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.