all right?"

"Oh we bumped into one another," was all Cyrus had told him. "But word to the wise man … you think I'm pissed at you?"

There had been a moment of silence, then an even more uncertain, "Really?"

"Yeah." Cyrus had given him a moment to let that sink in before finishing up with, "I'd watch out if I were you. Talk to you later." With that, he'd hung up, leaving the rest of torturing Nick to Sara, having utter confidence in her to carry out her part.

As it turned out, his confidence had been well placed, as she'd told him over coffee on Friday following "Dial M." Once again, they'd both enjoyed the film, spending their time over coffee talking about it and other favourites, and she'd pulled the Hitchcock Festival flyer out of her pocket, pointing out with some disgust that "Rear Window" wasn't showing. "I have it at home," he'd told her. "The remastered DVD version."

Her eyes had grown wide, clearly impressed. "A true aficionado," she'd said. "I've just got the same crappy video recorder I've had since college … which is dying on its feet, but … "

The words had been out of his mouth before he'd had time to think about them. "You should come over," he'd told her. "See what you're missing."

Her coffee cup had frozen mid-way to her lips, just for a second before it had continued on its path, and she hadn't taken her eyes off his as she drank, giving herself plenty of time to consider it. He'd briefly thought about taking back the offer, but stood firm, waiting her out. Eventually, she'd made up her mind. "When?" she suggested, and he'd had to battle the beaming smile that threatened to spread across his face.

"Whenever's good for you," he'd told her, leaving the ball firmly in her court, letting her know that she was calling the shots.

"How's Sunday?" she'd asked, and he'd wondered if it was a good or bad thing that she'd picked a day so soon. Did it mean that she wanted to see him again? Or was it that she wasn't giving herself any time to talk herself out of it?

Either way, he hadn't been about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Sunday's great," he'd told her, giving her directions to his place, sorting out a time before changing the subject back to the film, and about torturing Nick, always a favourite subject.

That had been Friday, and now it was Sunday, and Cyrus was debating the wisdom of having invited Sara to his place at all. He'd paid more attention to cleaning than he ever had before, spring-cleaning the place to within an inch of its life, making sure that, as his mother would say, everything was ship shape and Bristol fashion. He'd doubled checked the connections for the DVD player, even though he knew it was working fine, and now it was just about time for Sara to arrive, and he was standing over the cooker, making sure that that was all right too.

At exactly the time they'd agreed on, the doorbell rang, and Cyrus hurried to the door, nodding at Sara when he saw her there. "You found it ok then?" he asked, rather unnecessarily he knew, but she answered anyway.

"Yeah, no problem … " She looked like she was about to say something else, but her voice began trailing off during that answer as she looked around her, sniffing suspiciously. "Something smells good."

"Secret family recipe," he told her, leading her through the living room, towards the kitchen. Glancing back at her, he saw the surprised look on her face, which took him aback. "What? I said I'd take care of dinner … "

"I thought you meant takeout," she told him. "I didn't expect you to cook … "

He shrugged, making a joke out of it. "Don't expect wonders," he said. "But in my experience it's hard to screw up pasta and Mom's vegetable sauce."

"No meat?" she asked, and he gave her a look.

"You're vegetarian." It wasn't a question, nor was it a recrimination, just a simple statement of fact. Her eyes opened wide though, his narrowing in reaction. "Hippy parents … Grissom and pigs … remember?"

"Yeah … " she said, her voice very quiet and far away. "I remember."

There was something he was missing, he knew it, but he wasn't going to ask her about it. She'd tell him in her own time whatever it was. "You want something to drink?" he asked instead. "Soda … beer … wine … "

A wicked grin appeared on her face. "You trying to get me drunk Cyrus?"

He smiled back. "Wouldn't dream of it."

***

Sara was honest enough to admit to herself that she'd spent the last couple of days wondering if going over to Cyrus's house was a good idea. It was one thing, she told herself, to go to the movies with him, go for coffee afterwards. Going to his home was different somehow, more intimate, and she wasn't sure what it meant, if it meant anything at all. She got over it by reminding herself that she'd had similar thoughts in the time between Nick setting them up and meeting him again on Friday, but that that had turned out all right. Why should this time be any different?

Except that it felt different, because he'd as good as told her that he was interested in her, after she'd told Lea, told Catherine, told Nick, that they were just friends. The denial had something of the ring of familiarity to her, with her having said that about Hank on more than one occasion, something that didn't sit well with her. She hadn't been telling the whole truth about Hank, she'd known that at the time, but she was telling the truth about Cyrus.

Except that when she was with him, talking with him, it didn't feel like it did when she was talking to Warrick or Nick or Greg, or any of the other guys around the lab. She could talk to him, sure, say anything to him, but since meeting him at the movie theatre, she'd figured out that there was something more there. Just what, she wasn't sure, because it didn't feel like it had when she'd talked to Hank, that nervous feeling like she was teetering on the edge of a precipice, about to fall off. It was far less complicated than that, and certainly less complicated than her feelings for Grissom had been.

She just wasn't quite sure what exactly it was yet.

There were times when she thought she knew Cyrus, when she'd had him pegged as a nice, friendly guy that she worked with sometimes. And there were times when he surprised the hell out of her. Like when he'd gone out of his way to talk to her when he'd seen her upset over the Eddie Willows case. She'd never got to thank him properly for that; Nick had interrupted her when she'd first tried, although she was pretty sure he knew how grateful she was. He'd surprised her again when he'd told her outside the movie theatre that he did like her, was interested in her as more than a friend, but that friendship was fine with him too. He'd left it all up to her while letting her know his feelings, something that precious few men in her experience were willing to do. He had a good sense of humour too, coming up with things she could tell Nick for maximum squirming, all of which had been most effective.

He'd invited her over to his place, and not only that, but he'd cooked, and cooked well. Sara was someone who, while she could cook, breakfast being a particular speciality of hers, didn't cook often, preferring eating out and takeout when she was hungry at home. She told herself that she worked too many long hours to be slaving over a hot stove as well, and when she'd gone to Cyrus's house, she'd just presumed that his philosophy had been the same.

One deep breath had disabused her of that notion.

He offered her a drink, detailing her choices, and she heard herself say, in what could only be described as a flirty tone of voice, "You trying to get me drunk Cyrus?" She couldn't believe that she'd come out with that, but his face had remained impassive, save for a mild smile.

"Wouldn't dream of it," had been his reply.

She bit back her instinctive response of "Shame," because that would have been a bridge too far, and as she glanced over at the cooker, the pots steaming happily there, she wondered just when Catherine Willows had set up shop in her brain like some demented Cyrano de Bergerac. "Wine … just one glass," she told him quickly. "I'm driving."

"No problem," he said, going over to the cupboard and taking down two glasses, his tone altering sharply when he saw her going over to the cooker, looking at the bubbling red sauce curiously. "Ah! No free samples."

She looked up at him curiously. "What if I don't like it?" she objected.

"You doubt my cooking skills?" he asked, holding up a hand before she could reply. "Don't answer that. All I will say is that as a trained CSI, you should know better than to reach a conclusion before the evidence is in." The last was said with the air of a trump card being played, and Sara knew when she was beaten, accepting her glass from him with nary a word. "You tell Stokes where you were going?" he asked after a moment, leaving his own glass down to stir the sauce before flicking off the gas underneath.

Sara chuckled, recalling the fun she'd had with Nick over the last few days. Ever since he'd cornered her in the break room the day he'd set her up with Cyrus and she'd given him one of her patented Sara Sidle glares, telling him with a drop dead air, "I'm not talking to you," and turning her back on him, he'd been hovering around her, trying to find out what had happened. She knew that Cyrus wasn't telling him anything, nor was she, which was making Nick crazy. "He asked me if I'd been talking to you recently," she said simply. "I said that I'd seen you around but that we hadn't really talked."

"He bought it?" Cyrus was draining the pasta as he spoke, his back to her, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

"He went off on this rant about how he's sorry if he spoiled our friendship, that he didn't mean to make it awkward between us … "

Cyrus threw a glance over his shoulder at her as he stirred the sauce through the pasta. "You want to let him off the hook?"

Sara wrinkled her nose. "Not really," she said, and he laughed before conscience got the better of her. "But I guess we should." She tilted her head then, regarding him curiously. "What do you want to tell him?"

"The truth," he said, turning to her with a plate in either hand, coming towards her. "That we went to see the film … that we're friends … that's all he needs to know." He didn't say "for now" at the end of that, but she could hear him thinking it.

And she really wouldn't have minded if he said it.

Dinner, despite her teasing, was wonderful, his mother's secret recipe a big hit with her, and she spent much of the first minutes of the meal trying to ascertain the ingredients, which he swore was a long held family secret. Nothing would make him tell her he said, but he did nod when she guessed an ingredient correctly. From there, the conversation flowed easily, and all too soon their plates were empty, their stomachs full, and Cyrus was talking about putting on some coffee. Sara offered to help with the clean-up, but Cyrus wouldn't hear of it, practically dragging her to her feet and shoving her towards the living room, telling her that he'd only be a few minutes and to make herself at home. Glass of wine in hand, she did as she was told, wandering into the spacious room, the chink of plates and cutlery from the kitchen the only sounds that she could hear.

She supposed that make yourself at home meant make yourself comfortable, but once inside the room, her training as a CSI took over, and she took the opportunity to look around the living room, at the shelves of the entertainment unit and the neat stacks of CDs and videos stored there. A cursory glance at the music section told her that his tastes were eclectic in the extreme, and the video section gave up the same kind of evidence. One video in particular, labelled in neat block black letters, made her eyebrows rise, made her look back towards the kitchen, considering calling out something to him. She thought better of it though, deciding to save it for a time when she could actually see his face. Moving across the room, she looked at the photographs on display on the mantel. There was one of a much younger Cyrus, shiny new out of the Academy by the looks of him, a man and woman on either side of him who must have been his parents. Looking at them, Sara could see that he took after his father, who was tall and lean, hair cropped close to his head, his smile framed by a goatee beard. His mother was the opposite, small and round, but with a smile just as warm and ready, and sparkling eyes that Sara was already familiar with. The woman looked warm and friendly, the kind of mother that anyone would love to have, and in the photograph, her arms were around Cyrus, and she was looking up at him, a proud smile on her face.

Beside that, there was a more recent photo, one that looked at if it had been taken at Christmas. The same man and woman were there, sitting on a couch, as was Cyrus, who was standing behind them, flanked by two other men. Two women sat on either side of his parents, one of whom had a small child on her lap, and there was another child, a boy who looked to be about three or four years old, perched somewhat precariously on the arm of the couch, another, about five or six standing beside him. It was a happy family photograph, the kind that Sara had never seen in her own house, and she wasn't quite sure how it made her feel. Turning, she jumped when she realised that Cyrus was standing right behind her. She'd been so lost in thought that she hadn't even heard him come in.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said mildly, looking past her at the photograph.

Sara swallowed hard again, wondering if he'd be pissed that she'd basically been investigating him when he'd come in. "I didn't mean-" she began, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"Forget it," he said, reaching a long arm over her shoulder, picking up the photograph. "This is Christmas before last," he said. "My parents, obviously. This is my little sister Kim-" He pointed at the woman who was holding the baby. "Her husband Rick, and their daughter, Stephanie. She's almost two now, just getting to the stage where she can talk … " A bright smile lit up his face, and he chuckled to himself as Sara felt a matching smile spreading across her own face. "And talk, and talk … " He pointed then to the other woman. "And this is my big sister Kelsey, her husband, Bobby, and their sons, Patrick and Charlie. They're seven and five now, and they've got a baby sister, just over a year old." His smile vanished suddenly, his eyes darkening. "Named her Jessica … after my mom."

Sara frowned, because there was something in his face that she'd seen before, but she wasn't quite sure where. "Your mom-" She didn't quite know how to finish phrasing the question, and Cyrus saved her by giving a terse nod.

"She passed last July … cancer. She'd beaten it five years ago, but it came back … " His voice trailed off, and Sara felt a pang of sympathy for him, remembering where she'd seen that look before. It had been at Nick's Christmas party, where he'd been telling her about how his mother had loved Christmas, how she'd made such a big deal of it every year, and she knew now what she hadn't known then; that that would have been his first Christmas without her. Just like then, the expression was there and gone in an instant, and she found herself looking at the friendly smile she'd been admiring a few minutes earlier.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

Cyrus met her gaze briefly, putting the picture back on the mantelpiece. "It was pretty quick, which is something … they say that she could have hung on for a long time, and we wouldn't have wanted that … but still … "

Reaching up, Sara put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. "I wish I'd met her." The words, while undoubtedly a cliché, were nonetheless sincere, and it was only when she said them that she realised just how true they were.

Even more to her surprise, Cyrus looked down at her, and, keeping his eyes on hers, reached up one of his hands, covering hers. "So do I," he said, his voice low, sending goosebumps rippling along Sara's flesh, making a shiver run up and down her spine. With a jolt, she realised that this was definitely what Lea and Catherine would class as "a moment" and she knew that good sense demanded that she step back, disentangle her hand from his, put some distance between them.

She stayed just where she was.

It was Cyrus who moved first, taking a step away and clearing his throat, and if Sara hadn't known better, she'd have sworn that he was blushing. "So, you have a good look around, CSI Sidle?" he asked, taking one last look at the mantelpiece before looking over at her again.

His tone was light so she knew he was teasing, but she found herself colouring slightly anyway. She couldn't deny that she'd been having a good look around, and the memory of something that had caught her eye banished any embarrassment that she may have been feeling. "Well, there were some things that I noticed in among the CD and video collection," she began, a smile spreading across her face as she moved away from him towards the shelves.

"Oh really?" He didn't move, just crossed his arms across his chest, lifting an eyebrow. "And what might that be?"

"Well, we'll talk about the Billy Joel you're hiding in there later … "

"Nothing wrong with Billy Joel," he objected, but she continued undeterred.

"I see you've got all your Hitchcock movies, your 'Rear Window' as promised, 'North by Northwest', 'The Birds', 'Psycho', though if you think I'm going to watch that, you're wrong … " Her hand reached out, finding the video she'd noticed before, the hand printed label easily legible. "And yet in the middle of it all, we have 'High Society'." She turned sharply in his direction then, holding up the tape label side to him as evidence. "Care to explain that Detective Lockwood?" To say that it wasn't the kind of film that she'd imagined him owning was putting it mildly, but he just shrugged in reply.

"Remember how you told me about your grandmother?" he asked, and she blinked, taken aback by the fact that he remembered it. "About how she used to sing you 'True Love' as a lullaby?"

Sara nodded slowly. "Sure."

"Well, like I just told you, I've got a two year old niece, and sometimes I babysit for her. This being the age of technology, and me not being able to carry a tune in a bucket, the quickest way to get her to sleep is to play that film for her." There was only the slightest of smiles on his face, his hands on his hips as he met her gaze.

Sara nodded slowly, turning away from him, sliding the video back into its place. "I see," she said slowly, turning back towards him then, heading towards the couch.

"You see?" He sounded mildly suspicious. "What do you see exactly?"

She looked up at him as she dropped down onto the couch, her eyes dancing with mirth. "I think I've got you all figured out now," she told him confidently, and he lifted an eyebrow in response.

"Do tell," was all he said, and his tone was mild, but Sara knew a veiled challenge when she heard one. She wanted to hold out for a while longer, but she never had been able to resist a challenge.

"Come on … " she began. "Homicide detective, father a fire-fighter, you go around trying to make everyone believe that you're this tough guy. Except that you've got a weakness for Grace Kelly films, and you listen to Billy Joel … you're just a big softie at heart aren't you?"

She was teasing him, and he seemed to take it in good stride. "You got me," he said, his shoulders rising and falling in an easy shrug. "Except there's one thing that you don't know about me."

Now it was Sara's turn to lift an eyebrow. "Oh really? And what would that be?"

She was slightly surprised when he came towards her, holding out his hand to her. "That I'm a pretty good dancer," he said, and she laughed in sheer shock.

"You're kidding me."

"Oh, I'm not."

"You said you don't dance," she reminded him, remembering Nick's Christmas party, the Time Warp, the two of them standing there, laughing at everyone trying to follow Greg.

"I don't usually," he corrected her, and that was obviously as much contradicting of his earlier statements as he was going to do, because he took her hand in his without further ado, pulling her to her feet, leading her away from the coffee table, towards the stereo, where they could move freely. Once they were closer, he pressed a couple of buttons with his free hand, scanning the CD, as she tried to figure out if he'd completely lost his mind.

"You want to dance with me here?"

"I do. To Billy Joel, no less." Evidently having found the song he wanted, he turned his full attention on her, pulling her closer to him, their joined hands resting over his heart, his other hand on the small of her back. Her free hand seemed to make its way of its own accord up to his shoulder, where it had been scant minutes before, and she shook her head, wondering at the blush that threatened to creep up her cheeks.

"I'm not a good dancer," she protested weakly, but he wasn't going to let a detail like that stop him.

"So I'll lead," he shrugged, tightening his hold on her, and she gave up fighting it, instead swaying to the music with him.

In spite of herself, her eyes brightened when she realised that she recognised the song that he'd picked. "Hey, I know this one," she said. "That's a Bob Dylan song."

He nodded, making an exaggeratedly impressed face. "So you're a Dylan fan then?"

"Not really … more my parents," she admitted, remembering countless hours of Bob Dylan that she'd heard on the B&B turntable as she was growing up. She'd been the only girl in her elementary school who knew all the words of "Blowing in the Wind" and when the Denzel Washington film "Hurricane" had come out, she'd silenced an entire break room full of San Francisco lab techs who were having an argument about the lyrics to the song. She'd recited the whole thing right then and there, quite enjoying the looks of stupefied amazement on their faces, regretting only that she hadn't put money on it with them. "Though I do like this song," she admitted. "Except that Nick keeps trying to get me to listen to the Garth Brooks version." She added the last with a distasteful shudder, and Cyrus laughed.

"Stokes does like his country," he admitted, and it was then that she heard the lyrics of the song, and she knew from the look in his eyes that he was listening to them too.

"I know you haven't made your mind up yet, but I would never do you wrong. I've known it from the moment that we met - no doubt in my mind where you belong … "

She glanced over at the stereo curiously, then back up at him. "You trying to tell me something Cyrus?" she asked, because the lyrics could have been written for them, and her investigator's mind was telling her that he hadn't chosen that song by accident.

If she expected a straight answer though, she didn't get one. Instead, he just looked at her, his face open and honest, his eyes serious. He never broke eye contact with her when he replied, and she knew that he would have been shrugging were he not holding her so close. "Me?" he replied, "I'm just dancing."

There were a thousand things that Sara could have said to him, but she didn't give voice to any of them. Instead, she just held his gaze for a long moment as Billy Joel's voice floated around them, and when he began to sing of winds of change blowing wild and free, she laid her head down on his shoulder, closing her eyes, sliding her free arm around his neck.

She wasn't sure, but she thought that she felt a light kiss to the side of her head, but she knew that she wasn't hearing things when a second voice joined in the song. He wasn't singing as such, more like whispering under his breath, but the words were clear.

"I could make you happy, make your dreams come true. There's nothing that I would not do. Go to the ends of the earth for you, to make you feel my love."

Once again, she was struck by the knowledge that this was "a moment", and she knew what she should do.

She kept dancing.

Chapter Text

Part Sixteen - Fete

Sara paced the floor of her apartment restlessly, resisting the urge to return to her wardrobe and change her clothes for at least the fourth time, all the while telling herself that she was being ridiculous, and that she was just imagining the butterflies in her stomach. It was just Cyrus, she told herself. They were friends, they'd been friends for months, and friends could spend time together on their days off.

A little voice that sounded very like Lea sounded in her head though, reminding her that friends didn't worry over what to wear for one another, that friends didn't make her feel like she was some bubble-headed teenager preparing for her first date. Nor, the voice said, did friends slow dance in the living room, arms wrapped around one another, bodies pressed together.

She pushed the voice to the back of her head as best she could, but she couldn't help sighing with relief when the doorbell rang. It could only be Cyrus and maybe if she talked to him, the voice wouldn't gain purchase on her thoughts.

But when the little voice mocked that friends didn't usually pick one another up at home, that they usually met where they were going, she realised that that wasn't going to happen.

She had the perfect counter-argument to that at least though, because Cyrus hadn't actually told her where they were going. Sunday, they'd had dinner at his place, ended up slow dancing to Billy Joel before talking for hours. She'd gone back to her place, rushing in when she'd heard the phone ringing, just about getting to it before it stopped, only to find Cyrus on the other end, checking to make sure she'd got home all right. He hadn't talked long, but he'd called her the next day, wondering when she was off, if she'd like to go someplace with him. Those had been his exact words, and she'd wondered if he was asking her for a date. She hadn't asked him that though, had been all prepared to ask him more questions about where they were going. Her mouth had betrayed her though, the only word emerging being, "Sure." She'd named the day, he'd said he'd pick her up, and when she pointed out that she didn't know what to wear, he'd told her to dress casually. She'd followed his advice; eventually picking blue jeans and a simple white top, not-too-high heeled boots. She'd left her hair out, the way that she always wore it, and had debated wearing make up, but scratched the idea when multiple changes of outfit had meant that she'd run out of time.

Opening the door, she found that Cyrus had dressed casually too, blue jeans like hers, paired with a black shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the top couple of buttons of the shirt undone, and the little Lea-voice emitted a low growl of approval. "Hey," he said, smiling easily at her, not being privy to her mortification at the voice's antics. "You ready?"

"Sure." Sara grabbed her purse and keys, making sure that the place was securely locked up before she walked with him out to the car. "You know, you still haven't told me where we're going yet," she pointed out, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and he chuckled, shrugging his shoulders.

"Funny that," was all he said, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Come on," she said. "We're on our way now."

He lifted one eyebrow, opening the passenger side door for her, waiting for her to get in. "So you don't have much longer to wait then," he said, and shaking her head, she got into the car.

The trip passed quickly, with her bugging him for location hints, him dodging artfully, any silences filled by the music from the radio, no Billy Joel this time though. Just as she'd thought, conversation with Cyrus banished any sense of nervousness that Sara had been feeling, and by the time the car began to slow down, she was enjoying herself immensely. Looking around her then, she realised where they were, where he'd brought her, and she threw her head back and laughed.

"You're kidding me," she managed to get out, looking across at him to see that he was laughing too.

"I am not," he assured her. "We've had the conversation twice now, and have you yet been to a carnival?"

Still laughing, Sara looked out the window at the bright lights of the carnival, visible even from this distance. She could hear the sounds of people enjoying themselves, laughing and having fun, and just for a moment she looked at him, incredulous that he would not only remember such a small detail of one of their conversations, but that he would actually act on that remembrance. "I can't believe you did this," she murmured, and he shrugged.

"It's not like I organised the carnival," he quipped. "I just saw the posters… thought you might enjoy it."

She glanced over at the lights again, then back at him. "I'll kick your ass at the milk can throw," she told him, and he laughed.

"That a challenge?"

"Loser buys the cotton candy."

"You're on." He held out his hand and they shook on it before getting out of the car, walking into the fairground.

Sara hadn't been lying to Cyrus when she'd told him that it had been years since she'd been to a carnival. She had worked that case with Catherine two years ago, the little girl drowned by her own mother in the Tunnel of Love, but that had been work. That didn't count, which meant that the last time she went to a carnival and fully enjoyed it must have been her senior year in high school.

That hadn't been nearly as much fun as this one.

The bet that they'd just made meant that the first place they had to find had to be the milk can throw, where they spent the first couple of minutes haggling over the rules of the bet. Deciding that the simplest route would be to go on who knocked down more cans from the triangle of ten, Cyrus let Sara go first, saying something about "Ladies first." She didn't object, just raised an eyebrow and paid her money, taking the balls from the vendor, taking careful aim and throwing the first one. It hit the top can, which wobbled, but didn't fall, just moved slightly, and a snicker from behind her only made Sara throw the second ball harder. This time, two cans fell to the ground, the third ball yielding two more. Turning, Sara saw Cyrus looking at her, arms crossed over his chest, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "That the best you can do?" he asked, and she grinned, knowing he was teasing her, mimicking his posture.

"These things are all weighted down," she told him quietly, her back to the vendor so that he couldn't hear her, and Cyrus laughed out loud at that.

"Oh really?"

"Yes really," she told him, and when he didn't move, she looked at him archly. "Well Detective?" she asked, smiling as sweetly as she knew how. "We going to see what you've got any time soon?"

Cyrus shrugged, walking confidently to the vendor. "I think that can be arranged." As Sara watched, he threw his first ball, aiming for the base of the pyramid. The ball flew through the air, faster than hers had, and hit its target, one of the base cans going flying, taking some of the cans above with it. Sara blinked in surprise, but Cyrus didn't turn, didn't say anything, just took aim with the second ball, four more cans falling to the ground. Three cans were left now, and Cyrus took his time aiming for them, and sure enough, after the ball was thrown, the three cans joined the seven others on the ground, leaving Sara gaping at Cyrus in shock.

"How did you-" she began, and he shot her an "Are you kidding me?" look as he accepted his prize, a stuffed bear, some nine inches high, from the vendor.

"I might play basketball with Stokes," he told her. "But I played baseball in high school."

"Baseball?" she echoed.

"All State since you ask," he told her, holding out the bear to her. "Here," he said, making her blink in surprise again. "Consolation prize."

She hesitated for a moment, then took the bear, putting it into her purse, arranging it so that the head peeked out. "Well, since the last thing you gave me was a bag of someone else's stomach contents… " she reminded him, and he frowned at first before remembering what she was talking about.

"I'm learning," he said, taking a step towards her, resting his hands on her shoulders. He looked down at her for what seemed like a long time to Sara, though it could only have been seconds, and she was sure that he was going to kiss her. Instead though, he turned her around, pointing her in the direction of the cotton candy stall. "But I believe you have to get me something now…"

Smiling, though inwardly more than a little rattled, Sara walked with him to the cotton candy stand, buying them one each as per the terms of the bet. She even managed to banter with him on the way there, though her mind wasn't quite fully engaged on the conversation. She was more concerned with the look that had been in Cyrus's eyes when his hands were on her shoulders, the thought that had been going through her head. She'd been sure that he was going to kiss her, and since they were just friends, that shouldn't be allowed.

The little Lea-voice made a sudden reappearance though, pointing out that it wasn't something that she would have minded.

They decided to walk around as they ate their cotton candy, just to see what was there, a plan that worked out well until they got to the Ferris wheel. Standing at the bottom, looking up at the huge structure, the lights of the cars merrily going around, Sara was reminded of all the times that she'd gone up in one of those cars with her father or mother back in Tomales Bay. They hadn't done very many things together as a family, but the carnival was a big thing for them, and they'd gone every year. The Ferris wheel had always been her favourite. She turned to Cyrus to say that they should go on it, only to find that he was already leading her to the end of the queue. Her surprise must have shown on her face because he looked at her curiously. "You want to go on it don't you?" She narrowed her eyes in answer, because unless he'd taken up mind reading as a hobby, she had no idea how he knew that. "You told me that you used to love the Ferris wheel," he continued, and it was only then that she remembered saying that to him, the first time that he'd found her when she was maxed out on overtime, when she helped him find a print on a diving knife.

An off-the-cuff comment, made in passing months ago. And he remembered.

"I still love the Ferris wheel," she told him, gladly getting in line.

