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."