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.