The queue wasn't too long, and they were among the next group of people who got on. For Sara, it was almost like going back in time, the familiar thrill still shooting through her when the bar came down over them, when the seat began to rise. "You should have seen me when I was a kid," she told Cyrus, looking over at him, at the same time as tucking a piece of windblown hair behind her ear. "I used to beg my parents to bring me on this… I'd have stayed on it all night if they'd have let me."

Cyrus was smiling back at her. "I'd've liked to see that," he told her, his voice more serious than might have been warranted, and a shiver ran up Sara's spine. The rational part of her mind blamed it on the wind, even as the Lea-voice snickered derisively.

"It used to look amazing," Sara continued, hoping to cover up her reaction to his words. "When the car got to the top, you'd be able to see the lights of town, boats on the bay, the water glistening… "

"Does the carnival still come there?" Cyrus asked, and she tilted her head, thinking.

"I'm not sure. Probably. I don't go home much," she admitted, somewhat sheepishly. She knew that Cyrus was close to his family, wasn't sure how he'd feel about the fact that she wasn't.

She might have been expecting him to say something disapproving, but he just shrugged, letting the matter go with the simple comment, "You should go back there some time," he said. "See if it's as pretty as you remember."

"Maybe." The lack of enthusiasm in her own voice surprised her, but his only reaction was a raised eyebrow. "I don't know… maybe it's just better to leave well enough alone." Because she didn't have very many happy memories of Tomales Bay, and she didn't want anything to happen to the ones that she did have.

She'd been looking at him this whole time, but now he looked away quickly, looking back at her and jerking his head out into the distance. "Did it look like that?"

Sara followed his gaze, her breath catching at the sight before her. They weren't at the top of the wheel yet, but they weren't far off, and already she could see the lights of Vegas spreading out before them. It was a clear night, and there was a faint smattering of stars in the sky, and at this distance from the ground, the noise of the carnival had faded to background chatter. It felt almost like they were the only two people in the world, and once again, a shiver ran the length of Sara's spine.

"Wow," she said eventually.

A laugh came from the other side of the carriage. "Sara Sidle, speechless. I never thought I'd see the day."

All she could do was laugh in return, because it wasn't something that happened to her often. The lights were a good reason for it though. "It's just… doing what we do, seeing what we see every day… " she began, tearing her eyes from the lights to look at him. "You forget… you don't know how beautiful it looks."

He was quiet for so long that she felt her cheeks growing warm, sure that he would think her crazy. She thought he might make fun of her, but he just nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off her. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I can buy that."

She'd blushed a little during the moment of silence, but now she felt more heat climbing into her cheeks, and she looked away, back up at the lights in the hopes that it wouldn't be noticed. If it was, he didn't comment on it, the next words from his mouth serving to point out one of the landmarks to her, which lead to her doing the same, the small talk banishing any residual embarrassment.

They were laughing again by the time they got off the Ferris wheel, once again beginning to wander aimlessly through the carnival, looking at all the rides that defied gravity, all of which Sara refused point blank to go near. Being turned upside down and inside out wasn't her idea of a good time, though she was having a good time walking through the place with Cyrus, just seeing what was there, looking at other people more brave than she. They must have got there reasonably early Sara decided, because there seemed to be far more people here now than there had been when she and Cyrus were last on the ground. As befitted a carnival, there were a goodly number of children there, all screaming at the top of their lungs, chasing one another around, not paying the slightest bit of attention to where they were going. Sara found this out personally when a little boy, who couldn't have been more than ten years old, ran into her at full tilt, knocking her off balance. She would have fallen had she not grabbed at Cyrus's arm, had he not demonstrated considerable reflexes, one arm going around her waist, the other grabbing her arm. The boy, having no-one to hold on to, ended up sprawled on the ground, leaping to his feet almost instantly, sputtering apologies before running off again, just as quickly. Sara looked at him go, not quite able to find it in her heart to be annoyed at him; after all, she'd been that age once, had run around the Tomales Bay carnival just like that.

"Are you ok?"

She was so lost in memory that Cyrus's voice came as a shock to her, but not as much of a shock as realising that she was in his arms, with him standing as close to her as he had when they'd been slow dancing in his living room. Not only that, but he was staring at her with a look of such concern on his face, such emotion in his eyes, that every drop of moisture evaporated from her mouth.

"Friends," she told herself firmly. "Think friends." Another mocking laugh came from the Lea-voice, and she forced herself to nod, releasing his arm. "I'm fine," she said aloud. "Really."

He didn't look convinced, but he wasn't going to argue with her either. He didn't say anything in fact, just dropped his hand from her arm too, using it to gesture forwards in invitation, indicating that they should keep walking. Sara was only too happy to do so, but she was very aware that he hadn't taken his arm from around her waist, that it was settled there as if that was its rightful place.

She knew she should step away, break the contact because after all, it wasn't a very just-friendly gesture.

She did nothing of the sort.

His arm was still around her waist when they stopped at the next ride. "Teacups," he said, grinning, looking down at her. "My sister Kim hated these… I always used to dare her to ride them and she'd never back down… I've never seen anyone be as sick as she used to get."

The story would have made her laugh were it not for the fact that she was still hung up on the first word. "What did you call them?" she asked curiously.

"Teacups," he replied, casting a glance in that direction. "Why?"

"We always called them Cups And Saucers," she replied. "My mom is terrified of them too." But not her; in fact, they were one of the few rides that she'd ever enjoyed as a child.

"But not you?" The words were uttered with the air of a gauntlet being thrown down, and just like his sister, she'd never been one to back down from a challenge.

The line for the ride was pretty short, the demand surprisingly few, so Sara and Cyrus were able to have a car to themselves, gripping on to the guard-rail tightly, for once unable to talk as centrifugal force flattened them against the back of the Teacup, stealing the breath from their mouths. Sara was still able to muster the wherewithal for an involuntary shriek of mirth when the ride started, another one when the motion slammed her into Cyrus. By the time the ride was winding down, she'd remembered why she loved it as a child, the shouts of the other passengers, the looks on their faces as they whizzed by at speed.

Of course, fun as it was, she also remembered one of the downsides of the ride, and that was the utter havoc that it wreaked on her hair, which, thanks to the Ferris wheel and general wear and tear had already suffered more than enough punishment for one night. As the motion slowed, still laughing, she peeled her hands from their death grip on the barrier, attempting to restore some semblance of order.

"That was fun," she laughed, turning to Cyrus, barely able to observe him through a curtain of hair. He was laughing too, not just from the ride, but from her appearance she thought, and she didn't think anything of it when his hands reached out towards her face.

"Let me help you out there." The words were spoken humorously, but when his hands touched her hair, smoothing it back gently, when Sara felt the first touch of his palm against her skin, when she realised how close together they were sitting, how he was leaning into her, any urge she had to laugh completely disappeared. It seemed that Cyrus was experiencing the same thing, because his smile faded, replaced by the same look that had been on his face right before they bought cotton candy, the same look that had been on his face when they'd danced in his living room.

She knew exactly what he was going to do when he ended up cupping her face in his hands. She knew exactly what was going to happen, and she couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to. Frozen in place, she watched as he leaned in, closing any distance between them, and the only movement she made was her eyes flickering closed a split second before he fitted his lips to hers.

The ride was still winding down, but that in no way accounted for the spinning that Sara's head was doing as Cyrus kissed her. Not that it was a long kiss, in fact, as kisses go, it was fairly innocent. But there was nothing innocent in the way that Sara's body reacted to it, or her heart.

She was actually disappointed when Cyrus pulled back, first a smile, then a flicker of doubt crossing his face. "I'm sorry," he breathed, and she could barely hear him over the noise of the carnival. Sorry as he might be though, he didn't move his hands from her face, one thumb tracing a path over her cheek. "But I have wanted to do that for the longest time… "

She knew that she should say something, anything, to him. Something to tell him that it was all right, something to tell him that she didn't mind. She couldn't find the words though, so she did the only thing she could think of.

She leaned forward and kissed him again.

It started off as had the first kiss, almost chaste, but this time it escalated, growing more intense as Sara wound one arm around Cyrus's neck, opening her mouth to him, running her tongue over his upper lip. He pressed her closer to him in response, and she didn't know where it might lead to, and didn't get a chance to find out, interrupted as they were by the sound of a throat being cleared.

Reluctantly they moved apart, finding themselves looking red-faced at a grubbily dressed teenaged boy, baseball cap doing little to disguise the fact that he was as red-faced as they. "You have to get off the ride now," he mumbled, and Sara made to stand, but was stopped by Cyrus's hand moving to her arm.

"Here," he said, reaching into his pocket, pulling out the first note he found and giving it to the boy. "That should cover it." The boy looked like he was going to protest, but the look of barely contained impatience mingled with irritation on Cyrus's face stopped anything that he might have said.

"OK," he said, moving off, and Sara looked at Cyrus in amazement.

"You do realise that was a twenty you just handed him, right?" she asked. "I mean, we could be here all night."

A slow smile spread across his face as her words registered with him. "In that case," he said, drawing her close again, "I'd say it's worth every penny."

Chapter Text

Part Seventeen - Evolution

(Forever)

Cyrus reached for the remote control as the end credits of "North by Northwest" began to crawl up the television screen, pressing the rewind button, muting the sound on the television immediately thereafter. "I do like that film," he said, a comment that was greeting with a chuckle from Sara.

"I could tell from all the attention you paid to it," she told him dryly, and he lifted one eyebrow at her, throwing the remote blindly towards the table. He did his best to hold a reasonably impassive expression on his face, but it was fairly difficult considering the position that he was in. They were in Sara's apartment, lying together on the couch, with him on his side, back pressed up against the back of the couch. Sara was lying on her back, one of his arms underneath her, one of her hands even now running up and down the arm that had held the remote control, the arm which was now resting against her body, his hand on her hip.

He'd wanted this to happen, had wanted to be here like this with her for a long time. He'd told her that much at the carnival the first time that he'd kissed her, and he hadn't been lying. It just blew his mind that that had happened only a couple of days ago. He kept expecting something to happen, for her to say that it had been a mistake, that they shouldn't be doing this, but it hadn't happened so far. He'd gone home from the carnival with her, had walked her to her door, but hadn't gone in to the apartment, telling her instead that he wanted to take it slow. Her sense of relief had been palpable, but she'd still kissed him for a long time standing in the hallway, and he'd literally had to tear himself away from her, had to force himself to leave. That had been two days ago, and he'd called her up yesterday, asked her out for dinner. She'd accepted, and he'd picked her up, despite her insistence that she could meet him at the restaurant. They'd had a nice meal and once again he'd taken her home. He'd gone into the apartment this time though, his goodbye even more protracted than the previous night's, and before he'd left, she'd suggested that he come over today before they both went into work, suggesting that they could watch a movie, agreeing finally on "North by Northwest."

She was right though - they really hadn't seen much of the movie.

"That's not my fault," he told her now, his fingers tracing patterns on the denim at her hips. "Someone kept distracting me…"

She chuckled soft and low. "It's not my fault you're easily distracted… "

"I'm not going to win on this, am I?" He already knew the answer though, wasn't surprised when she wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. "Didn't think so," he murmured, leaning down then to distract her some more.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, sharing long slow kisses, before he pulled back. It was long enough for them both to be breathing hard, for her cheeks to be flushed pink, for her fingers to have strayed to unbutton the top two buttons of his shirt. If he kept kissing her, there was only one place where this was going to end up, and he didn't want to go there just yet.

She gave a sheepish smile up at him which he returned in kind, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair back behind her ear. It was the same gesture which had led to their first kiss, and he fought back a smile at the memory, covering it up by leaning forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Shifting slightly then, he arranged them so that she was wrapped in his arms, face to face, her fingers still playing with the material of his shirt. "I'm gonna have to go soon," he told her, because he had to get to work, wanted to shower and change at home before he did. "Work," he added, by way of explanation.

She screwed up her whole face in disgust. "No work… let's stay here."

He laughed out loud at that. "Top ten things I never thought I'd hear you say," he told her. "That's number one."

She slapped at his arm, but not hard, and she was laughing too. "I can be easily distracted too," she replied, and he shook his head, knowing that that wasn't true.

"All evidence to the contrary," he said, because she was the single most focussed person he'd ever met.

She looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully, tilting her head in consideration, before allowing him that. "Point taken." She ran a hand up his arm, her brow furrowing in concentration as she did so, and he knew, without knowing how, that what she was about to say was the opening gambit in the conversation that they'd been studiously avoiding over the last couple of days. "It's just… I'm doing a lot of things I wouldn't normally do lately."

"Oh? Like what?"

She shrugged one shoulder, eyes narrowed on the movements of her fingers against the buttons of his shirt. "Being here like this," she said. "Having this conversation in the first place." That was uttered with a chuckle, and Cyrus found himself smiling. "It just… it feels like I only broke up with Hank five minutes ago… and now there's this… and it's you… " A sigh broke up her halting speech, and she looked into his eyes, doubt evident in her gaze. "I'm lousy at relationships Cyrus," she confided, and he stopped her talking by cupping her cheek with his hand again, pressing his thumb against her lips for a moment.

"We're friends Sara," he reminded her. "No matter what else happens, that's not going to change."

"You can't promise that."

"Sure I can." There wasn't a tremor of doubt in his voice, or in his heart. "I like you Sara. I've liked you for a long time." He'd told her that before, but in the context of this conversation, he didn't think it would do any harm to mention it again. "And if this thing between us doesn't work out, I'm still going to be your friend." Because she'd become too much a part of his life for anything else to be true. "I am always going to be in your life." She closed her eyes tightly at the words, and his hand moved from her cheek to her hair, fingering the fine strands carefully. "Don't think about it so much," he said. "Let's just go with this…see where we end up."

A smile broke through the doubt, and she opened her eyes to stare up at him. "That's the part I'm not good at," she admitted.

"Well," he reminded her. "You did say you were doing things you wouldn't normally do… "

The look she gave him might have been exasperation, a little amusement thrown in. "You've got an answer for everything don't you?"

"Not for what we should tell people at work," he said, regretting the words the instant they left his lips, because her face lost all traces of humour. "Or not," he added hurriedly.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second. When she opened them again, all the doubt that he'd ever seen in her face was back there, and then some. "Can we just… can we just not tell people for the moment? See where we end up?"

He smiled at the echo of his earlier words, his hand going to her cheek. "Yeah," he said, bringing his lips to hers again. "We can do that."

***

Cyrus moved through the halls of the police department, on his way to Brass's office. He wasn't quite sure why the captain was looking for him, but it wasn't exactly an unusual occurrence, more than likely for an update on the case that he was working on, the case of the two dead teenagers in the desert. He'd been surprised, but not unpleasantly so, when Brass had called him earlier on that day, telling him where the crime scene was, and that Sara and Warrick would be meeting him there. He'd been looking forward to working with Sara, he always did, but he'd be lying if he'd said that he wasn't a little worried about how it might feel to be working with her after the events of the last couple of days.

It hadn't felt any different though, he'd realised that from the moment that she and Warrick walked over to him, when he led them to the body. Sara was all business, the consummate professional, and if he didn't know for a fact that only hours earlier, the two of them had been lying on her couch, watching "North by Northwest" he would never have guessed that anything was going on.

Which, considering where they worked, and who they worked with, was not a bad thing he decided.

"You were looking for me?"

Cyrus poked his head into Brass's office with those words, and the older man looked up from his paperwork, motioning to him to come in and take a seat. "And close the door behind you," he added, setting down his pen, gazing at Cyrus thoughtfully.

"Everything ok Jim?" Cyrus asked when Brass seemed to have trouble getting to the point, leaning back in his chair, tapping his fingers against his chin thoughtfully. For a moment, Cyrus had a brief flashback to being fourteen and his father's face as he'd tried to explain to him about the birds and the bees, and when he cleared that memory from his mind, he wasn't so sure that that wasn't what Brass had him in here to talk about.

Brass's next words proved him right. "What's this I hear about you and Sidle?" he asked bluntly, and Cyrus squared his shoulders.

"We're working the Romeo and Juliet case with Warrick Brown," he parried, trying to get Brass to elaborate further, because he knew that between Nick's actions and the fact that the graveyard shift were an unusually observant group, fairly proficient at gossiping, there could be any amount of things that Brass could have heard.

"I'm not talking about the case," Brass replied, leaning forward and resting his arms on the desk. "I'm talking personally."

"We're friends," Cyrus told him simply. He left out the fact that they were in the process of crossing over the line, that they'd already crossed it in fact. After all, just friends didn't kiss the way that Sara and he had kissed when he'd taken her out for dinner yesterday. Just friends didn't curl up on couches in one another's arms, watching movies or talking quietly, occasionally interrupting the talking in favour of long slow kisses. But Brass didn't need to know any of that.

"That all?" Brass asked sceptically when it became evident that Cyrus wasn't going any further than that. "Because I heard that Stokes set the two of you up on a date."

"We went to a movie," Cyrus defended.

"And I've heard other talk about the two of you… since way before that."

"There's always talk," Cyrus pointed out, his eyes narrowing, because there was something in Brass's demeanour that he didn't like at all. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm not saying anything." Brass held his two hands up in the universal sign for innocence, but that didn't do anything to soothe Cyrus's mood. He had the distinct feeling that Brass was trying to warn him off, and he wasn't happy about it, nor with his seeming denial of it.

"That's not what it feels like from here."

"Cyrus… " Brass sighed, looking away for a moment. "You're a good detective. And Sara's a good CSI. But she was also a good CSI in the Haviland case, when the defence attorney made her look like a chump on the stand over her relationship with the paramedic." He paused to let his words sink in. "You understand what I'm saying?"

"If you're asking me would I let a friendship interfere with my job, the answer is no. Captain." The word friendship was carefully chosen, as was the weighted emphasis on the word captain. The words were clipped, and Cyrus was sitting stiff as a statue, unmoving, not even blinking at Brass. "Will that be all?"

Brass sighed again. "You think I like saying this to you? You think I want to come down hard on the two of you? You want to know what I think, I think the two of you would be good for one another, God knows she needs to get out of that lab more." He fixed Cyrus with a serious gaze. "What I'm saying is, if you are seeing one another, and I'm not saying you are, and I don't even need to know about it if you are, is that there are people who could, and would, use it against you. So, you know, making sure you dot all the Is, and cross all the Ts might not be the worst idea in the world."

Halfway through that speech, Cyrus had begun to smile; he was able to greet its end with a nod. "I understand."

"Good." Brass's own nod was just as firm, and an unquestionable dismissal. "Now, go out there and catch some bad guys."

"Whatever you say." There was a beat as Cyrus stood up, looking down at Brass, looking right into his eyes, man to man. "Jim."

***

"You think we even have a chance?"

"No." Warrick's reply was uttered quietly, but Sara heard it nonetheless, and she stared after Cyrus as he walked Mrs Frommer out of the house to the waiting patrol car. Not for the first time in her investigative career, she wondered what the hell they were doing this all for, what was the point of finding out what had happened if nothing came out of it? She knew what was going to happen as well as Warrick, and well as Mrs Frommer did. The charges wouldn't stick, and before anyone knew what had happened, she'd get the baby back.

The ringing of Warrick's cell phone jolted her out of her reverie, all the more so as he looked from the phone on his hip to the child in his arms, and she knew what he was going to do a split second before he did it. Opening her mouth to ward off the danger, she didn't get the chance, because he thrust the child into her arms with a muffled exclamation, saying merely, "Here." She had no choice then but to take the baby from him with a certain amount of trepidation, because children really didn't like her, and she had no great experience with them. She shot him a dark look as he put the phone to his ear, answering it with his customary, "Warrick," but he either didn't notice the look or chose not to comment on it, saying into the phone, "Hold on…I can barely hear you…" before walking out of the room, down the hall and doubtless outside.

Rolling her eyes with impatience, her attention was diverted to the baby who had a novel way of assuring this - reaching out and grabbing a fistful of Sara's hair, giving it a good yank. Sara just about bit back a squawk of mingled pain and surprise, and set about adjusting the child on her hip, tracing the baby's knuckles lightly with one finger, hoping the touch would get her to loosen her grip. It worked too, the child releasing the lock of hair and grasping the finger tightly, her big blue eyes looking right up into Sara's face, unblinking. Against all odds, Sara found a smile coming to her face and she moved slightly, taking a couple of steps before turning and walking in the opposite direction, trying to find some other thing that might keep the child's attention.

Instead, she found something that caught hers. A gentle chuckle had her turning to see Cyrus standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a grin on his face. Unaccountably blushing, she grinned back at him before a coo from the baby had her looking back down, whispering to the child, "What's wrong?" Then, louder, her eyes flicking back to Cyrus, "What's he laughing at then?" She was talking to the child, but she was looking at him, and he knew it, and responded accordingly.

"Oh, I'm not laughing at anything," Cyrus said, pushing himself away from the doorframe, crossing the room towards them, and Sara stopped talking, something in his expression gluing her feet to the floor. Her eyes locked on his, and when he stood in front of her, his hand outstretched to run a finger down the baby's cheek, Sara found it hard to catch her breath. "Just enjoying the view is all." His voice was so low that Sara wouldn't have been able to hear it were she a foot further away from him, and she felt shivers run up and down her spine.

Shifting on her feet again, she couldn't help but notice that the baby was transfixed by Cyrus, was staring up at him with wide eyes, and she bit back a grin, noting that young as the child was, she had undeniably good taste. She knew that she should be trying to come up with a snappy comeback, but the expression on Cyrus's face was making it difficult for her to think, the only thought in her mind that once more, they were right in the middle of what Catherine and Lea would most definitely characterise as "a moment."

The moment was broken by Warrick coming back into the kitchen, talking as he walked, something about Nick and the phone call and horses, whatever the hell that all meant, but she only looked over at him when his voice trailed off, and she saw his glance darting from her to Cyrus before it settled on her, a half-smile landing on his face. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, and Sara schooled her face into a blank mask, hoping against hope that she wouldn't blush.

"No," she said, and she knew he didn't believe her when his eyebrow quirked upwards.

Cyrus had dropped his hand when Warrick first asked his question, and now he did his best to change the subject. "Uniform's bringing her in," he said, referring to Mrs Frommer adding, "And I called child services, they're on their way."

Sara grunted, as much as at the thought as the fact that the child had once more grabbed a handful of her hair. "For all the good they'll do," she said while trying to persuade the baby to let go, something that amused the two men hugely.

"Be that as it may," Cyrus said, helping her as best he could, "It has to be done." When Sara's hair was once more her own, he took a step back. "I'm heading back… you two gonna be ok here?"

It was Warrick who answered, that same half-smile on his face. "I think we'll be fine," he said, in a tone that had Sara's heart sinking, because she just knew he wasn't going to leave this alone. Cyrus though, either didn't hear it or just didn't react, because he just nodded and left, with an instruction to call him if they found anything of note.

Once he'd left, Sara looked at Warrick, then just as quickly away again, stepping towards the crib. "I'll put her down," she said. "Why don't you start in the kitchen?" She bent over the crib, letting her hair fall down over her face, temptation for the child that was mercifully out of her reach, but which had the bonus of shielding her from Warrick.

"Yeah," he said simply, his tone giving away the smile she couldn't see, but she heard him walking away. "Why don't I do that?"

To her surprise, when she joined him in the kitchen, he didn't say anything, and they went about collecting evidence in the comfortable silence that characterised their working relationship. Child services came promptly to take the baby, and the caseworker was as despondent as they were about their chances of any charges sticking. It didn't take too much longer for them to finish, and it was on the long drive back to Vegas that Warrick made his move.

"So... " he said slowly, keeping his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. "You gonna tell me what I walked in on earlier?"

Sara glanced over at him, then out the passenger window, resting her chin on her arm, fighting off an air of déjà vu, remembering an apartment, a suicide that wasn't, and a closet floor that didn't have the good grace to open and swallow her up. "Walked in on?" she parried, complete with a little shake of her head and narrowed eyes to show that she was searching her memory banks and finding no recollection of whatever inconsequential event he was referring to.

Unfortunately, this was Warrick, and he wasn't going to be held off by a ploy so transparent. "You know what I'm talking about," he told her. "You and the good detective were looking pretty cosy there."

Sara shrugged, still not looking at him, still trying to project that air of casual indifference. "News to me," was all she said, and Warrick chuckled.

"Come on… " he said. "You're telling me that nothing's going on between the two of you?" Sara said nothing, and he continued with, "I know Nick set the two of you up… I also know Lockwood good as told him to butt out, that the two of you were just friends…" A burst of heat flared on Sara's cheeks, because that had been true at the time, though not any longer, and for once in her life, she wasn't quite sure what to say. On one hand, she didn't want to lie to Warrick, was pretty sure that he'd see right through her anyway. However, nor did she want her personal life subjected to lab gossip; she'd been through that with Hank, and once was more than enough. "You sure don't look like just friends to me," Warrick concluded and she looked over at him then, shooting him a look of irritation.

The look vanished the instant he looked back at her, only briefly, but in that instant she saw in his eyes not amusement, not teasing, but real concern. "Why are you so interested?" she asked curiously, and he shrugged, eyes on the road.

"I'm not supposed to want my friends happy?" was all he said, the words having the unmistakable ring of truth to them, and based on that, Sara made her decision.

"We're seeing each other," she admitted, any further words cut short by a whoop from Warrick.

"I knew it!" he crowed, and Sara wondered if she'd done the right thing.

"But it's new," she told him quickly, hoping to make him understand. "I mean, I know it's a while since Nick set us up, but nothing happened then… we've been seeing one another as friends, but it's only in the last week… and it's not like we're serious or anything, I mean, it's not that long since Hank and I… "

She'd been talking rapidly, her words falling over one another in an effort to make themselves heard, and Warrick lifted one hand from the steering wheel in a calming gesture. "Whoa, whoa, slow down there," he ordered. "Take a breath."

Sara did so, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth. When she spoke again, it was accompanied by a sheepish smile. "Sorry," she said. "It's just… we kinda don't want people to know yet. Not until we know where we're going. You know?" She was struck once again by déjà vu, by how closely the two conversations resembled one another, and it surprised her, because what she was feeling for Cyrus was nothing like she'd felt for Hank. There had been none of the questioning, none of the second-guessing that came between making a choice between him and Grissom. There had just an easy slide into something comfortable, and she'd barely realised that she was falling for him until she was in too deep to back out.

Not that she wanted to back out. She'd felt like she was taking a chance with Hank, but there was none of that with Cyrus. She knew exactly where she stood with him, and to her surprise, it didn't scare her. In fact, she was beginning to think that she wanted it very much.

If Warrick found their conversational territory familiar, he didn't comment on it, instead looking at her and nodding. "I know," he said, his countenance serious. "And if that's your way of asking me to keep quiet, you got it."

She leaned back against the seat, tilting her head back with a sigh of relief. Then a memory came to her, of the last conversation and of one before that, and she rolled her head to look at him with open suspicion. "This isn't going to be like the time I told you about Hank and the whole lab ended up finding out, is it?"

He snickered, shaking his head. "You ever gonna let that one go?"

"Nope," she said with a giggle, and he rolled his eyes.

"Not a word," he said seriously. "I promise."

Sara shot him a grateful smile, and turned her gaze back onto the road ahead of them, letting herself relax as he drove. He didn't speak again, and nor did she, her mind on the way that Cyrus had looked at her as she'd held the baby in her arms, the look that had been in his eyes. Gooseflesh rippled on her arms and the hairs rose on the back of her neck at the memory, and she allowed herself to think thoughts that had never occurred to her before.

If Warrick wondered about the smile on her face, then he didn't ask.

Chapter Text

Part Eighteen - Explosion

(Play With Fire)

Cyrus Lockwood was a man in a good mood. It might have had something to do with the fact that the case that he was working on was falling into place nicely, nicely enough that he was pretty sure overtime wasn't in his immediate future. It might have had something to do with the fact that it was a lovely sunny spring day, the kind of day when you couldn't help but feel optimistic. Then again, it might have been the fact that he was spending his off-hours in the company of a beautiful woman, one who he was crazy about, one, he thought, that he might be winning around to feeling the same way about him. Certainly the way she'd smiled when he'd called to her door at the end of their last shift, bearing Chinese food cartons and a video had him thinking like that, as did the fact that they hadn't really watched most of the movie, instead sharing long lingering kisses on her couch. Much as he'd wanted it to though, nothing had happened, just like nothing had happened all the other times that they'd found themselves like that, and he'd parted from her with difficulty to allow them both to get some sleep, allowing her to walk him to the door, leaving her with a kiss on the cheek. Still though, for him it was getting harder and harder to walk away, though he knew he would, knew he'd wait for as long as it took for her to be ready.

He'd waited long enough for her as it was, and he wasn't going to jeopardise it now.

For all these reasons, he wasn't unduly alarmed when his cell phone rang, not even when he saw Brass's name on the caller ID. It wasn't unusual for Brass to call him after all, to keep tabs on whatever case he was working on, or to give him a lead. His hand didn't shake when he answered the call, his heart didn't pound out of his chest.

It was an ordinary, every day occurrence.

Those reactions came later, when he realised that Brass was sounding more concerned than he'd ever heard the hard-bitten detective sound. "Lockwood, it's Brass. Look, I'm at the CSI lab, you'd better get down here."

In the background, Cyrus could just about make out the sounds of chaos, of fire engines and ambulances, of people moving back and forth, talking and shouting, and a terrible fear took shape in his heart. He was moving for the door before he was aware of it, asking "What happened?"

"We're not sure," Brass replied. "But there was some kind of explosion."

Cyrus's heart all but stopped at the words, but he was thankful for Brass's no-nonsense approach. It gave him free rein to be just as blunt by asking "Is she-"

"She's fine," Brass assured him. "She's pretty shaken up, but she's fine. I think she might need someone to talk to though."

"I'm on my way."

Cyrus didn't waste any time on the way over; speed limits and basic road safety a distant memory in the face of his concern for Sara. As he drove, he had to admit to himself that concern wasn't quite the word that he was looking for. Had something like this happened back in the day, back when they barely knew one another, back when she was just a cute CSI that he saw around the place, he might have been concerned. But that's not what she was anymore. Now she was Sara, more than a friend, but not yet a lover, and he'd told himself that that was ok with him, that he could wait.

He'd thought for a long time that he was fine with the two of them being just friends, that if things didn't work out with them romantically, he'd still just like to get to know her; that's what he'd told her at the movie theatre that night, and at the time, he'd probably even meant it. He didn't mean it any more though, he figured that out somewhere between the fourth and fifth orange light that he'd rushed through. She wasn't just his friend, and he couldn't even pretend that she was someone he just had a passing interest in.

She meant far more to him than that.

Now all he had to do was find out how she felt about him.

But he had to put all that to one side; he knew that when he pulled up to the lab, staring in abject horror at the sight before him. There were ambulances dotted where there would normally be parked cars, people being treated on site, other people standing around, talking, some crying, staring at the building, which seemed to be surrounded by firemen and fire brigades, red lights flashing, sirens blaring. It was like the scene of a disaster movie, and he had the best - or worst - seat in the house.

And the only thought in his mind was that she was somewhere in the middle of all this.

By sheer fluke, the first person that he saw was Nick, who was able to tell him that Sara was fine, if a little shaken up and cut up, and he pointed Cyrus in the general direction of the bank of ambulances. Approaching them, Cyrus's throat tightened, and he said a silent prayer of thanks as he saw a paramedic finish bandaging Sara's hand, saw her stand up and look around her. He didn't think he'd ever seen her look so lost, so fragile, and for the first time in whatever it was they were doing, he was almost afraid to approach her. He went over to her, saying her name gently, touching her elbow, and she'd turned to him, blinking slowly.

"I didn't know you were here," were her first words as she looked up at him, but her attention didn't stay on him for long. Her gaze was drawn downwards, to her bandaged left hand, and she cupped it in her right, the thumb running under the white gauze bandage.

"Brass called me," he replied, frowning in concern, because her voice was as distracted as her eyes, and he knew the signs of shock well enough. "Are you ok?"

She nodded, her gaze drifting to the building, her right hand still holding her left. "I'm fine," she told him, though he knew she was anything but. "They took Greg to hospital though… I saw them bringing him out, put him in the ambulance… " She paused, frowning slightly. "I thought he was dead."

"Why would you think that?" Knowing he had to tread carefully, not wanting to upset her, he reached out, taking her right hand in both of his. It took every fibre of willpower in his body not to recoil from her, because her hand was freezing, and it was all he could do not to wrap her in his arms right then and there and never let her go.

She blinked a couple of times, her eyes sliding to the right, as if she was trying to remember. "I was walking down the hall near the DNA lab… and everything just… exploded. The window blew out, and Greg went through it… and he was just lying there… I've never seen him so still, ever." She frowned, lifting her hand again, staring at the bandage. "Then someone was helping me up… then I was sitting the curb talking to Grissom… and then you were here… " She looked in his eyes then. "Why are you here?"

He took a deep breath and a step closer to her. "Because there's nowhere else I would be."

She nodded, her brow still creased in a frown, but she seemed to accept that. "OK."

He smiled, though it wasn't funny, leaving his right hand holding hers, resting his left hand on her shoulder. "We should get you home," he said, noting the scratch on her cheek, the jagged cut on her forehead, and he frowned as she shook her head.

"There's stuff to do here," she objected. "We have to clean up, and there's evidence and we need to see if it's all destroyed… I need to be here."

He sighed in frustration. "Sara… "

"Cyrus." She interrupted him, her voice sounding stronger than it had been during this whole conversation. "I need to be here."

He shook his head, his hand rubbing her shoulder gently. "You need to get home," he told her gently. "Get yourself cleaned up… change your clothes." She smelled like smoke and fear, and she looked as if she was seconds away from collapsing in his arms, but she didn't need to know that. She might have suspected though, because she bit her lip, looked down at her shoes, and seeing her moment of doubt, he moved in for the kill, literally taking a step closer to her, figuratively with his words. "Let me take you home Sara."

He saw the decision play across her features, but she didn't say a word. She just nodded, her eyes flickering shut. Not caring who was watching, though knowing that everyone probably had more important things to worry about, his hand left her shoulder, tucking back a strand of hair behind her ear, mindful of the cut on her cheek. She didn't seem to object though, her eyes opening briefly before closing again, and she leaned into his touch. Thus emboldened, he took another step towards her, so that he was standing close enough to her that he could feel her breath on his skin, and leaned forwards, brushing a gentle kiss across her forehead.

Her left hand hanging limply by her side, she leaned into that touch as well, moving slightly to the right so that her head rested against his shoulder. He knew what she needed, knew what he had to do, so he slipped his arms around her and just held her, as the clean-up operation swung into gear around them.

To say that Sara's memories of getting from the lab to her apartment were sketchy was to understate the matter somewhat. She could remember Cyrus holding her, could remember him leading her towards his car. The drive was a blur however, and she didn't realise that they were actually at her front door until he extracted her jacket from her white-knuckled grasp, fishing in the pocket for her keys. He opened the door, let her go in ahead of him, and she walked in slowly, feeling as if she was moving through quicksand.

Everything looked the same as she'd left it, which surprised her, because it felt as if things should be different. She certainly felt different, as if everything in the world had changed, but she couldn't say how. She kept playing it over and over in her head, the explosion, the ringing in her ears, glass flying everywhere, and Greg, lying there, so still. She could barely remember sitting on the curb, looking at the crimson welling on her palm, could see Grissom kneeling in front of her, could hear her own voice saying "Clean up's gonna be something… " There was an echo in her head though, as if she'd heard someone say it before, but she couldn't remember who, and in any case, she couldn't hear it properly over the ringing in her ears. Her lab, her workplace, the one place that she'd always felt safe, secure, had literally blown up around her, and for a horrible few moments, she thought that she'd lost one of the people who meant most to her in the world. Even when she'd known that Greg was alive she still hadn't been able to shake the horror of that feeling, or the shocking thought that had come to her as she'd lain there stunned, that it could have just as easily have been her.

She jumped slightly when a hand landed on her shoulder, looked up into Cyrus's concerned brown eyes. "Come on," he said quietly. "You get changed. I'll make you some tea."

She shook her head. "I don't want tea," she told him, reaching up to rub the bridge of her nose with two fingers. The bandage rubbed against her skin as she did so, and she closed her eyes, sucking in a shaky breath, her stomach churning.

His hand slid down from her shoulder to her back, began making small circles there, warm and comforting. "Tell me what you want then," he whispered, and suddenly, she knew.

"Cyrus," she said, her own voice just as quiet. She turned to him, laying a hand on his arm, surprised by how steady her touch was, how calm she felt all of a sudden. There wasn't a tremor of doubt in her voice when she told him, "I want you."

She looked up into his eyes, held his gaze for a long moment, and the next thing she knew, she was pressed tightly against him, wrapped in his strong embrace, not remembering who moved first. All she knew was that he was holding her so tightly that she could barely breathe, her head pressed into the hollow where his neck met his shoulder. His face was buried in her hair, she could feel his breath against the strands, and closing her eyes, she was stunned to realise that she was feeling more alive, more like herself, than she'd felt at any point since the explosion. Sliding her arms around his waist, she just held on for dear life, never wanting him to let her go.

When he did, she felt the loss of him immediately, even though he'd only loosened his hold on her marginally, even though his arms were still around her waist. The look of naked concern in his dark eyes more than made up for any loss of body contact though, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She felt his back rise and fall underneath her hands as he took a deep breath, and her throat ached with his unshed tears when he whispered fiercely, "Don't ever do that to me again."

Giving him a shaky smile, she leaned forward, making him a promise, not with words, but by pressing her lips to his, winding her arms around his neck and holding him just as tightly as he'd held her. Unlike their few other kisses, which had been gentle, tender affairs, albeit fairly lengthy, this was a kiss fuelled by passion, by the knowledge that they'd very nearly lost one another that day, that they'd almost lost something very precious without knowing exactly what it was they had in the first place. She felt his body respond to hers, thrilled at the tremors that ran through him, feeling them course through her body too, and this time, when he pulled away, his absence was like a physical ache.

"Sara… " he whispered, reaching up to push a lock of hair back behind her ears. His voice was rough, hoarse, the sound making her shiver, and when she saw his hand out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that he was shaking. She could almost feel him trying to put some distance between them, feel him trying to pull himself back as he reminded her, "We said we'd take it slow… "

His voice faded as she shook her head, a slow smile spreading across her face, tears coming unbidden to her eyes. She didn't want to cry in front of him, not when she was feeling so happy, but her emotions were more than a little disturbed, and she couldn't help the tears. "No," she whispered, and he frowned, perhaps unsure that he was hearing her right, that she really meant it. "Not any more."

He drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, never breaking their gaze. "With all you've been through … is it a good idea… " he asked eventually, and she didn't have to think twice about her answer, her head clear, her heart free for the first time that she could remember.

"Cyrus." Her voice was firm, her bandaged hand cupping his cheek, and the words of a dimly remembered song told her what she should say. "I've made my mind up… I know where I belong." He blinked, then a smile spread across his face as he made the connection. Brushing her lips over his quickly, she stepped out of the circle of his arms, taking his hand in hers and taking a step towards her bedroom. He didn't move though, staying rooted to the spot, and when she turned and looked at him, saying his name gently, she could see the warring emotions in his eyes. On one hand, she knew that this was what he wanted, knew that he'd wanted it for longer than she had. On the other, he knew what she'd been through today, and he didn't want to take advantage of her. Smiling at his solicitude, she stepped back towards him, whispering, "This is what I want."

Bringing her fingers to his lips, he asked once more, "Are you sure?"

"I have never been more sure," she told him, and he gave her a wide smile then, one that she returned as she led him to her bedroom.

It seemed like hours later that she found herself lying in bed, wrapped in his arms. Her eyes were closed, and she knew that she was dozing off. For a woman who never thought that she'd sleep that night, for a woman who survived on fairly little sleep at the best of times, that was nothing less than a miracle. His chest acted as her pillow, her ear right over his heart, the rhythmic beating like a metronome, the steady beating relaxing her, calming her. Or maybe it wasn't his heartbeat, maybe it was his hand, tracing a lazy pattern up and down her left arm, occasionally wandering down to run up and down her back. Then again, maybe it was neither of those things relaxing her. Maybe it was him.

She was very close to falling asleep completely when the phone rang, and it jerked her out of her slumber. She was reaching across his body for the phone on the bedside table before she could even register his soft grunt of disapproval, his words, "Leave it."

She shook her head, shooting him a quick apologetic grin. "It could be about Greg," she explained, because she knew that if anything had happened to him, someone would track her down. She knew in her heart that he was going to be all right, at least that what she told herself, but there was just enough of her mother's superstitions left in her to make her nervous. "Hello?"

She relaxed slightly as a soft Texas drawl sounded in her ears. "Sara? It's me."

"Nick! How's Greg?" But she knew that it wasn't bad news, because if it was, Nick would sound a hell of a lot more upset, more urgent that that.

"He's good, he's good," Nick told her quickly, probably seeking to allay any fears that she might have. "He's sleeping, and the doctors think he should be home in a few days." There was a slight pause, during which she lay back down, so that she was draped across Cyrus's chest, and she fought back a grin as one of his fingers traced the length of her spine, moving down until it reached the small of her back before moving up against just as lazily. "How are you?"

She smiled, not sure if it was due to Nick's worry or Cyrus's actions. "I'm fine Nick. I told you that."

"But are you sure?" Nick persisted. "I mean, you're not just saying that?"

Rolling her eyes, she turned her head towards Cyrus, receiving a knowing smile in response. It made her stomach swim pleasantly, and suddenly all she wanted was to get Nick off the phone as quickly as humanly possible. "Of course I'm not just saying that. What, don't you trust me?"

Nick's response was immediate. "On something like this? Not a chance." She might have been affronted had she not known that normally, she would lie about something like that, tell people she was fine when she wasn't. This time, she happened to be telling the truth. Yes, the lab might have blown up around her, her head might still be a little on the sore side, but looking around her now, she had the feeling that things could be a whole lot worse. "Look, you shouldn't be alone."

Her eyes widened in alarm because she really didn't want Nick to find the two of them like this. "Nick, really I'm fine."

"No, I don't believe you." His voice was firm, resolute, and she knew from experience that there was no arguing with him when he was in this frame of mind. "I'm coming over there, I'm gonna sit with you a while, make sure you're all right."

"Nick, there's no need to come over, really, I'm fine… " She was wondering what she could say to make him believe her when Cyrus decided to take matters into his own hands, and she bit back a yelp of surprise when he took the phone away from her.

"Stokes, trust me," he said into the phone. "There's no need for you to come over here." Sara was staring at him in shock, and Nick seemed to be sharing her emotions, if the startled exclamation that she heard coming down the line was any indicator. "What am I doing here?" Cyrus sounded like he was repeating a question of Nick's, and he raised an amused eyebrow, not even bothering to keep the smirk off his face. Ordinarily, an expression like that might have annoyed Sara; right now, she found it incredibly attractive. "Man, if you don't know what I'm doing here, I'm not going to tell you. But if it's all the same to you, I'd like to get back to it. We'll talk later." Without further ado, he reached over, hanging up the phone, before thinking better of it, taking it off the hook. His dark eyes then met Sara's, and he shrugged. "What?"

She knew her mouth was gaping, and it took a second for her to form words. "I can't believe you did that," she finally managed, any sting taken out of her words by the shocked laughter that bookended them.

"You know a better way to stop him coming over her?" he asked her logically, and she had to admit that he had a point. Still, there was something that she had to point out to him.

"He's going to give us both hell, you know that."

She got another shrug in response. "No doubt. But there are worse things." His face was serious when he spoke, all traces of jocularity gone, and his eyes told her exactly what he was thinking.

"Yeah," she said slowly, her hand reaching up to his cheek as she realised, not for the first time, just how close they'd come to losing everything today. A memory of the explosion danced along the edges of her memory, and she shuddered involuntarily, squeezing her eyes shut for a second. When she opened them again, he was giving her a concerned look, which didn't abate when she tried to muster up a smile. "I'm ok Cyrus," she told him quietly, and while she didn't think that he believed her, any more than he'd believed her earlier, he nodded, and the smile he bestowed on her looked far more genuine than hers had felt.

"I know," he said, both his hands sliding slowly down to the small of her back, one moving back up, one moving down lower, pressing her against him. "And now, if you remember, I intimated to Nick that I had some plans for the two of us … "

His voice trailed off, a wicked gleam in his eyes, and her own smile felt just as wicked. "Well, I'd hate to make a liar out of you… " she murmured as she reached up, pressing her lips to his. He responded eagerly, rolling her onto her back, and Sara lost herself in his touch, allowing him to chase the memories away, if only for a little while.

It seemed like months later that she rose from her bed, having managed to snatch a couple of hours of restless sleep. She'd woken up in Cyrus's arms, and she'd known without even asking him that he hadn't slept at all, that he'd just watched her, made sure she was all right. The knowledge warmed her from the inside out, made her smile as she padded into the bathroom for a shower, and when she stepped back into the bedroom again, the bed was empty, but there was the distinct smell of toast wafting in from the kitchen.

She tried to tell him that she wasn't hungry, that she didn't need to eat anything, but he'd just given her one of those looks that dared her to disagree with him, ordering her to eat as he placed a mug of coffee down on the counter in front of her, and she'd found herself taking a slice, spreading butter and marmalade on it, munching it obediently. It was only when she looked around at the counter, seeing her keys there and asked, "Where's my badge?" that he looked at her sharply, a frown taking its place on his previously contented features.

"You're not going in to the lab," he said instantly, and she blinked once, looking up at him in surprise.

"Of course I'm going in," she told him. "I'm on a case, and they're going to need all hands on deck."

Cyrus frowned. "You were just in an explosion," he reminded her, and the words conjured up an image of flying glass and an injured Greg and she shook her head to clear the image. "You've barely had any sleep… Sara, you need to take this shift off."

She shook her head violently, knowing that she couldn't sit around her apartment, not while the real action was taking place elsewhere. "I can't Cyrus," she said simply, firmly, meeting his gaze without flinching.

"Sara-" He tried again, but she cut him off.

"Cyrus, I know you're worried about me, ok? I know that. But I need to do this. I can't explain it… I just…" She couldn't find the words and she sighed, dipping her head and rubbing at the bridge of her nose with her fingers.

She heard him sigh, felt as well as heard him take a couple of steps towards her. "OK," he breathed, reaching out and resting his hands on her shoulders. Almost against her will, she found her head going up, and her heart lurched at the worry she saw on his face. "Just promise me that you're going to take care of yourself."

The sincerity in his voice made her smile, and she nodded, slipping her arms around his waist. "I'll be fine," she assured him, but he didn't look as if he was buying it.

"And if you need to come home-"

"You'll be the first person I call," she promised, raising herself up on her toes slightly to brush her lips across his. She intended it to be a brief thing, but he pressed her tightly to him, deepening the kiss, and she wasn't going to complain about it, instead responding enthusiastically. She didn't know how much later it was that they parted from one another, but she had to take an extra couple of seconds to remember what she'd been looking for. "Right… my badge," she said then, more to herself than him.

"I haven't seen it," he told her, and she nodded, realising what where it must be, heading back into the bedroom, finding the jeans she'd worn earlier on in a heap on the floor. Sure enough, the badge was still there, clipped to the waistband, and as she picked them up, a cloud of dust rose, coating her fingers as she unclipped the badge. She put it on straight away, noting almost absently that the information on it was impossible to read through the coating of dust, but she made no move to clean it, concentrating instead on the pale blue of the denim on the floor, the smears of red that were already dried into it.

She'd seen lots of bloodstains in her life, but never her own before.

"Sara?" She jumped, standing and turning at the same time, seeing Cyrus leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. "You ok?"

She gave him a smile. "I'm fine," she told him, hoping that the tremor in her hand wasn't visible from where he was. "Let's go."

She thought he might put up more of a fight, that he'd try to convince her to stay home, but he didn't, instead extending an arm, inviting her to lead the way. The drive to the lab was passed mostly in silence, and she leaned over and kissed him goodbye when he pulled into the parking lot, once again repeating her promise that she'd call if she needed him.

She stood on the pavement as he drove away, and it was only when she turned to go into the lab that it hit her - the smell of burning, still hanging in the air even now. She knew that it might last for days, and once more, just like in her bedroom, she remembered the explosion, the force of the blast, the glass flying everywhere.

This building had been her home for nearly three years, and this was the first time that she'd ever been reluctant to set foot inside.

Shaking herself, assuring herself that she was being ridiculous, she forced herself to start walking, fighting back the memories with every step. Her first step was the locker room, hanging up her jacket, taking off her badge and putting it up on the top shelf of her locker before walking back out, hoping to find Grissom or Nick to let them know that she was back.

She was walking by the break room when she heard a voice calling, "Hey, Sara!" Turning on her heel, she ducked in, not quite able to place the voice, blinking curiously when she saw Lea sitting at the table, with what could only be described as a knowing grin on her face. Warrick was sitting beside her and she nodded at him. "Hey," she said, her tone a question, because she knew now that he'd been the one to call out to her.

"Hey yourself," Warrick said, his eyes veiled with worry. "I didn't know you'd be back so soon," he commented, and Sara just nodded again.

"I'm fine guys," she told them, answering the question before they'd even asked it, because she knew it was going to take a long time for people to stop asking her that, especially when there were still cuts on her face, bandages on her hand.

"You should be taking it easy," Warrick informed her, his face serious as she leaned against the counter. "You'd qualify for sick leave."

Sara was about to repeat that she was fine, that there was no need for her to take time off when Lea spoke up. "Besides, we heard that you might have better uses for your time than to be in here with us." She was fighting back laughter when she spoke, and Warrick's eyes were dancing all of a sudden too, and it didn't take long for Sara to figure out just what they were so amused by.

"You talked to Nick," she said simply, and Warrick chuckled as he took a sip of coffee.

"Oh Stokes has been a busy boy," he said. "Not content with making a breakthrough on your case, and planning a visit to the correctional facility, he's been making sure that all of us know the score about you and a certain detective."

Sara closed her eyes, because this had been just what she didn't want. She'd run the gauntlet of CSI gossip during the debacle with Hank; she had no wish to do it again. "I should've known," she muttered to herself.

Lea threw her head back, laughing. "You mean it's true?" she asked, her eyes wide. "You and Detective Hot?"

"It's true," Sara confirmed, and Warrick snickered.

"About time you two let people know," he said, and Sara didn't miss how Lea's head whipped around towards him, amazement written all over his face. "And note please that I didn't spill."

Sara raised her coffee cup to him in mute appreciation, as Lea demanded, "You knew about this?"

Warrick shrugged easily, talking to Sara rather than Lea. "Most people are having trouble with it," he observed. "They think that Stokes might have inhaled too many fumes from the explosion."

That last comment earned him a slap on the arm from Lea. "That's not funny," she told him, shooting him a dark look, one that quickly vanished when she looked back to Sara. "So, don't keep me in the dark… how long has it been going on?"

Sara looked down into her coffee cup, seeing her own face reflected there. "Not long," was all she said, knowing that Warrick knew some of this already, but not wanting share that they'd only slept together for the first time the night before. They didn't need that much detail. "It's new." She could feel a rush of heat rising up her cheeks, knew that the others noticed it too, and much to her surprise, she didn't really care.

"Right," Warrick said, his eyebrow raised. "Which is why he's been hanging around you for months." He'd said as much to her previously, so this wasn't news to Sara, nor was she surprised when Lea nodded sagely.

"Yeah," she snickered. "No wonder I struck out with him at Christmas."

That last comment had Warrick turning a surprised face to her. "Oh, it's like that is it?"

"What?" Lea countered, and Sara took a sip of her own coffee, the better to hide a grin. "You expected me to wait for you to get your act together?"

Before Warrick could reply, Sara straightened up, walking away from the counter. "I think I'll leave you two to it," she said. "You guys seen Nick?"

"He's been hanging out in the AV lab with Archie," Warrick told her, standing. "I told Cath I'd meet her in Trace, I'll swing by, tell him not to go without you."

"Thanks," Sara said, heading to the door, but Lea's sing-song voice stopped her.

"Still time for you to go home Sara," she reminded her, teasing her, and Sara briefly considered it, but only briefly, hardly breaking stride.

"Sara?" Warrick's quiet voice stopped her and she looked back at him, giving him a questioning look. Her friend stood up, going to the door to stand beside her, one hand reaching out to touch her arm for a second "He's one of the good guys," he told her, his eyes not leaving hers, his countenance serious. "And you deserve this."

Sara felt uncharacteristic tears rising up in her throat at his words, and she just nodded. She wanted to thank him, wanted to say anything to acknowledge his words, but the words just wouldn't come. Warrick looked uncharacteristically choked up as well, and it fell to Lea to break the silence. "Just one question Sara."

The sensible thing to do, Sara knew, would have been to turn around and keep walking, because the look on Lea's face told her that it was going to be nowhere near as innocent as Warrick's statement. Instead, she took a deep breath, knowing she was going to get hit, deciding it was better to get it over with now. "Yeah?"

Not taking her eyes off Sara, Lea began, looking as if she was having a hard time keep her face straight. "Look… none of us women around here are blind. We've all looked at him, we'll all talked… so just put us out of our misery." She paused. "We know he looks good with his clothes on… but how does he look… " She let her voice trail off knowingly, and Sara flushed red, especially when she heard Warrick clear his throat.

"I'm not answering that," she said, holding her free hand up, turning and walking away, the smile on her face letting them know that she was taking this all in her stride. Laughter from the table, as well as something that sounded suspiciously like the noise a chicken makes, followed her out the door, and she stopped suddenly, turning back. Warrick hadn't followed her out of the room, rather he'd gone back to the table, was standing looking down at Lea, and both looked up at her when she called the other woman's name. Sara leaned against the doorframe as Warrick and Lea regarded her curiously, and she felt a slow smile, wide and genuine, spread across her face as she uttered one word.

"Better."

It took a second for the word to register with Lea, and when it did, her eyes grew wide, her jaw dropping open. Sara held her gaze for a long moment then walked away, her smile growing wider as she heard Lea's laughter echoing down the hall behind her.

She kept smiling until she stepped on something, just something small, but whatever it was was hard, unyielding, made a scratching sound as she trod on it. Looking down curiously, she saw that it was a sliver of glass, not big enough to cut anyone as it was, but small enough to have been missed in the clean-up operation.

She stared down at it and remembered a thousand and more of those same shards raining down on her, pricking at her skin through her clothes, and a searing pain shot through her hand in remembrance. Her head slowly turning, she realised that she was right outside the ruined DNA lab, windows missing, equipment every which way, and a faint stench of burning - both chemical and human flesh - still tinged the air.

She'd seen Greg in that room every day for almost three years. How many times had he teased her over something? How many times had she returned the favour?

She'd seen Greg in that room, laughing, smiling, acting the fool, every day for almost three years.

Now all she could see was him lying face down on the floor, glass all around him, not moving.

All she could see was a mind's eye glimpse of herself in the same position.

A cold shiver ran down her spine, and she started slightly as someone laid a hand on her shoulder. Turning her head, she found herself looking into the concerned eyes of Bobby Dawson, who was frowning at her. "You ok Sara?" he asked, and she couldn't figure out how there was a delay between his lips moving and the sound reaching her ears.

She nodded, eyes narrowing as she tried to come up with the words that would reassure him, get him to leave her alone, get everyone else to leave her alone as well. "I'm fine," she said, or at least, it sounded like it was her voice. But it sounded different as well, as if she was hearing herself talking from a long way away.

"You sure?" Bobby was still being concerned, and she nodded again, forcing a smile to her lips.

"Yeah." She nodded again, her gaze sliding off him and to the ruins of the DNA lab again. The echo of an explosion danced along the edges of her memory, the sharp prickling of a thousand shards of glass, a flash of Greg lying still.

"Sara?" Bobby was still there, his facial expression having escalated from concern to all out worry, but she couldn't worry about that now, knowing only that she had to get out of there.

"I have to go," she said simply. "Find Nick… get my jacket... "

She walked off then, pretty sure that she could feel Bobby's eyes following her as she walked, but she didn't stop, went straight to the locker room, pulling on her jacket, hoping that it would do something to warm her up, because she'd come over very cold all of a sudden. Her badge was next, and she wasn't quite sure why she'd taken it off her when she'd come into the lab, but reaching for it, she noticed again that it was covered with the dust of the explosion, and she wiped it off now, looked down at the face of the smiling girl there.

That photo was three years old now, taken the day that Grissom offered her a permanent job here, after having asked her down on a temporary basis to investigate the Holly Gribbs case. She'd accepted in an instant, dropping everything in San Francisco to come here, to work with her mentor, her friend, Gil Grissom, hoping against hope that something more than friendship would come of it. The girl in the picture looked happy, optimistic, as if the world was filled with possibilities.

She didn't know what had happened to that girl, but she hadn't felt like that in a long time.

Until Cyrus, she reminded herself. Cyrus made her feel that way again.

Or at least he had. She was pretty sure that he had, even if the few hours that she'd spent away from the lab, in his arms, now had a hazy, dream-like tinge, as if she'd imagined it all. What was real was the dust on her fingertips, and she felt it in her throat, in her lungs, felt the tingle of glass falling against her skin. Her ears rang to the boom of the blast, and she almost didn't hear Nick talking to her.

"Hey," he said, and she tore her gaze from the smiling face of an almost stranger to her smiling face of her friend. "You back on?" he asked her, and she forced herself to answer, the badge dropping to waist level.

"Yeah," she said, remembering something that Warrick had said in the break room. "I hear you're going to prison."

He just smiled as he moved off, calling back to her, "I'll meet you outside," leaving her to look at her badge one last time before she shut the locker, moving off after him, walking slowly through the halls of the lab, past the ruined lab. She was moving as quickly as she could, yet she still felt as if she was hardly moving, as if she was walking through chest-level water, trying to pretend that she didn't feel the blast from the explosion moving through her hair, as if she didn't hear the phantom shards of glass grinding into the floor with every step she took.

She might have fooled everyone else, but not herself.

By the end of the day, she knew that she wasn't fooling anyone any more. Not by the way that Brass was looking at her, the way he'd been looking at her ever since he'd reminded her that the police cleared a room, not the CSIs. He'd looked as mad as she'd ever seen him, and for an absurd moment she was reminded of her father's ranting and raving when she'd shown him the bag of weed she'd found under her brother's bed.

She wasn't fooling Nick either; the fact that he reamed her out, quietly, not loudly because that wasn't Nick's way, in front of Brass and a suspect told her that. She'd dodged his questions, tried to ignore him, and she'd hit lucky, finding some evidence that would take the heat off her for a few minutes. But on the way back to the lab, he'd talked to her again, or he'd tried to.

"You should go home," he'd said, keeping his eyes on the road. His voice had been calm, no inflection whatsoever, but she'd looked over at him, had seen the set of his jaw, the way his knuckles were white against the black of the steering wheel, and she knew that he was keeping a rein on his temper with difficulty.

"I'm fine," she'd told him, looking away from him, looking out the passenger window as the scenery flashed by. It had made her head hurt to look at it though, made her stomach whirl, so she'd closed her eyes. That hadn't helped though, because flashes of light had danced on her lids, glass refracting the spectrum as it flew towards her, the bright orange of flames, the garish red of blood on blue denim.

"Hell you are." Nick's voice had been a flare of anger that seared right through her breastbone in a physical pain, and she'd taken a deep breath, willing herself not to react. Nick hadn't been finished though, and his next gentle comment had been more painful. "We're just worried about you Sara. That's all."

She hadn't been able to look at him, hadn't been able to open her eyes, afraid of what would happen if she did. She'd just said, "I'm fine Nick," and he hadn't pushed her further.

Once they'd got to the lab though, he'd taken charge, walking her to the lab so that they could test the dollar bills, leaving her to it so that he could talk to Grissom, tell him what they'd found. He'd told her on his return that Grissom was going to take charge of the interrogation, that they were free to go home when they'd finished their tests. He'd left before she had, intending to go to the hospital to visit Greg, and Sara had sent her love, promising to visit him the next day.

She didn't stay much longer herself, but she took long way to the exit, the way that took her past Grissom's office. As she walked, she knew just what she was doing, but not why, though she couldn't help but remember all the times that she'd done just that, in the hopes of spending just a few extra minutes with the man, in the hopes that something, some spark, might ignite between them.

As she stood at the doorway, she watched him, this man that she'd been in love with for so long, the man she'd literally uprooted her life for. He was sitting on his desk, pulling a card out of his Rolodex, and he looked up, removing his glasses when he saw her there. "Sara," he said, and she nodded in greeting, leaning against the door. "You looking for me?"

Faced with the question, she really didn't have an answer, so she dodged. "You're just leaving?"

"Yeah. I'm off tonight."

She nodded, because she was too, though she knew that often didn't mean much where she was concerned. There had been a joke around the lab for a long time that "overtime" could be her middle name, but she'd never minded it.

After all, she'd figured, her work was her life.

And the more she was around the lab, the more time she got to spend with Grissom.

Those two things had never bothered her. Not until now, not until right this minute.

"Me too," she said uncomfortably, because he was looking at her strangely, and she knew that she'd spaced out for a second there.

"You should be on paid leave," he told her tartly, and she smiled, because this, at least, she did have an answer to.

"I'm fine."

"You were fortunate," he told her firmly, and she would have known what he meant even if he hadn't followed up with, "And I'm not talking about the explosion."

"You talked to Brass." It wasn't a question.

"And Nick."

She should have known. "We got the guy," she reminded him, because after all, isn't that what their job was all about?

He picked up his briefcase, began to walk towards her. One eyebrow was slightly raised, his "riddle-me-this" face if she'd ever seen it, and she mentally steeled herself for what was to come. "Is that all you have to say?"

She looked at him, really looked at him as he studied his briefcase, his papers, and in the couple of seconds before she spoke, myriad thoughts ran through her brain. This is the man, she realised, for whom she would have walked through fire, without questioning, without thinking. She would have given anything - anything - if at any point in the last three years he'd done more than make veiled comments to her, watch her from afar.

But he'd never done that. He'd sent her a plant, but he hadn't talked to her about it, hadn't told her what was on his mind when he sent it. He'd made comments about beauty, about her being able to light up a room, but he'd never made a move.

He'd told her that she deserved to have a life, yet he'd punished her when she'd tried to get one, and she'd stood right here in this exact spot and told him that his mixed messages were confusing. He hadn't said anything, had just let her leave, and she'd walked into Hank, gone to breakfast with him, and she hadn't looked back.

When the lab had blown up, he'd found her on the sidewalk, he'd taken her to the paramedics, then gone about his business as usual.

Not that she blamed him in the least for that, she knew he had more important things to do than worry about her.

Except a little voice in her mind told her that Cyrus had too. That he'd been working, and he'd dropped everything to make sure that she was all right. He'd taken her home, he'd held her, and even though she knew that he'd wanted to take things between them further for a long time, he'd still held back when she threw herself at him.

She stood there, looking into Grissom's clear blue eyes, and suddenly remembered all the times that she'd looked into a pair of brown eyes, realised how precious they'd become to her.

How precious he'd become to her without her even realising it.

"Sara?" Grissom's voice seemed to come from very far away, and she blinked at the sensation of a warm hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?" Grissom's voice betrayed concern, and she nodded, hoping to reassure him. It didn't seem to work though. "You want me to take you home?"

She smiled, because for so many weeks and months, she would have loved to hear those words, or anything like them, fall from his lips, had hoped for it, prayed for it even.

Now there they were, out there, and it was a case of too little, too late.

"I'm fine Grissom," she told him quietly, taking a step back, and his hand fell to his side as he blinked, surprise and concern warring on his face. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She walked down the hall, feeling more clear-headed than she had for much of the day, and she didn't look back.

The nearer she got to her apartment building, the clearer her head got, and by the time she put the key in her door, she was smiling. She threw her keys on the counter, turning to check if there were any messages, her smile dimming momentarily when her mind registered the blinking red zero. Not that she'd been expecting him to call, she reminded herself, but she'd thought that maybe…

She pushed it out of her mind, slipping off her jacket, heading for the kitchen and the refrigerator, pouring herself a glass of orange juice, sipping it slowly. She got as far as her second sip before she choked on it, jumping when a thumping on the door shattered the silence of her apartment.

Setting the glass down on the counter, she hastened to the door, automatically checking the peephole before she opened it. When she saw who was there, she smiled, stepping aside to let him in as she opened the door. She opened her mouth in greeting, but the words died on her lips when she saw the look of fury on his face, matched only by the barely contained impatience radiating from him as he strode past her.

"So you are here," he said, walking into her living room, turning around and looking at her, his hands on his hips.

"Yeah," she said, frowning. "I just got home-"

"Well, it was nice of you to call me," he said, cutting her off. "Since you said that you would and all." Shaking his head, he began to pace from one side of the room to the other, and Sara found herself making a leap of faith.

"You talked to Brass," she surmised, and he turned to her, looking at her first in amazement, then with fury.

"You're damn right I did," he told her angrily. "He took me aside, told me exactly what you did today. You scared the hell out of him Sara, and I didn't think that was possible." Sara opened her mouth, intending to tell him that it hadn't been that bad, though she had the sneaking suspicion that that was probably a lie. Not that it mattered, because Cyrus wasn't going to let her talk; he was nowhere near finished. "So I went to the lab, looking for you, because you promised me you'd call me when you were to leave. Which is where I ran into Stokes, who not only told me that you'd left, but also wasted no time filling me in on any details that Brass had left out!" Sara took another step towards him, but he was still pacing, and he turned then to look at her, his face still angry but more than a little confused too. "What the hell were you thinking Sara?"

Drawing in a deep breath, she shook her head simply. "I wasn't thinking," she told him honestly, shocked to find now how true that was. Everything after the bomb blast was hazy in the extreme to her, the only brief snatches of clarity involving him, and the precious few hours that they'd stolen before she went back to work. The rest of the time, she'd felt like she was sleepwalking through her life, though she was feeling better now, certainly better enough to know that she owed both Brass and Nick an apology. "I know that now. And I should have called you when I was leaving."

Her complete acceptance of his words seemed to take the wind out of his sails, and he visibly deflated, his shoulders slumping. Planting his hands on his hips, he looked down at the ground, then back up at her. "You could have been killed, do you know that?" he whispered, and she was shocked at the pain that she saw in his face.

"I'm ok Cyrus," she whispered, going to him, laying a hand - not the bandaged one - on his cheek.

He reached up, covering her hand with his. "When Brass called me about the explosion," he told her. "He told me that you were pretty shaken up, but I didn't know what that meant. I didn't know if that was his way of telling me that you were hurt, or his way of telling me that I should get over there just in case… " His voice broke off and he shook his head. "You scared the hell out of me Sara."

She gave him a weak smile. "Scared the hell out of me too," she admitted, because she could admit that much to him now, as she stepped into his body, sliding her free arm around his waist, laying her head down on his shoulder. He dropped his hand from hers, both his arms going around her, his palms flat against her back. She felt his sigh move the strands of her hair, closed her eyes, pressing her cheek against the fabric of his shirt. She felt more human in his arms than she had all day, even longer than that, and she closed her eyes, letting herself get lost in the moment.

She didn't know how long they stood there, didn't know how much later it was that she straightened up, the better to see his face. She smiled at him again, but this time there was nothing weak about it. "I'm glad you're here," she whispered, receiving a warm smile in response.

"I'm glad too," he told her, leaning down and brushing his lips across hers.

Brief as it was, the contact had a shiver running up and down her spine, and she leaned back in his arms, feeling a devilish smile spreading across her face. "You know Warrick and Lea found time in the middle of all the investigating to tease me about the two of us."

A slow smile spread across her face. "That so?" He sounded as if the whole thing was amusing him hugely, but she wasn't annoyed by that.

"Yep," she said. "So I was thinking… since I'm catching all the hell for it… I might as well have the fun, don't you think?"

He laughed, a sound that warmed her from the inside out, made a beaming smile break across her face. "That, Miss Sidle," he said, leaning in to kiss her again, "Sounds like a plan to me."

Notes: Per the notes way back in part one, there would be a point where I deviated from canon (ie, wholly rewrote a scene) - if you've not guessed, this is the point. Justification - there was no way, having gone through seventeen-and-a-half parts of this story, that this Sara would have done what she did at the end of PWF (speaking in glyphs for the spoiler free; you know who you areg) Ergo, short of deleting the however many thousand words that went before it, the only thing I could do was change canon. Feedback is, as always, appreciated.

Chapter Text

Part Nineteen - Elysium

(Interim - Play with Fire, Inside the Box)

He wasn't sure what exactly woke him, but Cyrus was in no mood to open up his eyes, preferring instead to press his body closer to the woman in bed with him, pulling her closer to him. Her back was against his chest, and without opening his eyes, he buried his head in her neck, placing a couple of small, quick kisses there. His actions woke her, he knew that from the way she squirmed against him, from the way she arched her neck to grant him better access, but she didn't seem in any great hurry to move either.

Forcing himself to open his eyes, he squinted around the room, saw from the clock on the bedside table that it was about time that he should be getting up, leaving to run some errands. He didn't want to though, would much rather stay here with her. He'd been feeling that way every time he'd woken up with her in the last five days, and he didn't see himself changing his tune on the matter any time soon, which surprised him. Regardless of how long he'd wanted things to happen between him and Sara, and regardless of how long they'd actually officially been together - a few days if you counted from the time of the explosion, a couple of weeks if you counted back to the night of the carnival - he was beginning to think that he could quite easily spend the rest of his life with her, just like this.

Propping himself on one elbow, he looked down at her, once again sleeping peacefully. Her cheeks were pink, her eyelashes dark against them, a small smile playing around her lips, and he studied her for a long moment as was his new habit, etching the sight into his memory. He considered waking her up but decided against it, because he knew from things he'd heard around the lab, not to mention things he'd observed firsthand over the last few nights, that she hardly ever slept, and he wasn't going to disturb her rest.

Especially not when she looked like that.

Slowly, carefully, he slipped out of bed, was padding across the floor to the bathroom when a mumble from the bed stopped him in his tracks. "Cyrus?" It was his name, though not clearly so, and he smiled, turning and heading back to the bed, kneeling down beside her. Reaching out, he touched her cheek, brushing a finger over her skin, continuing on to run his hand over her hair. She took a deep breath, not opening her eyes, then asked, in that same sleepy mumble, "Where are you going?"

"Bathroom," he half-lied, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Go back to sleep."

"Mmmm-kay."

He stayed where he was until he was sure that she was asleep again, then continued on his way, smiling all the while. He was enjoying this new facet of his relationship with Sara, the things that he was learning about her, things that constantly surprised him.

He would never have believed, after it having taken them a long time to get to where they were, that Sara would be so passionate about their relationship. Nor would he have imagined that, for someone who had professed to want to keep their relationship quiet, to see where they would end up, that she would be so nonchalant when people they both knew asked them about it. Ever since the explosion, he'd taken to dropping her off and picking her up from work, before heading back to her place and staying there. On the second day he'd done that, she'd walked out of the lab with Nick, who had come over to the car with her, the largest smirk that Cyrus had ever seen spread across his face. "Well well well," he'd said, looking directly at Cyrus as he'd met them halfway. "What would you be doing here at this time of day?"

Cyrus had smiled, but stayed silent, waiting to follow Sara's lead. He was sure she'd have some snappy retort, but he hadn't expected her to shake her head, giving Nick a glare. "Ignore him." She'd been looking at Nick, but talking to Cyrus, and she'd slipped an arm around his waist, reaching up to kiss his lips briefly. "He's been like this all day."

"And you haven't killed him yet?" Cyrus had put an arm around Sara's waist too, pulling her close to him, not missing the amused look on Nick's face at their little display. There hadn't been the slightest hint of embarrassment on Sara's face though, which he'd taken to be a good thing.

"Oh, believe you me, she's threatened plenty," Nick had told him. "But threats don't sound the same when she's smiling like that."

Sara had looked down at the ground, but not before Cyrus had seen the grin that she was indeed sporting, and he'd chuckled too. "I don't imagine so," he'd allowed, uttering an exclamation when Sara had slapped his arm. "What was that for?"

"You're not supposed to agree with him," Sara had told him, and he'd arranged his face in a suitably contrite expression.

"Yes dear."

His words had made Nick roll his eyes, hold up his hands as if in surrender. "I really don't need to be around for this," he'd decided. "Sara, I'll see you later. Cyrus, basketball… "

"Yeah, we missed this week." Unspoken between them had been the fact that they had planned to play on the same day that the lab had exploded. "Usual time next week?"

Nick had nodded, moving away. "Wouldn't miss it." He'd turned, lifting a hand in farewell. "Later."

Cyrus half-expected him to turn around and say something else to them, but he'd been distracted when Sara had turned to him, smiling up at him and resting both her hands on his waist. His hands had gone of their own accord to her back, running up and down lazily, his head dipping so that their lips met.

He never would have figured Sara Sidle for one who indulged in public displays of affection in the CSI parking lot, but he wasn't going to complain. And when they'd gone back to her place, curling up on the couch with a pizza and a bottle of wine, he hadn't complained about that either.

It was one thing, he considered now, to be comfortable with the two of them in front of Nick. After all, he was friends with the two of them, he'd been the one who'd first set the two of them up. It had been a different matter the next day, when he'd once again picked her up after work, but instead of going straight back to her apartment - which was starting to feel more and more like his apartment too - they'd gone grocery shopping.

It hadn't been a spur of the moment decision; rather the previous evening, he'd been looking to make something to go with the pizza, and had been shocked by the state of her kitchen cupboards and refrigerator. "What do you eat?" he'd demanded, and she hadn't been upset by his question, had just laughed.

"I eat plenty," she'd told him.

"Plenty of junk," he'd replied, looking at her cooker, which still looked shiny new. "When was the last time you did any cooking in this place?" When she hadn't answered immediately, he'd made a noise of disgust. "I knew it."

"I can cook, ok?"

"Sure you can." He'd spoken with the air of one who was throwing down the gauntlet, and she'd reacted as he knew she would, folding her arms across her chest, issuing the challenge right back.

"Want me to prove it to you?"

"It would be nice," he'd said. "Not that you're going to get a chance tonight… "

"Tomorrow then. We'll go shopping after work, and I… will cook." She'd sounded considerably more hesitant towards the end, as if she realised what she was getting into, but he'd had no intention of letting her out of it.

So he'd picked her up at the lab, driven her to the store, and he had to admit, he'd enjoyed walking around with her, haggling over what they should buy and what they shouldn't. He'd insisted on a certain type of cheese, telling her that his mother had a secret recipe for cheese and toast that she had to try, and she'd rolled her eyes in disbelief, pointing out that there was only so much you could do with cheese on toast. He'd asked if she'd care to make another bet on that, since he'd done so well with the last one, and she'd just given him one of her patented dirty looks. She'd accepted the cheese but had drawn the line when he'd tried to put a box of Fruit Loops into the trolley, putting them back on the shelf, muttering something about processed food of the devil. He'd got his own back though, when she'd tried to introduce eggplant into his diet. "I will do many things for you," he'd told her, tossing it back on to the pile, trying not to let his mind run in all kinds of salacious directions when she raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. "But eating eggplant is not one of them."

"Fine," she'd said, throwing up her hands in good-natured exasperation. "Your loss." At that, he'd decided to hell with where they were; after all, he'd kissed her the previous day in full view of whomsoever might have been walking through the CSI parking lot. So he hadn't felt the least bit awkward closing the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers, and she mustn't have either, because she responded to the kiss, her hand going to the back of his head, holding him in place when he'd initially tried to pull away.

She'd grinned at him when she'd stepped back, and at first he'd returned the smile, until his eyes focussed on something over her shoulder. Then the smile froze on his face, just for a moment, but long enough for her to see his hesitation, to turn around, still chuckling, and see what he was seeing. Grissom was standing there, looking at them, his face slack with surprise, shopping basket hanging limply at his side, and Cyrus couldn't remember a time when he'd ever seen the other man look so ill-at-ease. In the instant before any of them spoke, Cyrus had wondered how Sara would react, because after all, it wasn't as if it was Nick, or Warrick or any of her other colleagues. It was Grissom, her boss, and if the rumour mill was in any way accurate, the man on whom she'd had something of a crush for quite some time. He wouldn't have blamed her had she reacted with dismay, had put some distance between them, but she hadn't. Her cheeks had reddened slightly, but she'd kept smiling, not a flicker of anything on her face as she said, "Hey Grissom."

"Sara." Grissom had nodded at her, but his gaze had lingered on Cyrus. "Detective." The look had been vaguely curious, the same kind of look that Cyrus had seen on his face from time to time when Grissom was studying evidence, and he hadn't felt too comfortable with it being directed at him. He'd been unsure what to say, had been glad when Grissom had continued by saying, "I didn't expect to see you here."

Sara had rolled her eyes, giving Cyrus's waist a squeeze. "I'm trying to expand Cyrus's palette," she'd said, phraseology that Cyrus had known was designed to get a response out of him, and it had worked.

"You say expand, I say poison… "

Grissom's eyes had been darting between the two of them, but if Sara had noticed, she hadn't said anything, continuing on as if he hadn't spoken. "He dares me to make dinner, then refuses to let me buy eggplant, so I can stuff it." She'd given an exaggerated shrug, looking up at Cyrus. "I had a plan."

Cyrus had snickered, but it had been Grissom who spoke. "You were going to cook?"

Sara had glared at Cyrus, warning him with no words not to say a word, before turning the full force of her glare on Grissom. "I can cook." She'd ground out the words, and Grissom, his eyes still travelling between Sara and Cyrus, had just nodded, taking a step back.

"Well… I'll let you get back to it… "

Neither Sara nor Cyrus even had the chance to say anything in return before he was gone, and Cyrus had looked down at Sara. "Did that go well?" he'd asked, because he really couldn't tell, and she'd just shrugged, passing the whole thing off.

"It's Grissom," was all she'd said. "Who can tell?"

But Cyrus had the thought in his head that if anyone would be able to tell, it would have been her, and he'd watched her carefully for the remainder of the night, to see if there was any doubt, any change in her attitude that might have been explained by their encounter with Grissom.

He'd seen nothing.

They'd finished shopping, they'd gone back to Sara's place, made dinner and curled up in front of the television, before finally going to bed and making love. And not once had he seen a single thing that made him think she might be having second thoughts, just the opposite in fact. He'd asked her, as they lay on her couch, whether Nick had kept up his teasing that day, and she'd chuckled, telling him it hadn't just been Nick. "It's been Warrick and Lea and Greg, and I think Hodges in Trace would have if he had a sense of humour… " she'd observed, a tiny frown appearing between her eyebrows at the mention of the last name.

"And you're ok with that?" he'd asked, causing her to look up at him in surprise.

"I can handle it," she'd told him, a salacious smile spreading across her features. "Besides, I'm coming out of it pretty well… "

The comment had been designed to one effect, and he didn't let her down. "That a fact?" he'd asked, leaning over to kiss her.

"What about you?" she'd asked him later, and he'd blinked, because their earlier conversation had been somewhat driven out of his mind. "Oh, don't tell me you're getting off lightly," she'd continued, interpreting his silence as an absence of news, rather than confusion. "Then I'll just have to kill you."

"There have been one or two comments," he'd said, and she'd nodded in satisfaction. "And a particularly interesting conversation with Brass."

Her face had registered interest, so he'd told her the full story. It had been the first day after the explosion, and he'd been on his way to the police department after dropping her off at work when Brass had called him, asking him to come to his office when he got in. Cyrus had obeyed, feeling a certain sense of déjà vu as he walked down the hall, all the more so when he'd leaned against Brass's door, asking, "You were looking for me?" He'd said the same words when Brass had called him in here a couple of weeks earlier, when he and Sara and Warrick had been working on the case of the two kids found dead in the desert.

The sense of déjà vu had grown even stronger when Brass had beckoned him in, adding the command, "And close the door behind you." He hadn't taken his eyes off Cyrus as he'd come across the room, sitting down across from him, and Cyrus hadn't been the slightest bit surprised at his next words. "So… you and Sidle."

It hadn't been a question, nor had it been a condemnation, and Cyrus hadn't quite known how to respond. "Yeah," he'd said, his voice level, waiting for Brass to make the next move.

"Stokes informed me of a certain phone call that he made," Brass had said. "After I'd heard about it from other sources around the lab. And it interested me, because I had you in here a few weeks ago, and you told me the two of you were just friends. Which I didn't believe for an instant, but hey." He lifted up his hands in the universal gesture of helplessness. "It's your business, and I'm a supportive guy right?" Cyrus had nodded, it seeming to be the appropriate response. "I call you when the lab goes up. I tell you when it looks like she's falling apart, because I figure if anyone can help her, it's going to be you. Her friend." The last word was said in a tone of complete scepticism, Brass's fingers even curling in quotation marks as he spoke. "Then I find out all this."

He'd stopped then, giving Cyrus a chance to reply, and Cyrus had taken his time, trying to come up with the right words. "You know how work place things can go," he'd said eventually. "We were trying to keep it quiet, figure out where we were going. We still are." Because even though they'd slept together, even though he was happier than he'd ever been, he didn't want to tempt fate.

"Hey, hey." Brass had held up both hands, stopping him. "I'm not here to bust your chops about this. I told you before, I couldn't care less about what the rules say here. You two keep your private lives off the job and I don't care what you do. In fact, far as I'm concerned, you and I never even had this conversation." Pausing to allow Cyrus to take that in, he'd continued with, "That being said. Sara's had a rough year this year… the Winters case, that scumball paramedic, now the explosion… and I'm betting you already know this, but she ain't as tough as she likes to put across."

None of this had been news to Cyrus, but hearing it from Brass of all people had taken the wind out of his sails considerably. "I know that."

"She's a good kid, is what I'm saying." Brass had leaned forward intently, resting his elbows on his desk. "I wouldn't like to see her hurt."

Cyrus had had to fight very hard to keep the shock from showing on his face as he'd realised that Brass had called him in here to ascertain his intentions towards Sara, beating down a laugh of pure surprise. "I would never hurt her," he'd replied instead, meeting the older man's gaze, hoping he could see the sincerity in his eyes.

Brass had once more lifted his hands wide, shrugging his shoulders. "Then we're not going to have a problem," he'd said simply, going back to the files and folders on his desk, looking up a few seconds later and seeming surprised to find Cyrus still there. "We're done."

Cyrus had left the office, hardly able to believe what had just transpired, and when he'd told Sara, she'd felt the same. "Brass?" she'd asked, her accent broader than usual, showing her surprise. "Brass said all that to you?" Cyrus had nodded, and a chuckle had escaped her lips. "You're making that up."

"Not a bit. He good as told me that if I hurt you, I'd have him to answer to." He brushed a lock of hair back from her cheek as he spoke. "Bet you never knew he held you in such high regard huh?" She'd smiled, but Cyrus knew her well enough by now to see the emotion under the surface, knew that she really was touched by the older man's concern. "You do know I'd never do anything to hurt you, right?" he'd asked her then, just to make sure, and he'd seen her swallow hard.

"Yeah," she'd whispered. "I know that." She hadn't let him say anything else though, pulling him to her, kissing him hard, before standing from the couch, leading him to the bedroom.

He pulled himself back to reality at that juncture, knowing that any further thoughts like that were going to lead to him joining her back in bed, blowing the careful plans that he had for them for their day off. Showering and shaving quickly, he made his way back to the bedroom, finding his clothes scattered all around the place, putting them on. He was almost ready to go when he heard her stirring. He didn't say anything, didn't even look around, hoping that if he was still, she'd go back to sleep, but that plan came to naught when her sleepy voice came across the room. "Where are you going?"

He turned then, walked over to her and looked down at her. She'd rolled over onto her back, was rubbing her eyes sleepily, her cheeks flushed pink with sleep; all in all, a very inviting picture. "I'm heading into town," he told her, sinking down on the bed beside her, his hand drawn to her hair like a moth to a flame. "I've got some errands to run … and I've got to make a pit stop at my place first." She frowned, her hands reaching out to run up his arms, her eyes becoming more alert, and he had a feeling that if he stayed any longer, he was never going to get out of here. "I'll be as quick as I can," he promised. "Then I'm coming back here … cook dinner for you… " His hands slipped around her body, to the smooth skin of her back, pulling her up to him. "Start keeping you in the style to which you're going to become accustomed… "

She chuckled at his phrasing, kissing him warmly, pulling him into a hug when he broke away. "Some change from yesterday," she told him, and he had to give her that, remembering how the previous day when the alarm went off, it had been he who had tried to convince her to stay in bed a few minutes longer.

"I'll be as quick as I can," he promised again, kissing her quickly again before releasing her, letting her lie back down again. The sheet slipped a little as he moved, exposing her body to his gaze, and he didn't miss the look in her eyes when she saw him looking at her, couldn't help but notice that she took her sweet time covering herself up. "I'll see you later," he said, kissing her one last time, taking a step away from her.

He half-turned at her words. "If you let me get dressed, I'll go... " She stopped suddenly, the word "go" suddenly having some seven extra syllables, Sara having been overtaken by a yawn in the middle of it.

"The only place you're going," he told her firmly, "Is back to sleep."

She shot him a disgusted look, but she didn't argue, just rolled over in bed, pulling his pillow towards her and closing her eyes. "Take the spare key with you," she muttered, but other than that, she was asleep before he'd made it to the bedroom door.

As quietly as possible, he made his way to the kitchen, and only when he got there did he realise that he didn't actually know where she kept her spare key. Deciding he'd get it when he came back, he left the apartment, a wide smile on his face.

He kept smiling the whole way back to his place, mentally putting together a shopping list of the things he'd need to pick up at the store, comparing it to what was still left from his trip with Sara a couple of days before, deciding that he should also check it against what was in his own kitchen too. Thus when he got back to his place, that was the first thing he did; the second being to change his clothes, wondering absently would it be out of line if he brought some stuff over to Sara's place and left it there; save him having to run back and forth all the time. After all, he hadn't spent a night in this place since the lab had exploded, and Sara's place was rapidly becoming more and more like home to him. Deciding that it would wait until tomorrow, when he'd actually had a chance to discuss it with Sara, he moved into the kitchen, checking the mail that he'd thrown on the counter when he'd first come in, finding the bills that he needed to pay, knowing that he could stop at the bank on his way to the store.

The last thing he did at home was to check his messages, the little red light blinking the figure three at him. The first was an old buddy of his from college, calling to catch up. The second was Nick, his voice full of amusement. "Hey man, it's me… guess I know where you are if you're not at home. I'm not going to interrupt that… again … so I guess I'll call you on your cell later." A click indicated that Nick had hung up, and the next voice that Cyrus heard was his sister's. "Hey Cyrus, it's Kim. We haven't heard from you in a few days," she said, her voice, like Nick's, highly amused, and Cyrus had the feeling that she knew more than she was saying. That much was confirmed with her next words. "Though from talking to Dad, I'd say I know the reason for that. You've been holding out on me big brother, and I want details. Call me when you get this."

Grinning, Cyrus picked up the phone and punched in the number that he knew by heart, knowing that it was more than his life was worth to delay this particular call. Kim might have been his baby sister, but since their mother had died, she'd stepped in to fill the gap, inviting him over for dinner every week, sometimes to make sure that he was eating right, sometimes to fix him up, not caring how unsubtle she was about it. If she'd talked to his father about him and Sara, then she already had at least twenty four hours worth of questions built up; he'd last spoken to his father two days ago, the same day that he and Sara had bumped into Grissom at the store.

Then, as now, he'd been paying a flying visit home, but he'd caught his father's call, had been perfectly happy trading anecdotes with him. He'd had no intention of telling him that he was seeing anyone, but his father had surprised him, asking him point blank, "So… who is she?"

Cyrus had been stunned into momentary silence, the best comeback he could come up with being, "What do you mean?"

His father had laughed. "Come on now Cyrus… I know that tone of voice. You've got yourself a young lady there in Vegas, and I mean to know all about her."

"And how do you come to that conclusion?"

There had been a pfft of disgust from the other end. "Because you've got the worst poker face, or voice, in history. Just like your Momma. Who is she?"

Sighing, Cyrus had given it up as a bad job. "Her name is Sara. She's a crime scene investigator."

"What's she like?"

Cyrus had paused, considering. "She's great Dad… you'd like her. She's pretty tough … feisty I think is a good word… "

"Doesn't let you away with anything?"

"That's one way of putting it." He'd been a little surprised that he was having so much trouble characterising Sara, but there were so many things about her that he liked, so many of her little quirks and nuances that it was hard to put them into words. "She's pretty stubborn," he remembered, one word that he'd long since thought of in conjunction with Sara, and not in a bad way. "Can't forget that one … "

Laughing, his father had interrupted him. "Say no more son, say no more." He'd kept laughing, and Cyrus hadn't been able to work out what was so funny until he'd added, "I always heard something about men going for women who were like their mother… "

The simple comparison had brought a lump to Cyrus's throat, because he wished that his mother could have met Sara, knew in his heart of hearts that the two women would have got along famously. Perhaps his father had known that, because he'd changed the subject back to neighbourhood affairs, about the terrible job that Mr Sullivan down the block was making of his front garden this year. The conversation hadn't lasted far beyond that, but when his father had been saying goodbye, he'd dropped a hint that maybe he'd come out to Vegas sometime soon, "And you can introduce me to your Sara."

Cyrus had, at the time, wondered about what Sara would do if she'd heard herself so described, but hadn't corrected his father, liking the sound of it too much. He'd just said his goodbye and gone on about his business. His father on the other hand, he surmised as he waited for Kim to pick up the phone, had probably dialled her number straight away, wanting to know what she knew about Sara. The fact that the answer would have been nothing at all would have driven his sister crazy, and he wasn't sure of the reaction that he was going to get when she picked up.

"Hey Kim, it's me," he said, grinning into the phone, sinking down onto the couch.

"Hey there stranger," came her reply. "Thank you so much for almost waking up your niece."

Cyrus bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud at her dry tone. "You want me to ring back?" he quipped, and he could just imagine the dirty look she was giving him at the other end of the line.

"No I do not, since you finally remembered that you have a sister." There was a second's pause, to allow him to feel appropriately guilty he imagined, before she followed up with, "Guess you've found someone else to spend your time with, huh?"

"You talked to Dad." There was no point in beating around the bush with Kim, Cyrus knew that from long experience.

"Yes I talked to Dad!" The words came out of Kim in an explosion, and Cyrus held the phone away from his ear for a moment. "Who is this woman, and why haven't I met her yet?"

"Her name is Sara," Cyrus told her. "And the reason you haven't met her is because it's new."

If he thought that would hold Kim, he was wrong. "Sara who?" she demanded. "And what do you mean new?"

"Sara Sidle. She's from California. And by new, I mean a couple of weeks."

"Cyrus!" Kim dragged out his name, but she was grinning by now, Cyrus could hear it in her voice. "You're impossible, I swear… come on, I want details. Where did you meet? What's she like? When are we going to meet her?"

"Kim, slow down." Cyrus could hardly keep up with the barrage of questions. "We met at work… "

"She's a cop?"

"Crime scene investigator." Anticipating the question, he told her, "She analyses the scene, collects evidence, processes it… she's got a Physics degree from Harvard."

"Brainy."

"Yeah."

"So what's she doing with you then?"

Cyrus saw the line coming a split second before Kim came out with it, but had no recourse to stop it. "I can hang up on you you know," he reminded her, the ultimate threat at the moment, and she laughed.

"I'll be good, I'll be good. What's she like?"

"Tall… dark hair, brown eyes… " Cyrus started with the physical, knowing from past experience that these were part of the details that Kim would want. "Killer smile… " He remembered that smile from earlier on that morning, his brain lingering on the image, and only another chuckle from the phone receiver brought him back to reality.

"Earth to Cyrus… Earth to Cyrus… "

"Sorry… " Dragging himself back to the conversation at hand, Cyrus realised that a couple of days hadn't made it any easier to describe Sara to people. "What's she like?" Repeating the question gave him time, and he sighed as he attempted to come up with something. "She's great," he finally managed, and to his surprise, there was no laughter, only silence from the other end of the line.

"You sound pretty nuts about her," Kim finally said, and while it was the truth, he raised an eyebrow anyway.

"You got that from great?"

Kim snickered. "I got that from your voice," she told him. "Besides, I've seen you before… when you're not so involved, you've got no problems talking. Get you serious about someone and you turn into Detective Lockjaw when you're trying to tell someone about them." There was no denying it, so Cyrus didn't bother, leaving Kim free to continue. "There's nothing else for it Cyrus, I'm just going to have to meet this girl for myself and make my own mind up."

She was teasing, but Cyrus was serious. "I'd like that," he said, and he could practically hear Kim's jaw drop. "But I'll have to talk to Sara."

"You mean it don't you?" Kim demanded, obviously flabbergasted. "You're really going to let us meet her?"

"Why not?"

"Why not? Why not, he asks me. Something to do with the fact that you never let us meet women you date?"

Cyrus shrugged. "Well… she's different," he said simply, and there was another long silence.

"You're really serious about her," Kim surmised, and he didn't reply, busy imagining Sara and Kim talking, getting along well. Imagining Sara meeting the rest of his family, his nieces and nephews, his father. It was a nice thought. "Bring her over today," Kim demanded. "I'll make dinner… I'll have to get something for dinner, but I'll make dinner… "

"We kinda have plans," Cyrus had to tell her. "We're both off today, so we were going to cook at her place… we don't get days off together much …" Which was why he was looking forward to it so much, was reluctant to give it up, even if it meant being deprived of the sights he'd just been dreaming about.

"You're cooking? It must be love," Kim laughed, and he wanted to say something, but she didn't give him a chance. "Fine. Bring her over later. You can have dessert here. What does she like to eat?"

Kim was like a dog with a bone, not unlike a certain other woman that Cyrus knew well. "I'll have to talk to Sara," he told her. "See what she says." Glancing up at the clock, he realised that he should be getting going. "Look, I've got some stuff to do before I meet her… can I call you back later, make plans then?"

"Absolutely. I'll call Rick, make sure he's home in time."

Well able to imagine what that conversation would go like, Cyrus rolled his eyes, making a mental note to get the exact details from Rick later on. "Great. Kiss Stephanie for me."

"Will do. Talk to you later."

"Later."

Hanging up the phone, he grabbed what he needed as quickly as he could, doing a quick once around to make sure that he hadn't left anything behind him. That much done, he checked to make sure that his badge and gun were secure - he knew he wasn't on duty, but in his experience, he could be called in at any time, and it never hurt to be prepared - he drove downtown to the First Monument bank.

He was later than he'd planned, and, as usually happens in such a situation, there was a long line of people waiting. Sighing, Cyrus took his place, knowing that since he was in a hurry, the line would no doubt crawl along, and was proven right as quickly as five minutes later, when he hadn't moved an inch. He briefly considered calling Sara to let her know that he'd been held up, because surely she'd be awake and out of bed by now, pushed his jacket aside to check for his cell phone, noticing as he did so, a little boy a couple of places ahead in the line staring at him. He smiled at the child, noting with some amusement how his eyes grew wider when they fell on his badge and gun, remembering how, as a child, he'd done the exact same thing. Just as his mother had done way back when, this child's mother looked down at the boy, followed his stare, and was, as mothers everywhere generally are in such a situation, mortified. "Jimmy, stop staring," she ordered, and Lockwood smiled at her, and the boy.

"It's ok Ma'am," he said, going back to his searching, deciding against calling Sara, reaching for his chequebook instead, willing the line to move faster. His gaze fell on Jimmy again, the little boy once again looking over his shoulder at him, and Cyrus realised that he was probably around the same age as Patrick and Charlie, his nephews, remembered his thoughts from earlier that morning, about Sara meeting them. That thought led to another memory from the last case that the two of them had worked together, when he'd walked back into the Frommer house, past Warrick on his cell phone, going to the nursery, seeing Sara there, walking around the room with the baby in her arms. She'd been muttering softly under her breath, trying to interest the child in various things in the room, and he hadn't spoken, hadn't wanted to disturb her. He'd been too busy imagining what Sara would be like with their own kids, and he'd chided himself at the time, because they'd barely been together for any length of time, hadn't even slept together at that point. He hadn't been able to deny that it was something that he wouldn't have minded at all though, and now, a scant couple of weeks later, he felt even more strongly about it. Fixing an image of his younger niece, Jessica, in his mind, he lightened her skin, gave her straight hair and Sara's eyes, the picture changing easily for him, making him smile.

His reverie was broken by a commotion near the door, the rest of the customers in the queue turning around to see what was happening. Cyrus was turning too, but just then the unmistakable sound of gunfire rent the air, the screams of the other customers coming immediately after.

Recognising what was happening, knowing that the best plan for all concerned was to do as they were told, Cyrus put his chequebook into his breast pocket, going to the plate glass window with the rest of the customers, leaning against it with his hands spread. He kept his eyes peeled though, observing all he could about the robbers, their height and size, keeping an eye out for any distinguishing marks. So he had a perfect view when one of them threatened Jimmy and his mom, the blonde woman obviously terrified for the life of her child. Cyrus wished that he could say something, anything, to reassure them, but knew he couldn't afford to call attention to himself.

As he watched, the gunmen shot out the glass window, ignoring the screams of the women around them. One of them grabbed the bank manager, pulling him down to the vault and out of sight, leaving Cyrus to commit as many details of the rest of the gunmen to memory as unobtrusively as possible. One in particular walked up and down among the customers, threatening them, telling them to keep quiet, and Cyrus paid close attention to his voice, hoping that he'd be able to recognise it later on. He didn't like the hysteria that was beginning to build up in Jimmy's mother's voice, didn't like the way the gunmen was reacting to it. He liked it even less when the walls shook, an explosion in the vault unless he missed his guess, and Jimmy flinched, his mother pulling him closer to her. Out of the corner of his eye, Lockwood could see the gunman lower his gun fractionally, and slowly and carefully pushed his jacket aside, just in case.

That's when he saw Jimmy's mother make a sudden move, evidently trying to get out of the bank. The gunman closed to them shouted something at them, raised his gun, and without even stopping to think, Cyrus did what he had been trained to do, did so instinctively.

He pulled his gun and aimed.

Chapter Text

Part Twenty - Expire

(Inside the Box)

"Cath! You're back!"

Catherine half-turned when she heard Warrick's voice, throwing her jacket into her locker, giving him a beaming smile. "I am back," she said jauntily as she shut the locker door, leaning against it. "Miss me?"

"Of course," Warrick said smoothly, and while she wasn't sure that he really meant it, she appreciated the sentiment.

"So, fill me in on all the gossip around here," she said as they began their walk down to the break room, traditional starting point of the night shift as far as they were concerned. "Grissom said Greg was back at work already?"

Warrick blew a stream of air out between his pursed lips, shaking his head. "Came in last night. Gris told him to go home, he insisted on staying. Dude's still bandaged up, half dopey on pain meds, but he's working anyway."

"Is that wise?" Because after what they'd all just been through, it didn't seem so to Catherine, but Warrick just looked at her, shrugging.

"He wants to work," he said simply. "And we're all keeping tabs on him. He'll be fine. Besides," he added as they walked into the break room. "He brought his coffee with him."

Catherine laughed, intending to say something about manna from heaven, but Nick's voice stopped her. "And he said he'll kill the person who touches the pot," he called to them, looking at them over the top of his newspaper. "I'm just the messenger," he said, in response to Warrick's narrow-eyed glare, and Catherine laughed, enjoying the normality of the moment. She'd missed the banter at the start and close of shift more than she'd realised.

"Where's Sara?" she asked, missing the other woman who was never usually late for a shift, unless of course, she'd pulled a double on the last one. She knew she'd missed something when Warrick laughed outright, shaking his head again, and Nick put down his newspaper, a huge grin on his face.

"It's her night off," he told her, and she didn't quite understand the reason for their humour, because after all, it's not as if that had ever meant anything to Sara before.

"And she's taking it?" she asked, just to make sure, and Nick laughed.

"Oh, I would say so," was all she said, and Catherine looked from him to Warrick, who was hiding a smile in his mug of coffee.

"OK guys, spill. What am I missing?"

The two men looked at one another, two pairs of eyes dancing with mirth, and it was Warrick who caved first. "Sara's in love," he said simply, and Catherine's eyes grew wide with pure shock.

"You're kidding me," she managed, and Nick shook his head.

"Nope. Head over heels and she doesn't care who knows it. She's like, glowing or something."

Catherine looked from one to the other, not sure if they were putting her on, and Warrick nodded soberly at her. "It's true," he confirmed. "It's kinda freaky actually."

A laugh born of surprise bubbled up in Catherine's chest and she struggled for words. "With who?" she all but squeaked, still not entirely convinced that they were telling her the truth.

"Cyrus Lockwood," Nick told her, and she stopped laughing then, because she could practically hear the pieces clicking into place, along with the image of the two of them in a bar, talking to one another as if they were the only two people in the place. Sara had sworn black blue and blind at the time that there was nothing going on between them, and Catherine believed her. But she'd known that there was something in the air between them, and it was nice to know that she wasn't losing her touch. "You don't look surprised," Nick observed, and she shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm not," she said bluntly. "I saw them together once… and there was a vibe there… "

At the mention of the word "vibe" Nick sat up a little bit straighter, pointing a finger at Warrick. "Ah-ha!" he said triumphantly. "I told you there was a vibe between them." Warrick held up a hand and Nick explained to Catherine, "Lockwood's had a thing for her for ages, and I saw the same thing you did when they were together. Which is why I fixed them up… this guy here told me I was crazy."

"I said you were crazy for fixing Sara up," Warrick refuted. "And if I recall correctly, she wanted to boil you in oil afterwards."

"She got over it though, didn't she?" Nick countered, and Catherine was fighting the urge to send them to their respective corners when her cell phone rang.

Closing her eyes, she reached for it, muttering a silent prayer that it wasn't anything about Lindsey. The name on the display read Brass though, so she knew that it had to be work related, and she punched the answer button, feeling the familiar surge of adrenaline rush through her.

It had taken a five-day suspension to remind her how much she loved her job.

"Willows," she said into the phone, fighting back a smile as Warrick drifted over beside Nick. The two of them were still debating whether Nick was responsible for Sara's current happiness or not, and she had to focus to concentrate on Brass.

"Cath, I'm at the First Monument Bank. You need to get down here, Grissom's already on his way."

She frowned, because there was something in his voice that she'd never heard there before, and she couldn't place what it was. "What've we got?" she asked, standing, giving a signal to Warrick and Nick.

"Armed robbery, shots fired, explosion in the vault," Brass said tersely, and she repeated the words as she heard them for Warrick and Nick's benefit. She didn't repeat the next words though, "And an officer down."

Closing her eyes, she let out a breath, muttering, "Shit." When she opened her eyes again, Nick and Warrick were staring at her in concern. "Officer down," she said, and their expressions matched her feelings.

She was all ready to tell Brass that they were on their way, and it was then that she realised the man was still talking. "Look, Catherine… is Sara there?"

Catherine blinked. "Sara? Why?"

There was a long pause, and Catherine could feel her heart drop into her boots as her mind leaped to make the connection between Brass's tone, his question, and what he'd just told her. Only one thing could tie them all together, but that couldn't be. It would be too cruel... wouldn't it?

"Catherine… the officer down? It's Cyrus Lockwood."

Catherine's breath went in in a horrified gasp, and her free hand flew to her mouth. Warrick and Nick were to her side in seconds, Warrick taking hold of her elbow firmly, and the touch brought her back to reality, gave her the wherewithal to say, "We'll take care of it. I'll see you there."

She closed the phone with a snap, looking down at it for a second, then from side to side at Nick and Warrick. "What's wrong?" Warrick's voice was infinitely gentle, and she hated to say the words, especially in view of what they'd just been discussing.

"The officer down," she said, and she saw the realisation play across their faces.

"No… " Nick breathed, and all she could do was nod.

"But they were supposed to be spending the day together at her place, he was off duty," Warrick said, his brow furrowing, and Catherine lifted her hands in a gesture of helplessness.

"Well, she's not with him," she said. "Brass was looking for her."

Nick's jaw was set firmly, and to Catherine's eyes, he looked to be holding back tears. "I'll go over to her place, see if she's there."

"You don't mind?" Catherine wouldn't have wanted that particular job for diamonds, but Nick nodded.

"I'll come with," Warrick said. "We'll meet you there. Does Gris-"

"Brass said he's on his way," Catherine told them. "You guys go, I'll see you there." They were gone in seconds, leaving Catherine standing alone in the break room, looking around her at the walls that had only minutes before rung with their laughter. "Welcome back," she muttered to herself before heading to the locker room.

***

She wasn't sure what woke her, but Sara had no desire to leave the dream that she was having. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, pulled the covers closer around her in an effort to recapture lost sleep, but all to no avail. Surrendering to the inevitable, she stretched languidly, arching her body, stretching out one arm behind her. She encountered only empty space there, and she chided herself mentally for the gesture. She'd known that he'd left before she fell back asleep, and she told herself that even if he had returned in the meantime, he was hardly going to climb back into bed beside her. Well, the thought occurred to her, bringing a smile with it, not without waking her anyway.

Rolling over in bed, she sat up, stretching again, calling out his name. Only silence greeted her, and, just to be sure, she got up and, pulling on a T-shirt that had been flung across the chair, padded into her living room. Just as she'd suspected, she was alone in her apartment, but a look at the clock told her that she wouldn't have been expecting him back yet anyway. A further check of her kitchen drawer told her that he hadn't taken her at her word, for her spare key still resided there, and she shook her head, promising herself that she'd have severe words with him over that when she did get back.

Deciding that she might as well use her time wisely, she decided not to eat anything - after all, he'd promised to cook for her, and she didn't want to spoil that treat. So she went back the way she'd come and further, into the bathroom, stepping under the shower and washing her hair. She didn't worry about what would happen if he arrived at the door when she was so occupied - serve him right for not taking the key with him.

She was dressed in blue jeans and a red top when she next entered her living room, and a glance at the clock had her frowning. She would have thought he'd be back here by now. Debating whether or not to call him, she shook her head, figuring that he'd just have got stuck somewhere. Out of sheer habit, she flicked on her police scanner, frowning when she heard the reports of shots being fired at the First Monument Bank. She vaguely knew the building, though she didn't bank there herself, and she was pretty sure that evidence processing that place would be a nightmare. But tonight she grinned, as she began running her brush through her hair, it was someone else's nightmare.

She had all the tangles combed out of her hair and he still hadn't appeared, hadn't called, and she promised herself that if neither had happened by the time she'd finished drying her hair that she'd call him, probably with a teasing joke about the allure being gone already. She set to blow-drying her hair with the intensity she usually reserved for one of her lab experiments - and the task was done with considerably less enthusiasm, as far as she was concerned, it was one of life's necessary evils- and during one of her pauses to brush out her hair, she thought she heard the words officer down, but she didn't take any notice of it.

Tonight was her night off, and she was going to enjoy it.

She'd just switched off the dryer and put down her brush for the last time when the doorbell rang, and she was taken aback when she saw her reaction in the mirror. A broad smile spread across her face, a rush of delight and expectation spreading through her, and she couldn't believe that it was she, Sara Sidle, who was reacting like this. Not even when she was a teenager had she been given to such displays of emotion. She was even more surprised to realise though, that she really didn't mind them that much.

She allowed herself an evil little smile as she made her way to the door, and if she made it there slightly quicker than she ever had in her life, then she wasn't going to worry about it. She ran comments through her head as she walked - what zinger would she throw at him, would it be about being late, or about not doing as he was told and taking her spare key?

Sure that it was him, she didn't check the peephole, and any and all words flew out of her head when she saw Warrick and Nick standing there. They were both looking at her seriously, both wearing CSI windbreakers, and she knew exactly what they were there for. "Oh no," she said quickly, and they glanced at one another, frowning. "Forget about it guys," she continued, talking quickly lest they tell her about some wonderful case that sounded too interesting to pass up. "This is my night off, I have plans… can't you tell Gris that you couldn't find me or something?"

"Sara… " It was Nick who spoke, and something about the tone of his voice had her looking at him sharply. "Can we come in?"

She frowned, but she stepped back, opening the door wide to them, letting them through. "What's wrong?" she asked, looking from one to the other as they looked at one another, and she knew them well enough to know that whatever they had to say, neither of them wanted to say it. "Guys?"

It was Warrick who broke first. "Sara… there was a robbery at the First Monument Bank."

"I know," she said, when it became clear that that was all he was going to say. His eyes flared wide with alarm, and she gestured to behind them, into the apartment. "I heard it on the scanner." She glanced back and forth between them again. "You're here to tell me I have to work, right?"

Nick drew in his breath sharply, took a step towards her, which felt odd enough, but nowhere near as odd as it felt when he took both her hands in his. "Sara," he said slowly, and the only thing she could think about was that his hands were like ice. "Cyrus was there."

The world seemed to tilt around her for a moment, a moment when the only things that were clear, the only things she could focus on, were the brown orbs of pain that were Nick's eyes, and the fact that the cold was spreading from his hands into hers, up her arms and into her chest, from there into her heart and up into her brain. Before it froze entirely though, it made a connection that it didn't want to make, with the way that they were both there to tell her this on her night off and the way that Nick was holding her hands.

"No… " It didn't sound a bit like her voice, and through the ice on her back, she felt Warrick's warm palm.

"Sara." Though his hand was on her back, his voice came from very far away. "We're so sorry."

The warmth of his touch thawed her just enough to ask, "How bad?"

Then Nick spoke again, said only two words, chasing any residual heat away. "I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head, and she closed her eyes at that, not able to look at the two of them anymore. "Brass called us on the way over… something about a woman and child that tried to run," Nick continued. "Near as we can tell he reached for his gun to save them… "

Always the hero she wanted to say, but she couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but concentrate on not falling down. When she opened her eyes again, Nick was still holding her hands, Warrick at her side, his hand on her back, and she was still cold, but able to nod her head. "I'll get my jacket," she said. She would have moved, were it not for Nick still holding tightly to her hands.

"Sara, you don't have to do that," he whispered.

She just looked at him, because she knew that he was wrong. "I want to do this Nick," she said. "I have to." She held his gaze, not wavering for a moment, and when he didn't budge, she looked down pointedly. "Can you let go of my hands please?"

He looked at Warrick, and she saw him shrug out of the corner of her eye, and Nick sighed, dropping her hands. "If we can do anything… " he began, and she knew just what to say to that.

"Drive."

If they thought it was a bad idea - and they patently did, she just didn't care - then they didn't say anything, and they drove in silence to the bank, the building that she'd passed so many times. Dimly, as if it had been another person's thoughts, she remembered thinking that it was the scene of someone else's nightmare, wondered how one person could be so wrong.

Though she knew it was futile, that Nick and Warrick wouldn't have shown up to her door unless they were sure, there was some small part of her that wanted to believe that a mistake had been made, that Cyrus would be standing there when the car pulled up, that she'd be able to berate him for making her worry like this. Then they'd go home, and he'd cook her food and they'd make love all night long, and she'd make Nick and Warrick grovel for a week before letting them know that they were forgiven.

Any thoughts she was harbouring in that direction were quashed the second she stepped out of the car, because it seemed as if conversation stopped among the various police officers gathered there as they saw her. In the distance, she could see David Phillips standing beside the coroner's van, see the stretcher beside him, see his face drain of colour as he looked at her, and she looked away quickly, looked at the door of the bank instead.

She could do this, she reminded herself. She had to do this.

She stayed standing there until Warrick and Nick materialised on either side of her. "You ready for this?" Warrick asked, and it took his question to galvanise her into action.

"Let's go," she said firmly, slipping on her professional façade like her lab coat, steeling herself underneath its protective mantel, leading the way into the bank. On her way, she gave vent to her thoughts, not sure if Warrick and Nick were listening to her, not really caring either way. She knew that it was important that she act as if things were normal, that that was the only chance she had of people treating her normally, but even she was surprised by how little her voice trembled when she spoke. "I heard officer down. I just never thought it would be him."

Warrick evidently heard her, said something about how he just wished they knew what he was doing there, how he was supposed to be off duty. Sara could have told him, could hear Cyrus's voice in the back of her head, something about him having stuff to take care of before he could come back to her place and keep her in the style to which he intended to make sure she became accustomed. She'd thought he meant shopping and suchlike. She hadn't known that he did his banking here … one of the many things, she realised numbly.

Behind Warrick, Nick said softly, "He was only thirty four years old." And I'm thirty-one, she thought. We should have had so much more time…

Trying to push the thoughts out of her mind, she walked over to where Grissom and Catherine were standing, waiting for Grissom to tell them what to do. Her attention though, was taken by the patch of floor slightly to Grissom's right, the pool of blood there.

Cyrus's blood.

It had only been a few days since she'd seen her own blood, smeared red on blue denim, but that had been nothing like this. That had been dried in, a small stain. This was a pool of crimson, vibrant with life, and she couldn't take her eyes off it.

She snapped back to reality when Grissom said her name, told her that she was working with him in the vault, and she was surprised, because she could hardly remember the last time she'd worked with him. Still though, she couldn't deny the fact that she was happy to not be working on the main floor of the bank, because much as she felt like she needed to do this, she knew she wouldn't be able to handle the sight of that pool of blood. Even the few seconds' sight of it had shaken her to her core, and she was grateful that it was Grissom she'd be working with, because he was the one person on night shift who she knew would leave her to her own devices, wouldn't hover over her, ask her how she was feeling.

That thought lasted until they were out of sight of the others, when they got to the base of the steps down into the vault. He stopped there, and she looked at him fleetingly, dropping her eyes when she saw the look of concern on his face. "Are you going to be ok?" he asked gently, and she nodded.

"Fine," she said tersely, moving away from him, towards the wall of the vault where most of the damage had been done. "Wow… look at that… "

"Sara-"

It was one word that had her freezing in her tracks, had her staring straight ahead, because there was no power on this earth that could get her to turn around and look at him. Not when he said her name like that.

"Grissom… "

It was one word, and it was all she could say, and she hoped that he understood that it was short for, "Please don't push me today, because if you do, I'm going to fall apart, and I don't know if I'll be able to put myself back together again."

The word fell into the silence between them, and she heard him sigh. "OK then. Let's begin."

They worked together like it was just another case, an ordinary day, though it was anything but, and she was relieved to know that she'd been right, that Grissom possessed the capability to switch everything off, to treat her like he'd always treated her. She never thought she'd be grateful for that, but she was beginning to learn that it was amazing what life could throw at you.

They worked together until Warrick came down the stairs, telling them that he was going back to the lab to look at the surveillance tapes, and Grissom stood, wiping dust off his hands. She could feel the dust under her own hands, remembered wiping it off her ID badge, and she had to focus hard on what it was he was saying. "-head back with Warrick," he was saying. "You'll be ok here?"

She nodded. "Sure," she said simply, and he began to move up the stairs, leaving her there with Warrick. She met his gaze, held it for a long moment, and he raised an eyebrow, staring her down.

"Yeah?" was all he said, and she couldn't help but smile at him, reassured by how like Grissom he was, and yet how different.

"Yeah," she said, and he tilted his head before he walked away too, leaving her alone, letting her get back to work.

She didn't look up until she heard more footsteps coming down the stairs, and she looked up to see Nick standing there. "Hey," he said. "How's it going?"

She looked around her, at the boxes scattered everywhere, piles of money dotted among them. "It's going," she said simply, rubbing an arm across her forehead.

"You're holding up ok?" Nick continued, and she gave him a look that had him holding his hands up in mock surrender. "You know I'm only asking-"

"I know Nick," she told him quietly, tilting her head back.

He sighed. "Yeah." Another sigh. "Look, we've been here a while… you want to take a break? Get some coffee, a bagel or something?"

She looked at him then, but not because she wanted coffee or something to eat. There was something else she wanted to do, somewhere else she wanted to be. "Will you take me somewhere Nick?"

He looked surprised, but he nodded, letting her lead the way up the stairs and into the open air. She didn't look over at the pool of blood on her way, but she could still see it.

Nick was fine with taking her where she wanted to go, until that is, she told him where they were going. He fought her every step of the way, though he still drove, and he sat in the car with her for a good five minutes trying to talk her out of it.

"You don't need to do this Sara," he said gently, not for the first time.

She looked at him steadily, but didn't answer him directly. "Are you coming or not?"

He sighed, pulling the key from the ignition. "Yeah," he said. "I'm coming."

They were at the door of the mortuary when they met Doc Robbins coming from the other direction, and the older man frowned when he saw them. "If you're here for the bullet, I just came from giving it to Grissom-" he said, but his voice trailed off midway through, perhaps as a result of her flinching at the word "bullet."

"That's not what we're here for Doc," Nick said, standing behind her, resting his hand for a second on her shoulder.

She saw the realisation dawn on Robbins's face, saw him glance quickly at Nick before looking back at her. "No," he said quickly, but gently.

"Doc-" she said, but he cut her off with a raised hand.

"This isn't a good idea Sara."

His voice echoed along the deserted corridor, and Sara crossed her arms over her chest defensively, squaring her shoulders as if for battle. Nick stood behind her, hovering, and she half wanted to tell him to take a step back. However, she still had the wherewithal to know that he was her ally in this, and that pissing him off mightn't be the best idea in the world. She knew too that he was worried about her, that he was standing behind her so that he could catch her if she fell apart; she knew it was pure concern that was motivating him. Just like she knew that it was concern for her, and not for protocol, that had Doc Robbins refusing her entry. The older man was looking at her in a decidedly paternal way, his kind face lined with sympathy, and she almost felt bad for disagreeing with him.

Almost.

"Please Doc… " she said, her voice a whisper, pleading. "I know you're not supposed to… "

"It's not that Sara," he replied, shaking his head. "But you can't say goodbye like that. Not properly."

She sucked in a deep breath at his heartfelt words, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. "I need to see him," she said. "Just for a minute."

"C'mon Doc." Doc Robbins looked at Nick over her shoulder, but she didn't look around, keeping her eyes on Robbins's face, waiting for the first chink in his armour. "She needs to do this."

It might have been Nick's calming presence that convinced him, though how Nick was holding it together Sara really didn't know. Whatever it was though, Doc Robbins looked from one to the other before looking back at Sara. "I'm not happy about this," he said, his last act of defiance, but the effect was somewhat lessened as he stepped towards the door when he spoke. "Just give me a second."

"We won't tell anyone," Nick promised as Doc Robbins pushed open the door, and Sara could hear the grin in his voice. She knew she should be pleased to have got her way, but now that the time had come, she was having trouble getting her legs to move in the direction of the door. "Sara?" Nick asked after a second. "You ok?"

She nodded dumbly at him as he came around to face her, and she leaned against the wall for support until Doc Robbins came back out again. "You can go in now," he told her. "I'll give you some time alone." She nodded, knowing that he was flouting several rules of protocol, that he was doing this for no other reason that he'd known Cyrus and knew her, but she still couldn't make her legs move, until he reached out a hand and touched her shoulder gently for just a second. "We'll be right here," he told her.

She nodded again, just about managing to murmur a thank you before her brain remembered how to send messages to her legs, and feeling as if she was moving through quicksand, she pushed the door to the morgue open and walked through it.

He was the first thing that she saw, and she stopped walking, because even it looked like him, it wasn't, not really. This wasn't the Cyrus that she'd talked with, laughed with, made love with. It was his body, but everything that made him Cyrus was gone, and standing there, the cold silence of the morgue all around her, she understood that for the first time. This wasn't a bad dream, wasn't someone's unfunny idea of a joke.

He was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

She knew that she shouldn't be reacting like this. She'd seen more than her share of dead bodies; she'd even seen the bodies of people that she knew, people that she'd cared for. It had never affected her like this before. She'd never felt so disconnected from her body, as if she was watching this happen to someone else, as if it was a bad dream that she was going to wake up from at any moment.

The only other time she remembered feeling like this was quite recently, right after the lab explosion. He'd been the one to take her in his arms and take her home. He'd been the one who'd held her, who'd made love to her, who'd told her by his actions, if not his words, that everything was going to be all right. That she was alive, that she was safe. He'd been the one who'd brought her back to reality, back to herself, and he'd done with twice, once in the immediate aftermath, and then again when the case had been all wrapped up. She hadn't asked him to, he'd just been there, done it, because there was no place else he would think of being. He'd been the one who'd told her that she was going to be all right, he'd made her believe that she'd come out on the other end of this.

There was no-one here to do that now.

Forcing herself to take a couple of steps closer, she looked down at him. His head and the tops of his shoulders was all that she could see, the sheet covering the rest of his body, including the bullet wound that had taken his life. She was glad of that, because she knew that she didn't want to see that, didn't need to see that. She just wanted to see him.

She was used to seeing dead bodies, but she'd never really come to terms with how death could change someone's features, make them almost unrecognisable. It hadn't happened with him though; she could see that now. He looked just as he had earlier on that day when she'd been dozing in her bed as he dressed, when he'd sat down beside her and kissed her and she'd tried to convince him not to leave. Standing beside him now, she almost expected him to open one lazy eye and wink up at her, as if she really was living in a nightmare and would wake at any second.

But she knew he wouldn't. He was never going to cook dinner with her, never dance with her in the living room, never listen to her with those serious eyes of his before making her burst out laughing over nothing at all.

Stepping closer to him, she was able to reach out, run a finger along his cheek. She almost recoiled then, because he was cold, and he'd never been that cold, any time that he touched her. He'd always radiated heat, light, strength - life. It had been one of the things she loved about him, and its absence now made her heart ache, as did the stillness of his features.

Reaching underneath the sheet, she found his hand, lifting it up, wrapping it in both of hers, bringing it to her chest. "They told me what you did." She didn't mean to talk to him, but the words were coming out anyway, and she didn't try to stop them. Even if she knew he couldn't hear her, there was enough lapsed Catholic theology still left in her to make her think that his soul had to be somewhere, even if she couldn't feel him. "Typical you, playing the hero… you did that for me too didn't you?" He'd walked her away from a bomb scene, but even before that she could remember times when she'd been drowning, after Melissa, after the Eddie Willows case, that he'd been there for her, taking care of her without her even realising it. She hadn't been surprised when Nick had told her what had happened, what had made Cyrus draw his gun. "Saving a mother and child?" she continued. "I'm not surprised you did it. Though I am a little pissed off at you right now. You're the one who reamed me out last week about being careful… " The honesty surprised her, and she felt the prickle of tears just behind her eyes, because the words, while true, didn't tell the full story. "And I'm so proud of you… I just wish you could hear me tell you that." Swallowing hard, she brought his hand up to her lips, pressing a kiss against his knuckles. "I wish a lot of things were different… " she whispered. "That I'd gone with you… that we hadn't wasted so much time… that you could tell me everything's going to be all right." She ran out of words then, and she pressed his hand closer to her chest just looking at him, her eyes dry as her throat, her heart pounding.

She stood there for a long time, but nowhere near long enough.

"I should go," she whispered finally, laying his hand back down at his side, covering it with the blanket. "Nick's waiting outside, and Doc Robbins… I think they're worried about me." Against all odds, a smile lit up her face. "I think I'm going to have a job getting rid of Nick; he hasn't let me out of his sight since… " A flash of pain seared through her body as she remembered the words Nick had spoken to her, the pain in his eyes, the scene of the crime, the blood on the floor. "This isn't fair," she said impulsively, her eyes filling with sudden tears. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

"Sara?" Doc Robbins's quiet voice from behind her made her jump, but she didn't turn around. "I'm sorry, but-"

She nodded. "I'm coming now." Her hand reached out almost of its own accord, tracing a path down his cheek one last time, then she leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Goodbye," she whispered, straightening up then, turning on her heels and walking away without looking back. She nodded at Doc Robbins, acknowledging his sympathetic gaze, pushing her way through the double doors, stopping only when she met Nick's worried brown eyes. He was leaning against the wall directly opposite the doors, obviously waiting for her, and he straightened up instantly when he saw her.

"Are you ok?" he asked, and she nodded firmly.

"I've got to get back to the vault," was all she said, and for a second, it looked as if he was going to argue with her, insist that she go home. Mentally, she steeled herself for the fight that she was sure was to follow, and was surprised when Nick's jaw clamped shut, and he nodded once.

"You gonna be ok getting back?" he asked, and she nodded again, because her first answer had taken up all her vocal abilities, and she couldn't find any other words in her. Perhaps Nick sensed that, because he followed up with "You need anything, you'll call right?"

With another nod, she was gone, back to the scene of the crime.

Once in the bank vault, she worked as hard as she ever had in her life, putting back together the vault wall box by box, pausing every so often when the weight of the boxes got too much for her tired arms and collecting the other evidence from the vault, piles of money and suchlike, arranging it into neat little piles along the far wall. She didn't stop working until the last of the boxes was in place, but by then it was evident to her what had happened, what the robbers had been looking for. She told as much to Catherine and Grissom when they came down, trying not to look at either of them, not wanting to know what she might see in their faces, but she heard the concern just under the surface in Catherine's voice when she mentioned that the vault was almost as good as new.

She outlined exactly what had happened to them, then let them talk, let them decide that they were going to go upstairs to talk to the bank manager. That much done, Grissom turned to her, his face a question, and she leapt in to tell him what she was going to do next. "I'm going to go back to the lab… see if Warrick or Nick need any help."

Her voice, she thought, left no room for argument, but Catherine and Grissom still exchanged worried looks, Catherine drawing the short straw. "You sure that's a good idea Sara?"

Sara was nodding, even as Grissom was saying, "You know you don't-"

"Guys!" Sara held up both her hands with the outburst, as if to ward off anything further that they might say, and it was only when she saw their surprised faces that she realised that she might have gotten more than a little strident there. Pausing a moment, speaking again only when she could control her emotions, doing so with great effort, she finally said, "I'm fine." They didn't look like they believed her, but frankly, she didn't care. "I'll see you back there."

Before they could say anything, react in any way, she was gone, up the stairs and out into the open air, once again looking neither left nor right. She barely paused long enough to fasten her seatbelt and she drove hell for leather all the way back to the lab. Once she got there though, walked through those doors, she couldn't help but remember the previous week, when she'd been walking through the halls like it was a normal day and the world as she knew it suddenly blew up around her. That brought back obvious memories of him rescuing her, and all of a sudden she was so tired she could hardly think straight.

Bone weary, but unwilling to go home, she made her way to the break room, in search of the Holy Grail. She found it too, as evidenced by the presence of Greg Sanders sitting at the table, mug of coffee in one hand, a doughnut in the other. From clear across the room, she could see that the coffeepot was brim full, and she only wanted to be sure of one thing. "Tell me that's the good stuff?" It was a redundant question if ever she'd heard one, between Greg's presence and the aroma, it couldn't be anything else.

Greg didn't look up at first, just snorted in derision. "Would I give you anything else?" Then she saw him pause and look up at her with wide eyes. "Sara! You're here."

She bit back a sigh, not looking at him, not sure if she could face this conversation without a stiff cup of coffee. "Pretty obvious," she said mildly, trying to make a joke of it. "I thought you had twenty-twenty vision."

For once though, Greg wasn't going to let her away with a joke. "No, I mean you're here here." She lifted an eyebrow at his words, and he continued, flustered, "I mean... shouldn't you be at home?

She gave him a pointed look. "Look who's talking. Didn't you just get out of the hospital like, five minutes ago?"

"Yeah well ... " He shrugged his shoulders, shifting uncomfortably. "I was at home, and didn't enjoy it much. My place seems either too big or too small... and every time I close my eyes, I'm seeing the rain of fire...it's like having this season's Angel on constant technicolour replay." He took a sip of his coffee. "At least here, I can keep busy… stop myself thinking." She frowned, not having known that things were that bad for him, and when he saw the look on her face, he gave her what was meant to be a reassuring smile that she saw through in a second.

She gave him a small, sad smile. "I know the feeling," she murmured, the most honest she'd been with anyone all day.

Greg looked at her hard, then down at the table. "You're probably sick of people asking… " he began, before looking up at her to finish the question. "But how are you?"

She sighed, because she wasn't sure she knew. She settled for giving hope instead of fact with, "I'll be ok," and he nodded.

"If there's anything I can do… "

There was a fragility in his voice that she'd never heard there before, a worry in his eyes that was so at odds with the flirty glint that he normally approached her with, and her heart broke for him, for them both, because in the space of a week, their whole lives had changed and they were never going to be the same again. The thought sent a lump up her throat, had tears prickling behind her eyes and she battled them down. "I know," she whispered, turning away from him, bracing both hands on the counter and dropping her head, reciting the elements of the periodic table, complete with chemical symbols, to calm herself.

It worked until she felt his presence beside her, felt his arm go ever so lightly around her shoulders. From somewhere the thought came to her that there had been probably any number of times that he'd have liked to do that in the last three years, and look what it had taken to give him his chance. She found herself fighting back a hysterical sob, fought it back quite successfully, though it was hard won when he cleared his throat and said so softly that she could barely hear him, "You know I love you right?"

A stifled sob escaped her lips but no tears fell from her eyes as she looked across at him, nodding. She couldn't speak, so she settled for mouthing the words, "Me too," before dropping her head again, and he squeezed her shoulder once more before dropping his hand.

They both jumped at a knock on the door, and Greg turned, stepping so that he was standing between Sara and the door, blocking her from the view of whoever was standing there. "Ah, the lovely Lea," he said, and Sara had never been more grateful to him. "How may I help you?"

"Actually… " Lea drew the word out, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. "I'm here for Sara. There's someone at reception for you."

Sara tilted her head back to the ceiling, on one hand hardly able to believe it, but on the other not the least bit surprised that someone would call for her when she was right in the middle of falling apart. Straightening her shoulders, she rubbed her hands underneath her eyes in one sweeping gesture, making sure any evidence of upset was gone before she turned around. "You know who it is?" she asked Lea, and the other woman shook her head, her eyes looking darker than they normally did, her face strained.

"I didn't get a name," she admitted. "I heard her ask for you, I told her that I'd see if you were around… "

Sara nodded. "It's fine," she said, fortifying herself with a sip of coffee. "I'll be right there."

She expected Lea to leave at once, but to her surprise the lab tech waited for her, even going so far as to take a couple of steps down the corridor with her. Sara kept her eyes on the hall ahead of her, but she wasn't surprised when Lea reached out, stalling her by placing a hand on her arm. "Look, Sara," was all she said before her voice trailed off, leaving her biting her lip. She shook her head as Sara looked at her, and it was obvious what she wanted to say, but she just couldn't find the words, so she shrugged her shoulders helplessly.

Sara didn't know where the knowledge of what to do came from, but she reached out, covering the other woman's hand with hers, not even trying to dislodge it from her arm. She held it there like that for a moment before she let her hand fall, whispering, "Thanks," as she did, and Lea nodded, tears standing in her eyes. She gave Sara's arm one last brief squeeze before she turned away, moving quickly in the other direction, and Sara watched her go for a long moment before shaking herself and continuing on her way.

Once she got to reception, she realised that she'd never even asked Lea anything about the person who was looking for her, but the receptionist, a bottle blonde with bright red lipstick and sympathetic eyes, pointed her out. The woman must have been keeping an ear out, because even as the receptionist was pointing her out to Sara, she was coming over, a curious look on her face. She looked to be about the same age as Sara, dark skinned, with long black hair that fell straight down to her waist. She was wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt, a simple black jacket over them, and she looked vaguely familiar to Sara, though she couldn't recall ever having met her before.

Then she came closer, was standing right in front of Sara, and she saw the eyes and she knew.

"You're Sara Sidle?" she asked, her voice shaking, and red-rimmed as they were, all Sara could see was the heartache in her eyes.

She nodded, her own heart beating fast. "You're his sister," she said, and the other woman nodded.

"Kim," she said, holding out her hand for Sara to shake. "I hope you don't mind me coming here, but Captain Brass told me that I'd probably find you here… "

"It's fine," Sara said quickly.

Kim swallowed hard, nodding her head. "I just… I wanted to meet you… " Tears flooded her eyes, one escaping and making a shiny path down her cheek, and Sara was acutely aware of the foot traffic through the reception area, of the faces looking at them curiously.

"You want to come back?" she asked, jerking a thumb in the direction she'd just come. "Get some coffee?"

Through her tears, Kim smiled, and she looked so like her brother that Sara had to look away. "I'd like that," she said.

The break room was mercifully deserted, Greg evidently having gone back to work, but he'd left the coffeepot filled, and Sara poured out two generous cups. "I hope it's ok," she said, leaving Kim to put in her own sugar and sweetener, and somehow she wasn't surprised when the other woman blew on it before sipping it just as it was.

"It's fine," she said. "I probably shouldn't have come here," she said then. "I mean, I know you're working… "

Sara's eyes widened as she wondered what this woman must be thinking of her. After all, her boyfriend, Kim's brother, had just died horribly and she was working away as if nothing had happened. "The bank case… " she said, knowing that Kim would read between the lines. "I'm on it… I needed to… "

"Oh, I'm not saying anything!" Kim interrupted her hastily, looking stricken. "If you can do anything to help get-" Her voice broke suddenly and she looked down.

"We are going to find them," Sara said quietly, her words filled with a conviction she didn't even realise she felt.

When she looked up again, there was a gleam in Kim's eye, one that had nothing to do with tears. "You sounded so like him there." It was undoubtedly a compliment, and Sara felt the heat rise in her cheeks. "We talked… he told me about you, you know."

Sara looked at her curiously. "I didn't think… I mean, we were only dating for a couple of weeks… "

Kim laughed softly, sadly. "I talked to him a few hours before… " she said, her voice trailing off. "I had left a message on his machine, pointing out that he hadn't called me in a few days, and that Dad had told me something about you… " Sara must have looked surprised, because Kim hastily added, "I don't think Dad knew too much. He told me so that I'd ring Cyrus and get all the news from him. Which, I did. " She grinned suddenly, and Sara didn't know until that moment that it was possible for a sight to break your heart and yet be unable to look away from it. "I could hear the smile on his face all the way down the other end of the phone line."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. I haven't heard him sound like that in a long time." Kim took a thoughtful sip of her coffee, staring off into the distance for a moment. "He told me that you're a CSI, that you met through work… some other stuff." It sounded like they were brother and sister secrets that Sara wouldn't be privy to, so she didn't ask, letting Kim talk. "Put it this way, I heard enough to demand an introduction." Sara's heart lurched unpleasantly, and Kim's lips pursed bitterly. "He said that he'd talk to you about it … I wanted the two of you to come over for dinner… "

"I would have liked that," Sara whispered, each word forced out through a throat full of tears.

"He told me he was off-duty… that he had some stuff to do and then the two of you had plans… "

"He was going to cook me dinner."

Kim chuckled. "He said that… I told him that it must be love." Sara looked down at the table at the words, and Kim reached across, laying a hand on her arm, just as Lea had done earlier on. "He said that he might get you to come over to the house later on, so that we could meet… he thought that we'd get on well."

Taking a deep breath, Sara managed to summon up a smile. "I think he would have been right."

Kim returned the smile, hers looking as shaky as Sara's felt. "You're sure you've got a few minutes?" she asked, glancing up at the clock on the wall, then at the windows of the break room, the flurries of activity outside. "It's just… my dad and my sister and her family aren't getting in for a while… and I'd kind of like to be with someone… "

Her hand was still on Sara's arm; now Sara's hand closed over it, squeezing it gently. "Tell me about him," she asked, and they sat there for a long time, Kim talking, Sara listening, both remembering.

Chapter Text

Part Twenty-One - Aftermath

It was over.

Case closed, body released for burial, criminals awaiting justice.

It was over.

It should have made her feel better. It should have given her what she'd sought to give every victim of every crime she'd ever investigated - closure.

Closure, Sara was beginning to realise, didn't come with an evidence box being closed and a jail door slamming. Or at least it didn't for her.

She made her way out of the CSI building as quickly and as quietly as she could, trying very hard to make herself invisible against the well meaning words and stares of her colleagues, all of whom were walking on eggshells around her, doing their best not to say or do anything that could hurt their feelings. She appreciated their carefully chosen words and actions, knew that they were only acting with the best of intentions. But what she couldn't tell them was that with every word, every glance, every gesture of condolence, a little bit of salt was rubbed into the wound. She'd be doing something ordinary, something she did every day at work, and she'd be almost at the very point where she'd forgotten what had happened, that she could believe it was all some horrible nightmare, and someone would come along and bring her back to reality.

She knew that Grissom and Catherine had both left already, which was something. She wouldn't have put it past Catherine to try to draw her into conversation; the older woman having been one of the worst offenders in the worrying looks category. The guys weren't far behind her, true, but there seemed to be something extra in Catherine's concern, some additional layer that the guys couldn't touch.

Grissom, as ever, was his remote self, never asking about her emotional state, save for that initial query in the bank vault. His natural reticence had been just what she'd needed, and when he'd told her that he wanted her to work alone in the bank vault, she'd almost been ready to kiss him. Any other day, she might have chaffed against being locked in that dark airless little room, putting pieces of boxes together like twisted metal Lego pieces, but not that day. Not knowing what had happened upstairs, not knowing what was happening back at the lab. She'd even stacked the money into neat little piles, anything to buy her time, to stop herself from having to go back up into the outside world.

Warrick had been more overtly concerned than Grissom, in that he, like Catherine, had been throwing her worried glances, hovering around her a little more than he normally would. Warrick also however followed the Grissom school of thought regarding conversation, so his presence had been the strong silent variety, which was never a bad thing.

Nick on the other hand had appointed himself her guardian angel, bringing her back to the lab when Doc Robbins had finished the autopsy, helping her convince the coroner to let her in. He'd been the one who'd appeared at her side bearing coffee and pastries, doing anything he could to make her life easier. All the while, he'd be looking at her with an expression of hurt and pain on his face, his eyes pools of sympathy, and it had been that which Sara hadn't been able to stand. She knew that Cyrus and Nick had been friends, good friends, knew that he was hurting.

But she couldn't handle his pain and keep a rein on her own.

Plus which she also had a pretty strong feeling that Nick was harbouring a little guilt, feeling that her pain was all his fault, him being the one that fixed her and Cyrus up in the first place. Some day, she knew she was going to have to sit him down and tell him that there was no need for him to feel like that, that if she had a choice, there wasn't a thing she'd do differently.

Just not now, not tonight.

Tonight she wanted to go home, to crawl into her bed and hopefully get some sleep, and she was doing fine, right until she got into her apartment, until she found herself standing at the foot of her bed.

Her unmade bed.

She hadn't had a chance to make the bed before Nick and Warrick had appeared at her door. Nor had she been home since she'd left with them, snatching forty winks in various hidey-holes around the lab.

The last time she'd been in that bed, he'd been there with her, and that realisation had her sucking in a sharp breath, which hurt more than it might have once she realised that she could still smell him in the room.

Pinwheeling around, she stumbled into the living room, sinking down on the couch, breathing heavily. Seeking any distraction to calm her racing heart, to soothe her frazzled nerves, she reached out a shaking hand to the remote control, flicking through the channels aimlessly, never lingering on any one until she came across Frank Sinatra singing "New York New York."

Her finger stilled over the button, her hand stopped shaking, and when the song was over, she stood up on steady, if rubbery legs, and made her way over to the shelving unit, easily finding the video that she wanted, picking up another souvenir on the way.

She put it into the machine and pressed play, lying down on her side on the couch, one arm tucked under her head, the other holding a small stuffed bear to her chest. Her eyes fixed on the television, stayed there and never left as the familiar music and opening scenes of "High Society" danced across the screen, and she let herself get lost.

She was startled awake by the muffled sound of the alarm from her bedroom, and she realised with a start that she'd fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of the movie. The tape had made its way to the end without her seeing it, winding itself automatically back to the start, and the blue screen of the television now greeted her, making her screw up her eyes in painful reaction to the brightness. For a moment, a brief wonderful instant, she couldn't remember why she was on her couch instead of her bed, why she was on her own instead of with him.

Then it all came back.

Every muscle screamed as she sat up, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to rub the grittiness out of them, failing utterly. Sucking in a deep breath, she dragged herself to her feet, heading towards the shower. It felt uncomfortably as if she was moving through quicksand, and she was all too aware of the last time that she'd felt like this, of what - of who - had brought her out of it, just as she was aware that there was no-one who could help her this time.

How she managed to find clothes, let alone get herself to the lab, she would never be able to tell anyone, but her first port of call was the break room, sending silent prayers that Greg had beaten her in that morning and had filled the machine with his special brand of coffee. Day shift sludge was no way to start a shift, especially not when she was feeling like this.

She tried to ignore the sympathetic stares and second glances that followed her as she walked down the hall, walking into the break room and only giving Catherine a cursory glance when she saw her friend sitting on one of the couches. "Sara!" Catherine's voice was filled with surprise but Sara didn't turn, concentrating on the coffee maker. Even a couple of steps away from the counter, she could smell the brew, that it was the good stuff, and she made a mental note to thank Greg later on. "I didn't think we'd see you today," Catherine continued, and after a sip of coffee, Sara felt if not strong enough, then brave enough, to respond.

Or at least she would have, if she'd been able to come up with anything more than a shrug and a "Yeah, well… "

Catherine stood up, nodding sympathetically and coming towards her, and Sara tensed, preparing herself for another mother hen performance. "How are you holding up?" Catherine asked her gently, leaning her hip against the table, staying well back from Sara, who appreciated the distance.

"As well as can be expected, isn't that what they say?" Her voice sounded tired, even to her own ears, and she winced when she remembered a time, not too long ago, when she'd said the same words in similar circumstances. The smell of Blue Hawaiian coffee was overpowered for a second by the spicy aroma of a vegetarian lasagne, and she had to blink hard to clear the memory. She realised that she'd spaced out for a second only from the thin line that appeared between Catherine's eyebrows, shouting her worry. Sara looked down into her mug of black coffee because she couldn't stand to see the emotions stamped on her friend's face, but saw instead her own distorted reflection and realised that she couldn't stand to look at that either. So she looked up, finding a point just to Catherine's right, fixing her eyes on that. "I'm ok Cath," she whispered, hoping that if she said it enough times, she might even begin to believe it.

"Sara… " Catherine began to say something, but words seemed to fail her too. One hand went to her hip, the other to her forehead, rubbing so hard that Sara could see red marks appearing there. "God," Catherine muttered after a moment. "I wish there was something I could do for you."

Catherine was looking down at the floor, so Sara was able to chance a look at her, was taken aback to see the extra care that Catherine had taken with her makeup, her skin exhibiting the kind of natural beauty that only came with expert cosmetic application. Looking closely though, Sara could just about make out the pallor under the foundation and blush, the dark circles under her eyes that the concealer wasn't quite concealing. This case had evidently taken its toll on Catherine as well, and when she looked up at Sara, there was one primary emotion in the older woman's eyes - guilt.

"This wasn't your fault Catherine." It was hard to say who was more surprised by the words, but it was Sara who recovered first, continuing. "It would have happened whether you knew Sam or not… there was nothing you could have done."

Catherine nodded, swallowing hard, and just before she looked down at the ground again, Sara caught the tell-tale shimmer of tears in her eyes. "I just hate that you got hurt," she said quietly, and Sara sighed, squeezing her eyes shut.

"I never knew what it was like to be on the other side before." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, before she was even really aware that she was thinking them. "I mean, we work the case, we find out who did what, and we talk about closure… " She bit her lip, shaking her head as her throat closed up, and she took a sip of coffee in the hopes that the warmth would help. It didn't.

"At least you have that much." Judging by Catherine's immediate wince, the words sounded as false to her as they did to Sara, who once again responded from her heart.

"It's not going to bring him back."

The words fell into a silence as their eyes met, and Sara remembered a time not too long ago that their roles had been reversed, when Catherine had lost a lover and Sara had been the friend, investigating with one hand and offering support with the other. That brought to mind the difference in the results, and how a certain someone had come along unexpectedly to cheer her up, and she forced the memory away, sure that she'd fall apart if she went down that road.

Shaking herself, she made herself focus on the clock, relieved to find that the shift was just due to start. Another case to solve, another puzzle to work on, anything to get her mind away from her personal life. "Where's Grissom?" she wondered. "Shift should be starting soon."

Catherine blinked, shaking herself from wherever her thoughts had drifted. "He's not in tonight," she said simply, and Sara looked at her in genuine surprise, her brows lifting in silent question. "Some kind of ear infection, sickness thing, I don't know." Catherine's casual dismissal was aided by a wave of the hand. "He should be good as new in a couple of days. I've got shift tonight."

"Oh." Sara absorbed this information, not sure if it was good or bad. Grissom would accept her need to work, would leave her alone, confident that she'd work out her emotions in her own time, or at least be able to leave them at the door as she worked. Catherine was a cat of another colour though, as evidenced by her next words.

"Look Sara, are you sure you don't want some time off?"

Sara shook her head, setting her coffee cup down on the table with a firm clatter. "I don't need time off Cath," she said fiercely, practically daring Catherine to make something of it, but the other woman didn't respond, just held out her hands calmingly, taking a step towards Sara.

"Sometimes we don't know that we need something when we really do," she said simply, coming over to the counter. It looked as if she was going to reach out, to lay her hand on Sara's shoulder, and Sara moved quickly, putting distance between the two of them. Catherine held her hand up in mid-air for a second in wordless apology before letting it drop and leaning back against the counter, bracing her hands behind her, sucking in a deep breath. "When Eddie died-" she said slowly, looking down, but Sara knew where the conversation was going, knew what she was going to say, and knew without a doubt that she didn't want to hear it, and not just because the comparisons were already ringing alarm bells and memories in her head.

"It's not the same thing," she interrupted, holding up a hand, shaking her head. "I know you're trying to help Catherine, I know you're trying to be there for me, and I appreciate it, really, I do. But it's not the same thing."

Catherine frowned, tilting her head slightly. "Sara-" she began, but once she'd begun talking, Sara couldn't seem to stop, not for the first time in this conversation, though this time, she really was trying. She could feel hated hysteria building in her gut, rising up her throat, and she knew she was about two sentences away from unspooling completely. She didn't want Catherine to see her like that, didn't want anyone to see her like that, but the words were coming out of her mouth, and she couldn't stop them any more than she could turn back time and pretend that this had all been some horrible dream.

"You and Eddie had a marriage, and a daughter and a history together Catherine." She heard the words as if someone else was saying them, and she almost felt like it was, because Sara Sidle didn't get that emotional, ever. Sara Sidle didn't speak with that shaking, quavering voice, didn't fight back tears when she was doing it. "We didn't have any of that. We had… " She shook her head, looking up at the ceiling as a flood of memories assaulted her.

The look on his face as he'd handcuffed a sixteen-year-old girl, the first time that she'd worked a case solo with him.

The look on his face in the cinema when they'd realised that Nick had set them up, what he'd said when he'd convinced her that it was a shame to waste two perfectly good tickets.

She could hear his laugh as they'd ridden the Ferris wheel together, see the irritation on his face when that kid had interrupted them on the cups and saucers.

She remembered how soft his lips had been on hers that night, and how he'd kissed her on the top of her head only a few days ago, when the lab had blown up and she'd been putting on a brave face, just about holding herself together.

She closed her eyes in an effort to stop seeing him, but that only brought the memories into sharper focus, and when she opened her eyes again, she was looking right at Catherine. The look of naked sympathy on the other woman's face did her in totally.

"Sara-" Catherine said again, taking a step towards her, and Sara took two giant steps back, knowing that she wouldn't be able to take it if Catherine touched her, that she'd fall apart and nothing and no-one would be able to put her back together again because he wasn't there to do it.

"We didn't have that," she repeated. "We had Grace Kelly, and Hitchcock movies and cups and saucers, and a few lousy nights together… " Tears were running down her cheeks now, and Catherine was closing in on her, that look on her face that screamed loud and clear that she wasn't going to take no for an answer. Sara held up her hands, as if to warn her off, but Catherine kept coming.

"It's ok Sara," she said carefully, and Sara shook her head quickly, knowing that that was a lie.

"No it's not," she whispered, and her voice sounded nothing like her own voice, because she'd never heard herself sound in that much pain before. She sounded like a broken hearted child when she said, "He's gone Cath… "

Tears were rolling down Catherine's cheeks by now, and with those words, Sara saw the flicker of decision in her friend's eyes, and at this stage, she was beyond caring about where they were and what people thought of her. So when Catherine closed any space between them, pulling Sara into her arms, Sara let herself go willingly, releasing her breath in a shuddering sob. "He's gone," she said again, and with those words, something broke inside her, and she finally let herself cry.

She had no earthly clue how long she cried in Catherine's arms. It could have been hours, then again, it could have been mere minutes. All she knew when she straightened up, wiping her eyes that were even then still brimming with tears, was that the break room was still blessedly empty, and she didn't even mind the sympathy that she could see on Catherine's face. Without words, Catherine got her sitting down at the table, putting her cup of coffee down in front of her, before pulling up a chair beside her. When she sat down, one of her hands found Sara's and stayed there. She didn't say anything, just waited as Sara tried to pull herself together, and it was Sara who eventually broke the silence.

"Sorry," she said quietly, mustering a small smile as she wiped her eyes with the hand Catherine wasn't holding. She wanted to keep offering excuses, to let Catherine know that she really was fine, but the other woman cut off her words.

"Don't you dare apologise to me Sara Sidle." Her tone was as fierce as her words, but Sara knew her well enough to hear the tears underneath the surface.

Sara met her eyes for a moment before looking up to the ceiling, shaking her head, just about managing to keep more tears back. "I just… " Words failed her and shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "I keep waiting for someone to wake me up."

A bitter chuckle had her looking at Catherine, then back at the table when she saw the pain in the other woman's face. "I know that feeling," Catherine observed. "People tell you that it gets better… that it fades. That time heals all wounds."

"Does it?" Because from the tone of her voice, it didn't sound like it.

"I don't think it gets better… or that it fades," Catherine told her honestly, quietly. "I think you learn to live with it. I think that's the best that any of us can hope for."

Sara drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and was just about to reply when Nick and Warrick walked into the room, identical expressions of wary concern on their faces. That was all it took for Sara to know that they'd walked in at some point during her meltdown, and at any other time she would have been embarrassed about that. Now though, she just felt drained, and had just enough energy to smile wanly at them.

It was Warrick who spoke first, arms crossed over his chest, forehead creased in a frown. "You ok?"

She looked up at him, then over at Nick, and finally Catherine, her first impulse being to lie, to tell him that she was fine, even if she knew that they wouldn't believe her. Lying seemed to take more energy than she had however, so she just sighed. "I don't know," she murmured honestly.

"You want me to take you home?" Her words seemed to have told Nick something that he could actually do, and he took a step closer to her. Sara was familiar with the stance, with the tone of the voice, and she knew that nothing less than a yes was going to meet with his approval. She opened her mouth, all ready to tell him that she was going to work the shift, or at the very least that she could make it home on her own, but Catherine beat her to it.

"Yes she does," she said firmly, not even blinking when Sara looked at her in surprise. She was gearing for a fight, for a long discussion on the whys and wherefores of it all, but Catherine didn't play fair. "Sara," she said simply. "Do you really think you can process evidence tonight?"

Sara wanted to say yes, but when faced so baldly with the question, she knew that the answer was no. Still, some spark deep within her tried to put up a fight. "You'll be short handed," she protested, but Catherine cut her off.

"Then we'll deal," she said. "And if the worst comes to the worst, day shift can pull a double. Take her home Nick. And don't hurry back."

Nick nodded. "Yes Ma'am," were his only words, and he stood looking down at Sara expectantly, until she bowed to the inevitable and stood up slowly, making her way to the door, with him right beside her. He stayed right beside her, silent, close enough to touch, but not touching, on the long walk down the hall to the car park, going as far as to hold open the door for her when they reached his car. On any other day, she would have teased him about his old school Southern charm but today she didn't react in the slightest, sliding into the passenger seat, pulling the seatbelt around her.

Nor did he speak on the way to her apartment, leaving her to lean her head back on the seat, closing her eyes, letting her tiredness overwhelm her. She didn't sleep, though she felt she have been heading that way when he brought the car to a stop. She could sense him looking at her, but she still took her time before she opened her eyes, blinking when she saw her apartment building. "Home sweet home," she murmured, barely aware that she was speaking out loud until she heard Nick respond.

"Yeah." A pause then, and when she looked over at him, his jaw was clenched tightly. "You ready to go in?"

She wasn't so sure that she was, but she couldn't sit in his car all day, much as she might be tempted, so she nodded, unbuckling the seat belt and reaching for the door handle. Nick was out of the car like a flash, coming around to her side, once again walking beside her every step of the way, through the front door, up the stairs and into her apartment. With a heavy sigh she threw her keys on the table, hung up her jacket and trudged over in the direction of the couch, almost forgetting that Nick was there until she heard him clear his throat. Turning to him, she tried to smile. "You don't have to stay Nicky," she told him quietly, and he cleared his throat again, shifting on his feet slightly.

"Why don't you go splash some water on your face or something?" he suggested, dodging her words easily. "I'll make us something to eat." She shook her head, opened her mouth as if to protest, stopped when he held up a hand. "If I know you, you haven't eaten probably in days, am I right?"

"There was the Chinese take out at the lab," Sara reminded him, but they both knew how long ago that had been. Still, it was the last time that she could remember eating, if picking at the various containers could be called eating.

"Which you just pushed around the boxes," Nick pointed out to her, and she looked down, blushing, because she thought she'd covered her tracks better than that. "Look, I'm not promising anything brilliant," he added. "But even I can't screw up a grilled cheese sandwich." Once again, she tried to protest, but a growl from her stomach stopped her in her tracks, and Nick actually laughed, because he'd heard it clear across the room. "You do have cheese right?" he asked, and she nodded, because they'd bought some when she and Cyrus had gone shopping a couple of days ago. He'd told her that she'd have to try his cheese on toast, that there was some kind of recipe that his mother had shared with him to make it taste better. She'd never got to find out what it was though.

"Yeah Nick," she said quietly, her face falling at the memory. "We've got cheese." Slowly, she made her way into the bathroom, the assorted sounds of cupboards being opened and cutlery being rattled reminding her for some reason of the first time that she'd gone over to Cyrus's for dinner. That was the first time she'd been to his place, when he'd surprised her by cooking, and later by dancing with her. The first night that she'd really felt something between them, the first time feeling like that hadn't scared the life out of her, or at least, not in a bad way.

She did as Nick had suggested, letting the cold water run over her hands for a few seconds, until it numbed her fingers, and only then did she scoop up a handful, then another, the cold tingle on her cheeks helping to wake her up. Reaching for a towel, she scrubbed at her face, looking up into the mirror, and for the first time, she saw what Catherine and Nick and Warrick had seen earlier on - the pale cheeks, the dead eyes, the dark circles under them. She couldn't blame them for their worry; she would have been worried about any one of them were they looking like that, and she sank down onto the edge of the bathtub, holding onto the rim until her knuckles turned white.

She didn't move until Nick called her, his voice coming from just outside the bathroom door, worry evident in every syllable. "Sara? Food's ready."

"Coming," she replied, just as quietly, but she didn't stand until she heard him walking back towards the kitchen, and even then, she kept her grip on the bathtub, not letting go until she knew she was steady, that she could stand without weaving, walk without falling.

Still, she was grateful when she made it to the couch, sinking down onto it, grinning up at Nick when he placed a plate of sandwiches on the table in front of her, beside the tea pot and two mugs that were already steaming. "I figured I'd keep you company," he said, taking a sandwich from the plate, sitting down not on the couch beside her, but on the chair across the room. She stifled a smile at his consideration, but didn't comment on it, didn't say anything at all until she'd polished off the sandwiches with his help.

"I didn't realise how hungry I was," she said then, flashing a quick grin at him. "Thank you."

Nick smiled, but it was fleeting, and it went nowhere near his eyes. "It's no problem," he said, his voice raw, and just like that, the moment of normalcy, brief as it was, shattered between them like finely spun glass.

"Why'd you set us up Nick?" His eyes flared wide at the question that she hadn't even been aware was circling in her brain, and she wanted to take the words back. She wanted the answer to the question more though, and she held her breath as she curled her hands around her mug of tea, letting the warmth seep through the ceramic into her skin.

Nick took a deep breath, letting it out in a rush as he thought about his answer. "Because you're my friends," he said simply. "And I thought you'd be good together. I knew he liked old movies, knew you did… saw the Hitchcock festival… " He shrugged, as if that was all the explanation that was required, and indeed, it was.

"You were right," Sara told him softly, shifting on the couch to put the mug down on the table. "When you told me you had a friend that you wanted to set me up with," she elaborated, a response to his raised eyebrow. "You told me he was a cool guy… you were right all along." Just how right brought a small, sad smile to her face. "We were good together."

She thought he might tease her about that, but he just nodded. "I'm not blind Sara… I saw how he looked at you."

The words sounded familiar, and it took her a second to place them. Then she heard Lea's voice, teasing, at the Christmas party, to a lesser degree, Catherine's in a near-empty bar, and she wondered just how many people had been talking about them. "At Christmas?" she asked, but it was her turn to be surprised when Nick shook his head.

"Nah… since way before that."

She looked sharply over at him at that, eyes narrowed in question. "Before?" she asked, surprised at how broken her voice sounded all of a sudden.

Maybe Nick heard that too, because he looked doubtful suddenly, as if he was wondering if he should say anything, but he must have seen in her eyes that she wanted, needed, to hear whatever it was he knew. "The Little People's convention," he said simply, and her jaw dropped open as the words registered. "You'd just worked that cheerleader case together, and we were talking about cases and other stuff… and your name got mentioned… "

"That was months ago," she said, cutting him off in sheer amazement. "He never said anything… "

"Because he knew you were going out with Hank," Nick pointed out. "And going after another guy's girl's not his style."

Sara nodded, knowing that was the truth. In one way, she wouldn't have expected anything less from him. In another, the revelation was devastating. "So much time," she whispered, thoughts of all the drama with Hank and Grissom bringing tears to her eyes. She'd thought she'd known then what a broken heart felt like, thought she knew what it was like to lose someone she cared about.

It hadn't even scratched the surface.

"God," she whispered, her head sinking into her hands, and she heard the chair creak, felt the couch give as Nick sat down on the arm closer to her, but he didn't touch her.

"Sara," was all he said, his voice a low murmur, and she leaned away from him instinctively, just in case.

"It's not fair Nicky," she found herself say. "Five days… and a couple of weeks before that. That's not enough time… " He grunted in gentle agreement as she reached up, rubbing the palms of both hands across her cheeks, brushing away the tracks of her tears. "I mean, I didn't love him… not really… " She didn't know what she was trying to say, and she was worried suddenly that Nick would think that she was awful, but he laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently, and for once, she didn't try to move.

"Not yet," was all he said, and she couldn't deny it, so she just leaned into his touch, closing her eyes, and trying hard not to wish that he was someone else, failing completely.

After a long minute, she straightened up, brushing away any residual tears and forcing a smile to her lips. "You can go Nicky," she told him, wrapping her arms around herself protectively on the couch, glancing up at him, at the worry evident on his features. His eyes were dark, his jaw set, and she knew she'd have a battle getting him to leave. Not that she believed in the power of prayer right then, but she sent up a quick one to whomever might be listening, because she knew she didn't have the energy or the strength for a battle.

Nick didn't say anything, just stared at her for a long time, or what seemed like a long time. "I'm not leaving you like this," he said eventually, and she fought back a laugh born of pure hysteria. If she was still falling apart, she could have understood his reticence to leave her alone, but all things considered, her little breakdown with Catherine notwithstanding, she thought she was holding up quite well.

"I'm fine Nicky," she said, but the tone of her voice - flat, lifeless - didn't do much to convince her, and it certainly did nothing for Nick. He shook his head, crossing to a chair and sitting down, perching on the edge, rubbing his palms over his knees. His brow grew even more furrowed as he looked at her, and she attempted to give him a smile. "Really."

He shook his head, his jaw growing even more firmly set. "I want to be here for you Sara," he told her, swallowing hard. "He would have wanted-" His voice broke off suddenly, and he swallowed again. She could see tears standing in his brown eyes, and she had to look away, squeezing her own eyes tightly shut. She couldn't see him fall apart; if she did, there was too much danger that she'd do the same. "He would have wanted me to be here," he finally finished, his voice a ragged whisper, and Sara felt something give inside her at the thought, because she knew that he was probably right.

That still didn't mean that she wanted him here necessarily, and a thought struck her suddenly, a giggle escaping her. "You know what this reminds me of?" she asked him, and he looked at her curiously. "When there was the explosion, and you called me, remember? You were so worried, insisting that you were coming over… " Recognition and understanding dawned on Nick's face, and he smiled, nodding.

"Until he grabbed the phone out of your hand and threatened me with death if I came anywhere near the place."

She frowned, looking at him strangely, because while she knew that she'd suffered a head injury that day, she didn't think her memory was that off. "He did not," she protested, and he waved a hand dismissively.

"It was in his voice," he told her. "It's a guy thing." Sara rolled her eyes, and it occurred to her once again that that night had only been a few days ago. It seemed like a lifetime, and a sense of loss broke over her like a wave. She had to look down at her hands, joined together in her lap so tightly that the knuckles were white, to centre herself again, but Nick's next words nearly did her in. "He was so crazy about you Sara," he said quietly. "You have no idea… "

"Yeah Nicky… " The words were just as quiet, a painful whisper that came straight from her heart. "I do."

Silence reigned in the room for a long moment, then Nick spoke again. "You should get some sleep," he told her, and she drew in a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. She didn't usually get a lot of sleep, but right now, she was as tired as she'd ever been in her life, and she knew that the next few days weren't going to get any easier. Sleep sounded very good to her right then, but at the same time, she couldn't imagine going into her bedroom, climbing into that bed. Not without him there.

But Nick was looking at her, all worried again, so she nodded. "I think I'm going to sack out here," she told him, indicating the couch, and he frowned.

"You do have a bed you know," he pointed out, and she couldn't help but wince, remembering what had happened the last time she'd walked into her bedroom. She didn't feel like repeating the experience any time soon, certainly not then. Nick sucked in a deep breath at the sight, instantly apologetic. "I'm sorry… I just… "

"It's ok," she told him, mustering up another small, sad smile. "It's ridiculous, and I can't explain it, but I just can't… "

"It's ok Sara… it's ok… " Nick's voice was gentle, soothing. "Whatever you need to do, right?" She nodded, meeting his eyes, and he nodded too as he stood up. "I'll go then…but I want you to promise me that if you need anything - anything - you'll call me, you understand?" She nodded meekly, but that wasn't good enough for him. "You promise?"

"I promise."

He nodded again, walking over so that he was beside the couch, and she stood, intending to walk him to the door. "The funeral is tomorrow," he reminded her as they stood there, and she wished that she was still sitting down, her knees turning to jelly at the words. While they'd been working on the case, she'd allowed herself to forget about the details of the aftermath; it had been the only way that she'd be able to get through it. Now though, she was going to have to face everything, and it wasn't something that she was looking forward to. She couldn't forget that she still had to meet the rest of Cyrus's family, and she'd promised Kim during their conversation in the break room that she'd stand up, say a few words. That meant that all eyes would be on her, even more so than they had been for the last couple of days, and suddenly she wasn't so sure that she could handle that.

"I'll see you there," she managed to whisper, but he wasn't having that.

"It's at two," he told her. "So I'll be here at one. Is that ok with you?"

She shook her head, not wanting to put him out. "Nick, you don't have to do that-"

He gave her a look, one that had her realising why he'd given in on leaving tonight so easily. He'd let her win that particular battle, but this was a war he had no intention of losing. He swallowed hard again, and the tears were back in his eyes when he said firmly, "I'm picking you up. Here. At one. Is that ok with you?"

It wasn't anywhere close to being a question, and, knowing when she was beaten, she nodded slowly. "Thank you."

"I'll see you then," he said, touching her shoulder briefly, fleetingly, before he moved past her, and she followed him to the door on shaky legs, closing it behind him, leaning against it, breathing in and out slowly, hoping that her legs would return to normal, that she'd be able to make it back to the couch under her own steam. It was a vain hope though, and she slid down the door, ending up sitting on the floor, curled up in a ball, head resting on her knees, wishing that she knew how she was going to get through this.

Nick was good as his word, arriving at her place at one o'clock on the dot. She managed to muster a wan smile for him when she opened the door, but the frown on his face only deepened when he took a good look at her. Hoping to forestall any questions, she looked away from him, grabbing her purse, making sure she had her keys, and leading the way out of the apartment. She didn't want to give him a chance to ask if she'd gotten any sleep, if she'd eaten anything that morning, because the answer to either question would be no, and he wouldn't like that. It would only make him worry more, and she knew that he was worrying enough already.

Rather to her surprise, Nick didn't try to draw her into conversation on the drive, so her mind was free to wander, to observe the bright sunshine, the cloudless blue sky. It was going to be another beautiful day, sunny but not too hot, and there were any number of activities that would be more than enjoyable in Las Vegas on a day like today. Not that Sara had ever tried any of them up to now, but she'd done a lot of things with Cyrus that she'd never done before.

Except that he wasn't here now.

"Sara?" Nick's voice made her head snap around to him, and she blinked when she realised that the car had stopped and she'd never even noticed. "We're here."

Her stomach dropped, and she had the sudden urge to beg Nick to turn the car around, to tell him that she couldn't do this. She batted it down ruthlessly though, nodding instead and getting out of the car. She didn't move once she'd closed the doors though, just looked around her, not sure where to go, what to do.

A new voice at her side made her frown, and she glanced over at Warrick in surprise, her eyes moving up and down his body, taking in the dark suit, the blue shirt and natty tie. He took off his sunglasses as she looked at him, and she could see concern in his green eyes. "How're you holding up?" he asked, and she nodded, still more than a little surprised that he was there in the first place.

"I'm ok," she told him, looking across at Nick, who had come around the car and was standing on her other side. The two of them were flanking her, she realised, like a pair of protective bookends, and her heart filled with a hundred different emotions which she battled down ruthlessly. "I didn't know you'd be here."

Warrick blinked. "Where else would I be?" he asked, and she cast about for an answer, flustered.

"I just… I mean, I didn't think you knew him that well, that's all," she said, and in reply, Warrick tilted his head.

"I know you," he pointed out, looking over her shoulder, jerking his chin in that direction. "And I'm not the only one."

Not understanding him at first, Sara frowned, then turned to follow his gaze. Standing near the entrance to the church were Grissom and Catherine, both wearing suits and sunglasses. They were talking to Brass, whose suit was more neatly pressed than Sara had ever seen it, but the crispness of his clothes wasn't matched by his face, which looked more sleep-deprived than normal. She could see Doc Robbins and David coming across the car park towards the church, evidently having come together. Near the door of the chapel was Lea, wearing more clothes than Sara thought she'd ever seen the lab tech wear, and with her were Bobby, Archie, Ronnie and Jackie Franco. The person whose appearance shocked her most though, was Greg, who looked like a ghost beside Grissom. She knew from their conversation in the break room, when both had laid bare their emotions, that he was having trouble dealing with the explosion, and it seemed to be catching up with him today. They were both, she knew, the people nearest to the centre of the explosion; perhaps he was thinking, as she had once or twice, that people could just as easily have been gathering for either of their funerals. It was the kind of thought that came to her when she didn't keep herself busy, when she let herself pause, and it echoed something that had been going through her mind ever since she'd found herself lying on the lab floor, fire and glass all around her.

The thought, skirting around the edges of her mind - why didn't I die? Why was I spared?

She'd had a whimsical thought, the kind that comes when you wake in the middle of the night, in that hazy dream state before you fall back to sleep, that it might have been so that she could be with him. But if that was the case she wondered now, why had he been taken a scant week later? Shaking her head to banish the unpleasant though, she cast a quick eye around, seeing other people from graveyard, people she'd been working with for three years, people who should by rights be at home, catching up on their sleep, catching up with their families, their lives. Instead, they were here.

Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, she looked from Warrick to Nick. "They all-" That was as much as she got out before she had to look down, studying the tips of her shoes fiercely.

"We're here for you Sara," Nick told her quietly, taking a step closer to her, Warrick following suit. "All of us."

"You don't have to do this alone," Warrick added, and she nodded, still unable to speak, breathing deeply as she took her first step towards the door of the church, Nick and Warrick with her every step of the way.

To her immense relief, no-one from the CSI contingent came over to them as they walked, perhaps knowing instinctively that she needed space, perhaps having been warned off by Warrick or Nick. She didn't look left or right, concentrating only on the church entrance, on getting in there as soon as possible. So intent was she on her goal, on avoiding talking to people, that she didn't see Kim approaching her, only saw her when she almost walked into her.

Once she saw her though, she knew what she had to do, instinctively pulling the other woman into a hug. When she let go, she held her at arm's length for a moment, noting the strain on her face, the redness of her eyes which, even as Sara looked at her, were filling with tears. "I'm sorry," Kim muttered, running her fingers under her lashes, and Sara just shook her head.

"It's ok," she said, clenching her jaw so tightly that her back teeth were practically grinding together. Unpleasant as it was, it was also the only chance she had of keeping control, because she had the uncomfortable feeling that if she began to cry now, she'd never stop. Noting out of the corners of her eyes Warrick and Nick's confused looks, she made the introductions. "Guys, this is Kim… Cyrus's sister. Kim, this is Warrick Brown and Nick Stokes… we work together at the crime lab."

Kim pulled herself together enough to shake their hands and thank them for coming, Warrick telling her, "We're sorry for your loss,"; Nick weighing in with, "Cyrus was a great guy."

More tears in her eyes, Kim nodded, this time with a smile. "Thank you," she said, before looking at Sara. "The rest of the family are over here," she said, gesturing in the vague direction, and Sara's heart went into her mouth. Cyrus had told her all about his father, his sisters and their family. She'd just never imagined any circumstances where she'd be meeting them without him at her side.

But it was something that she had to face, so she nodded mutely, stepping out from the protective enclosure of Warrick and Nick, the latter of whom was concerned enough to give her shoulder a brotherly squeeze. "We'll be right here," he promised.

Sara's feet barely registered that she was moving, but suddenly she was in front of a group of people that she'd seen before but never met, all dressed in black and heartbreak. In the middle was an older man that she instantly recognised as Cyrus's father. Even had she not seen the photograph, she would have recognised him, Cyrus having been so like him. "Daddy," said Kim, taking her by the elbow. "This is Sara… Cyrus's girlfriend."

It was the first time that Sara had heard herself introduced in those terms, though she'd heard it whispered during her time in the bank, around the halls of the CSI lab in the duration of the case. She still wasn't used to it though, feeling a lump rising in her throat at the words, a lump that only got larger when the man stepped forward, enfolding her in a hug.

He was the same height, same build as Cyrus had been, and for an instant, Sara could nearly forget that it wasn't him.

But the moment came to an end, and he pulled back, gripping her firmly by the forearms, looking down at her. "My boy told me about you," he said, his voice husky with unshed tears. "He was very fond of you."

Beside Sara, Kim rolled her eyes, but if Sara did that, tears would fall. So she set her jaw once more, back teeth grinding, lips smiling. "It was mutual," she managed before her own voice gave out.

"This is my sister Kelsey," Kim said, pointing out a woman who looked very like her, a woman who, like she had, pulled Sara into a hug. "That's Bobby, her husband… " A shake of the hand from him, another man stepping forward after him to do the same. "And this is Rick, my husband."

Kelsey looked around her then, as if searching for someone. "Boys!" she called out, and two children appeared, the taller of the two carrying a baby who Sara knew for a fact was a little over a year old, the other boy leading a two year old by the hands. "Boys, this is Sara… a friend of Uncle Cy's. This is Patrick and Charlie." She pointed out the boys in turn, each of them shaking Sara's hand, the taller only doing so when his mother had taken the baby from him. "And this is Jessica."

"Stephanie is mine," Kim told her, and from Sara's nod, she worked it out. "I guess Cyrus told you about them?"

"He had photos," Sara told her quietly.

Kim nodded, her gaze suddenly very far away, and beside her, her husband put his hand on her shoulder.

"We should be going in soon," he said, and Kim sprang back to reality then, fixing her gaze on Sara.

"Dad, Kelsey and I are in the front pew," she said. "Rick, Bobby and the kids are in the next one… you'll sit with us, won't you?"

Sara's jaw dropped in horror, something which she fervently hoped that the family would interpret as surprise. She hadn't given any thought to seating plans, and she realised now that the only people she wanted to sit with were Nick and Warrick, their quiet calm having worked wonders to soothe her nerves thus far. "Oh, I couldn't," she demurred, hoping that Kim wouldn't be offended, would accept it quietly, but the other woman dew herself up for a struggle, and Cyrus's voice sounded loud and clear in Sara's ear telling her that Kim was always the bossy one in the family. He could have been standing beside her, and Sara had to literally fight the urge to look around for him.

"Don't be silly, you're family," was Kim's argument, and Sara was so taken aback at the matter-of-fact pronouncement that tears came to her eyes. She couldn't have made an argument if she wanted to, and was saved when Cyrus's father spoke up.

"Kim, let the girl sit where she wants." Once more Sara was struck by the likeness of father and son, all the more so when it looked like Kim was going to object, and her father cut across her once more. "If you were her, you wouldn't want to sit with strangers either." In the face of this obvious truth, Kim said nothing, leaving Sara to stutter something, anything to pour oil on troubled waters.

"It's not that I don't want to… " she began, but Cyrus's father stepped forward, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"You're a good girl," he said. "But I think you need your friends more than we need you with us. So that's where you should be." Sara nodded again, unable to speak, leaving him free to continue. "Though you're not getting off lightly … I want a nice long chat with you later on, you understand?" Something that was between a laugh and a sob from Sara doubled as a yes for him, and he nodded, turning towards the door. "Let's go."

Sara walked with them as far as Warrick and Nick, forcing a smile to her face when she saw their worried expressions. "I'm ok," she told them, not even waiting for them to ask the question that she knew was on their minds. "Really."

If they didn't believe her, they didn't comment on it, Nick just patting her shoulder gently. "We'd better go in," he murmured, and she nodded her assent, Warrick and Nick taking up positions on either side of her, walking her into the church, past the sympathetic eyes of her co-workers, past the cops in full uniform who were milling around.

She kept her eyes down as she walked, scrupulously avoiding the casket in front of the altar, trusting Warrick and Nick to lead her to where she needed to be. When they stopped, Warrick going to sit down first, she realised that they were in the third pew, right behind Bobby and Rick and the kids. Stephanie, restless as any two-year-old in church, turned around, making eyes at Sara, who smiled warmly at her. The little girl returned the smile, and Sara had to avert her eyes, because the smile was familiar, as were the eyes.

She was dimly aware of Rick tapping his daughter on the shoulder, getting her to turn around, which the little girl did obediently, leaving Sara staring at the back of her head. Her eyes ran absently along the four children, all of whom Cyrus had adored, all of whom had some likeness to him somewhere, and she wondered for a moment what things would have been like had they met under better circumstances. Would they have liked her, would she have been uncomfortable with them? She'd never been great with children, had never actually had that much experience with them, but something told her that spending time with Cyrus would have cured her of that. She knew that he loved kids, would probably have wanted a whole house full of them, and while once upon a time a thought like that would have sent her into a panic, now it was just one of life's what ifs.

She was dealing with a lot of those at the moment.

She allowed her mind to wander a little during the service; it was the only way that she could keep control of her emotions. She knew that if she paid close attention to Rick telling stories of how Cyrus had terrified him with promises of pain and dismemberment if he ever hurt his little sister, to Brass paying tribute to a good cop and a good friend, she'd never be able to hold herself together.

"And now, we'll have a few words from Cyrus's girlfriend, Sara."

The last three words pulled Sara back to reality, and she was all too aware of Nick and Warrick on either side of her, Nick's hand resting on her elbow in concern. "You ok?" he whispered, and she nodded numbly, standing with difficulty, the cold wood of the pew in front of her oddly helping her to find her focus.

She hadn't written down any notes, hadn't even given much thought to what she was going to say, but as she made her way past Nick, walked up the few steps to the lectern, she felt a sense of calm sweeping over her, as if everything was going to be all right. She only cast a quick glance at the casket, out of the corner of her eye, because she didn't want to think of him in there, wanted to remember him the way he was, the way that she'd known him.

That's what he would have wanted.

The wood of the lectern was cool underneath her fingers, and she gripped on to it tightly at first, not quite sure how to begin. Then she looked up into the faces of the people who had known him, and those who hadn't really, who were there to show support for her.

And she knew what she had to say.

"It's weird," she began, a slight smile on her face. "I've spent the last couple of days being called his girlfriend. I don't know if that's how he referred to me, maybe it is. But it's different for me, because I never thought of him as my boyfriend."

She didn't miss the surprised looks from her listeners, and in particular, the looks of worry that passed between Warrick and Nick. She realised then what that must have sounded like for them, having heard the numerous times that she'd said words to that effect about Hank. But this wasn't like that; this was very very different.

"I never thought of him like that at first. He was just this detective that I worked cases with sometimes. Detective Hot." She found Lea's eyes as she spoke the words, was rewarded with a shaky grin under tear-filled eyes.

"Then he became my friend, someone I could talk to. And then, thanks to the meddling of a friend-" She shot Nick a quick smile. "And no small amount of stubbornness on his part, I finally figured out that I didn't just want him to be my friend anymore." She swallowed hard at that, reflecting on how little time they'd had together, how much time they'd wasted, and how much of that had been her fault.

"The thing is though," she continued. "That even with that, even with what we'd turned into, it was never just about that. He was never just my boyfriend… he was my friend, first and foremost. He was someone I knew I could count on, no matter what. I never had to second guess him, because I knew that he'd never let me down." She drew in a deep breath, chancing a glance at the shiny brown of the coffin. "He was one of the good guys. And I'm really going to miss him. Not the detective. Not the boyfriend. But Cyrus. My friend."

She knew that if she said anything else that she'd break down, so she just nodded once, stepping away from the microphone, making her way back down to her seat. This time though, unlike on the way up, she paused beside the coffin, touching the wood ever so slightly before going back to her seat.

She was pretty sure that no-one had heard the words she muttered under her breath, no-one, that is, but the one that they were meant for.

"I could have really loved you."

Chapter Text

Part Twenty-Two - Enduring

The day after the funeral, she went back to work.

A week after the funeral, she solved her case, and with that first hurdle over her, she walked into Grissom's office and asked for some time off. "It's not a leave of absence," she told him. "And I don't know how long I'll need… " She was in the middle of her explanation when he stopped her by placing a sheet of paper and pen in front of her.

"You need to sign here," he said simply, and she was startled to see that his signature was already there. She looked at him, stupefied, and he shrugged. "I prepared it just in case."

A ghost of a smile made its way across her face, but she didn't say anything as she picked up the pen and signed her name with a flourish. "Thank you," she said, a suspicious lump in her throat, and he just nodded once.

"Take all the time you need," he told her simply. "And come back when you're ready."

A month after the funeral, she was back in the lab.

She could have taken more time; indeed Grissom tried to talk her into it when she called him to say that she was coming back. She stood firm though, wanting, needing to go back to work, knowing that the time off had done her good.

She'd spent some time in Las Vegas, getting to know Kim a little, helping her pack up Cyrus's apartment, a job that had facilitated their bonding, as well as necessitating large amounts of tissues. Sara had heard more stories about him over those few days, stories that had made her laugh as well as cry, and though Kim had told her that she was welcome to have anything to remember him by, she'd only taken a CD of Billy Joel songs that she wasn't sure she'd ever listen to. She'd got to know Stephanie as well, though the child had been mostly left with neighbours after the first day when she'd spent the afternoon wandering through the apartment, calling her uncle's name.

That much done, she'd gone back to San Francisco and on to Tomales Bay for a little while. She'd caught up with old friends, with her parents, but hadn't told them what had brought her there after so long away, not sure if she could put her feelings into words without bursting into tears. She couldn't help but think about how things could have been different, how it could have been the two of them there, her showing him all her childhood haunts, making him a part of her past as well as her present. The carnival had been in town when she'd been there, and she'd sworn to herself that she wouldn't go, but had gone there anyway, spent an evening walking like a ghost through the laughing, smiling people, pausing at the milk can throw and the Ferris wheel. She didn't linger at those, but she did at the Cups and Saucers, and when she watched the cars whirr around, slowly coming to a stop, she smiled.

That was when she knew it was time to go back to Vegas.

She'd been sure of it at the time, but when she was standing in her locker, staring at her ID badge, she found herself swept away in a tidal wave of déjà vu, remembering a time not so long ago that she'd done exactly the same thing. She could almost feel the dust under her fingers again, but she didn't zone out, didn't space out, nor did she remember the man who had dragged her back to sanity with tears in her eyes. A pang in her heart, yes, but her eyes were dry.

She ran a finger over the picture on the badge, at the smiling face she saw there, just like she'd done a little over a month ago. She'd been amazed then as now at the turns her life had taken, recalling the day that that photograph had been taken, when she'd first arrived in Las Vegas, when she'd felt as if the world was alive with possibilities.

She'd lost that girl somewhere in the three years between then and now, and it happened a little bit at a time, when she felt like Grissom didn't respect her, like he didn't value her opinion. And not just Grissom, but in the times when she clashed with Warrick, and especially when she clashed with Catherine over the investigation of Eddie's death. She'd been dying a little bit at a time, right up until the day that blast pressure pushed her to the ground amid a shower of glass, and she'd looked up to see Greg, lively ebullient Greg, prone on the ground, still as death.

She'd known that could have been her, and she'd felt the shock of that knowledge course through her body, even as it dulled her senses under a weight of what-ifs, a questioning of everything in her life.

She'd been in the middle of the bomb scene chaos when he arrived, insisting on taking her home, not taking no for an answer. And it had only been when they were standing in her apartment that things had become clear to her suddenly, and when he touched her, when he kissed her, she felt as if she was alive again.

She'd stood at her locker that day, looking at the girl in the picture on her badge, that happy girl who felt as if the world was her oyster, like she could finally have everything that she'd wanted, and for the first time in too long, she'd felt like that again. She'd taken her heckling from Warrick and Lea, had known that they only had her best interests at heart, and when she'd gone off the deep end a little during the investigation, then all that he'd had to do when he got to her place was take her in his arms for her head to clear. And when he'd kissed her, when he'd touched her, she'd remembered who she was again.

She hadn't realised what she was missing until he helped her find it.

And now he was gone.

Setting her jaw, she clipped the badge to her belt, ruthlessly pushing back the thoughts, the memories, sure that if she embraced them, let them take a hold, that she'd never get through the day. She could be strong, tough, she knew that. She'd made it in Boston on her own at eighteen, she'd lived on her own in Vegas for three years. She didn't need anyone, didn't have to rely on anyone. She was fine.

A mocking whisper in the back of her head called her a liar even as a voice at the door said her name softly, causing her to jump. Whirling, she found herself looking at a vaguely concerned, but mostly apologetic Archie, who gave her a quick grin before saying, "I didn't mean to frighten you."

She shook her head quickly, pasting a smile to her face. "I'm fine Archie," she said dismissively. "I should be going anyway-"

"Just wait a minute." The words, uttered so quickly, cut across whatever else she was going to say, and she looked curiously at him as he shut the door quickly. "Is Grissom around?" he asked when he turned back to her, and she gave him an incredulous look, before glancing pointedly around the locker room. Unless Grissom was hiding in one of the lockers, there was nowhere for him to be, and she wondered if Archie wasn't suffering belatedly from the after-effects of shock from the explosion. Stranger things had surely happened. "Good point," he said, nodding, taking a couple of steps closer to her. "It's just… I mean, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't mind, it's just not exactly the most official use of lab equipment if you know what I mean… "

"Archie." Babbling wasn't something that Sara would ever associate with the young lab tech, that was more Greg's bailiwick, but it was the only word that would describe Archie's patter at that moment. That, and the fact that he was radiating discomfort, made her want to get to the heart of the matter as soon as possible. "What?" Her tone was gentler than her words might have indicated, and her gave her a sheepish smile.

"Sorry. It's just… I don't want to upset you Sara." He looked so concerned, so worried by whatever it was that was on his mind, that Sara tilted her head, curious, and when he seemed assured that his worst fears, whatever they might be, was going to happen, he reached into the pocket of his lab coat, pulling out a small envelope. "It's just… I was going through some stuff at home… and I thought you might like to have these."

He held out the envelope to her, and Sara took it, noting that her hand was unaccountably shaking. Opening the flap, she pulled out a set of photographs, her breath catching in her throat as she saw the first one. It was from Nick's Christmas party, the night that Lea had grilled her about her relationship with Cyrus, before seeking permission to pursue him herself. In it, she was standing beside Cyrus, Nick on the other side of her, all three of them smiling at the camera. She remembered Archie taking it, remembered him flitting hither and yon with the digital camera his parents had sent him for Christmas, but she'd never seen the photographs before.

"It's from Nick's party," Archie told her, his voice filling the silence of the room, and she nodded, willing herself not to cry.

"I remember." Her hand shaking even more now, she looked to the next photo, and she frowned, because she didn't remember it being taken at all. She was sitting on the edge of Nick's couch, facing Cyrus, who was standing, looking down at her, and they were deep in conversation. Even to her admittedly now jaundiced eye, they looked every inch a couple, and she suddenly realised just what everyone else had been seeing all that time, realised just how much she'd been missing.

"I had to use the lab machines to clean them up," Archie was telling her. "You guys were in the background… it was just a matter of refocusing some pixels… "

She nodded, as if she knew what he was technobabbling about, but her concentration was on separating the pictures without dropping them, and the next picture must have been taken fairly near to the last, except that this time, she and Cyrus were both standing, both looking in the same direction and laughing. She was pretty sure she knew when this was taken, that it was when Greg was trying to teach everyone the Time Warp, and they'd agreed they were staying well out of it. He'd told her that he didn't dance, and she'd believed him, right up until the time that they danced in his living room to Billy Joel.

She remembered when she'd paraphrased that song back to him, the night that he'd come to her apartment, the first night that they'd made love, and she flipped to the next photograph quickly, hoping that it would stave off the memories.

It did nothing of the sort.

If the third photo was taken near the time of the second, then the fourth must have been taken directly after the third, because they were standing in the same positions, and Sara could have sworn that her expression hadn't changed in the slightest. What had changed was Cyrus. No longer was he following her gaze, laughing at Greg and his antics. Now he was looking at her, at her laughter, and while he was still smiling, the smile was no longer the grin of a fellow amused spectator. Instead it was the tender smile of a would-be lover, his gaze the gaze of a man completely smitten with the woman at his side.

In the back of her head, she heard Nick's broken whisper. "He was so crazy about you Sara… you have no idea… "

She heard as well her own reply.

"Yeah Nicky… I do."

Except that she hadn't really. She knew that now. She hadn't found out until it was too late, until she'd lost the most precious thing that she'd never even known she'd had.

But he'd known. He'd known it all along, and he'd waited for her, trusted in them. And, looking down at his face, she knew that he'd been right to, that what they'd had, no matter how brief, no matter how painful, had been worth it.

Archie was talking again, and she made herself look up at him. "… if I upset you," he was saying. "I just thought you'd like them… "

She gave him a smile, a smile that while tearful, was by far more genuine than the rictus that she'd plastered on when he first came in. "They're great Archie," she whispered, her voice thick with loss and gratitude. "Thank you."

He nodded once, and his hand looked as if it wanted to reach out to her, but he checked the impulse, choosing instead to nod once more. "I have them on disk… if you want any more." She nodded her acknowledgement, gaze returning to the pictures again, and she was only dimly aware of him continuing after a second. "I'll um… I'll leave you to it."

She heard the door open, but she was looking back down at the picture, at the way Cyrus had looked at her, and of the one before it, and his smile. That was the smile that she'd seen during their lingering goodbye before he'd left her apartment for the last time, when he'd made promises of cooking dinner with her, when she'd tried to convince him in action if not in words not to leave. She didn't have to concentrate hard to be able to remember the feel of his lips on hers, his hands against the skin of her back, and every hair in her body stood erect at the memories, a tingle running down her spine.

That was her Cyrus, the one that she wanted to remember.

Sliding the photographs back into the envelope, she turned to put them onto the top shelf of her locker, intending to keep them safe there during the shift. On impulse though, she stopped, opening the envelope again, taking out the second picture Archie had given her, the one where she was sitting and he was standing, the one where they looked every inch the couple lost in their own private world. Looking up and down the back of her locker, her gaze fell on the picture of her on her own, taken during a hill walk during her time in San Francisco. Glancing from that to the picture she held in her hand, she didn't think twice, taking down the older photo, sticking the new one up in its place. It looked good there she decided, like it belonged there, and she trailed a finger slowly across his figure, remembering how his skin had felt under her touch.

For the second time that day, a voice saying her name made her jump. "You ok?" it continued, and she turned to see Warrick standing at the door, green eyes narrowed into slits of concern.

It was easier than she might have thought possible to smile at him, to nod. To say, "I'm fine," and mean it.

It was easier for her to say it than it was for him to believe it, if the look on his face was anything to go by. "You sure you're up for this?" he wanted to know, and once again she nodded, looking at the photograph one more time as she put the precious envelope into her locker.

"I'm ready," she said quietly, closing the locker door gently, metal against metal barely making a sound. Her hand lingered on the cold metal for just a second longer than necessary before she turned to him, squaring her shoulders. "Let's go."

Fin

Author's Endnotes

22 chapters, 92000 words plus change, and I'm done - my aim was to get this posted before season four began airing in the States, so I just made it!

I said a few thank yous in the notes at the start, but I can't thank Heidi and Bekki enough for going above and beyond the call of friendly duty with the tape trading, and Bronagh for beta-reading, having heard me whinge about this more than is good for any one person!

In the interests of giving credit where it's due, it should also be pointed out here that the nickname "Detective Hot" is not my invention - to the best of my knowledge, it started, as so many things have, with Sobell at Television Without Pity, though I've seen it used at Under the Bridge as well.

To everyone who's sent feedback, thank you so much - I was so nervous about posting this because it's as unconventional as unconventional gets, so every kind word made a world of difference. Apologies to those who expected me to defy canon, and to those who knew I wouldn't.

Beth and Mags also listened to me whinging about this, and sent feedback accordingly - I hope you both enjoyed it!

Everyone from who left a review, especially Joey des Ange, Grav and MissyJane who near the end reviewed every chapter, some of them twice! (looking at no-one in particular) Francyne, whose sleep I interrupted, sorry about that, and Ria, I'd apologise to you and everyone else for making you cry if I hadn't meant to do so! If I list everyone else who left feedback, I know I'll leave someone out, but you guys all rock and every word is really, really appreciated.