A/N: I'm still in denial, so I've come up with this…

This story is basically a rewrite of 13.15 Forget Me Not's opening scene at the restaurant. What Sara told Nick and Greg in the end scene of the episode got me thinking. If Sara could have had her birthday wish, and we all know what she wished for – or do we? – what would have happened? In this respect, I gave a new meaning to their phone conversation at the end of 13.11 Dead Air. I don't think you'll mind.

A/N 2: Jean, this one's for you. I hope you enjoy. And let me tell you again: GSR is NOT dead even if she cheated on him and took the ring off. :-(

Some dialogue gratefully borrowed from 13.15 Forget Me Not, and sadly isn't mine.

Many Happy Returns.

And as I sat there alone in the restaurant…I honestly expected him to show up.

The waiter came and cleared her plate and cutlery. Catching her eye he smiled and placed the dessert menu in front of her. "Will you have dessert, Madam?"

Sara glanced at the menu, hesitating, but then declined with a shake of her head. When Grissom had called a few weeks ago to say that he was sorry but that he wouldn't be able to come home for her birthday as planned she'd felt crushing disappointment. She was all for cancelling, or postponing, but he didn't want her to and made her promise to go ahead with what they'd arranged.

He couldn't be with her in body, he'd argued, but he'd be there in mind and heart. And he was. He had said he was sorry, and she believed him. But it still hurt, and she'd been a little more distant on the phone since, their short conversations more fraught than usual. The day at the spa, the expensive meal and the night in the posh hotel she could stomach alone, but eating birthday cake, alone, was more than she could bear. She picked up her glass and raising it at the waiter flashed an uneasy smile.

"I'll just finish my wine. Thank you."

The waiter nodded at her, then withdrew the menu and went on his way, once again leaving her to her musings. She took a sip of the wine and scanned her eyes over her surroundings, taking in the balloons of the birthday party in full swing beyond, the chattering and laughing voices all around and the soft clinking of glasses and scraping of cutlery against plates as guests enjoyed the delectable food. The band returned from their break, once again taking up position on the small stage in the corner of the room.

She put her glass down. Her right hand automatically moved to her left hand, her fingers mindlessly toying with the band on her ring finger. She was beginning to feel nervous now, uncomfortable in her new dress and heels that were too tight, sitting at her table for one. She was about to push her chair back and make a quick exit when the waiter returned, placing a chocolate cake with raspberries on top in front of her. The tall, single burning candle in the centre made her heart quicken with anticipation.

"I―I took a total shot in the dark," he said a little tentatively. She brought her eyes up to him and searched his face. "Please, tell me I'm right."

Her expression softened with pleasure. "Hum, yeah actually. You are."

He acknowledged her words with a soft nod, then glanced down at the cake. Mischief twitched at his lips. "Well, in that case, happy birthday."

He was playing a game with her, a flirtatious, dating game, and she was all for it. She did her best to school her features in a neutral expression, but didn't manage to hide her growing smile. "How did you know?"

His shoulder lifted in an isn't-it-obvious?-I-followed-the-evidence kind of way. "You seem to be celebrating and I noticed you keep watching that party over there."

"God, it's that obvious, huh?" She picked up one of the two forks the waiter had placed next to the cake, and handed it to him. "Two forks."

"Of course," he said taking the fork from her and sitting down. "Can't eat birthday cake alone."

She smiled, and he smiled back and they stared at each other for a moment before she said, "All right, then. Well, I guess I should blow out the candle."

He winked. "Unless you want me to sing Happy Birthday."

Her hand lifted, cutting his offer short. "No. No, please." She held his gaze as she thought that her birthday wish had already come true, then blew out the candle.

"I hope your wish comes true."

"Thank you."

She removed the candle from the cake and set it on the side. He turned round in his chair, motioning to a passing waiter, while she sliced her fork through the moist cake. "Excuse me?" he called. "Can we grab another bottle and an extra glass?" He turned back toward her, a knowing smirk forming as he caught her with the forkful of cake halfway to her mouth. "Unless the party is over."

"No," she replied too quickly, her mouth full. She lifted her hand, covering her mouth, and swallowed. "I'm not driving. It's a present to myself; a day at the spa, a room at the hotel, dinner."

"Why not?" he asked, the smile not leaving his lips. "Treat yourself, right? You deserve it."

Grissom put the dessert fork down, then slid his hand on the table toward hers a little hesitantly. Her eyes lowered to it and she smiled, before looking up again as she reached over to take it. Their little game was over. There was caution in his gaze now as he watched her, still unsure whether his turning up out of the blue had been the right thing to do. How could he think it wouldn't be?

The band began to play, a slowed-down version of a pop tune she recognised but couldn't name. Her earlier discomfort had all but vanished, as had all her anxieties of the past few weeks. Time stood still for them in that moment as they lost themselves in each other's eyes. Neither spoke, and yet so much was said through the silence.

The waiter returned with a bottle of wine and a glass for Grissom, breaking the moment. He made to pour him a glass, but Grissom lifted his hand to stop him before thanking him with a nod. Gently pulling his hand out of hers, he picked up the bottle and briefly studied the label before pouring himself a glass. Then he slowly picked up his glass, lifting it up toward her, and smiled. Their surroundings once again faded in the background, and it was just the two of them.

"Happy birthday, Sara," he said solemnly, soft eyes boring into hers.

She raised her glass to his and they clinked. Eyes locked across the table, they took a sip of the beverage. Afterwards, he swapped his glass for the fork and reached across, stabbing a big chunk off the cake and bringing it to his mouth. "Mmm," he said in surprise, "This is good cake."

She took another sip of her wine and studied him as he ate. Feeling her gaze on him, he looked up and stopped chewing. When their eyes met, time stood still for them again as they gazed at each other in the dim lighting. Slowly he finished his mouthful, and swallowed, hard, as though the cake had gotten stuck in his throat. His tongue darted out of his mouth, licking at its corner, at his bottom lip, before he wiped his hand over the same spot. Again, he swallowed and gave her a shy, self-conscious smile.

"You're not eating?" he asked tentatively.

Sara shook herself out of her trance. Finally breaking eye contact, she put her glass down and used her fork to cut off another piece for herself. He reached across and did the same. She brought the fork to her lips and took a moment to appreciate how moist and tasty the cake was. And how familiar too. Her gaze narrowed as she thought she'd tasted that cake once before, then her face lit up as it came to her when. How could she have forgotten? How could she not have remembered the birthday cake he'd tried to pass as his own three years ago? She burst out laughing.

"You remember," he stated in a chuckle, and quickly finished chewing. "I'm surprised it still looks as good and whole as when I bought it. I was worried they wouldn't allow it me on the plane, and I couldn't stow it in the hold and risk it being mush when we landed."

She felt stunned at this uncharacteristic forethought. A brow lifted. "Well, French luggage handlers aren't the most careful," she remarked in a teasing tone.

His smile widened with pleasure. "I had the flight attendant keep it in their fridge. When I explained, well…" He let his words trail with a lift of his shoulder.

"I can imagine," she laughed, before averting her gaze as tears of happiness unexpectedly filled her eyes. "Thank you," she said, her voice chocked with emotion, and looked up, "For being here and making this day special."

His returning smile was as loving as it was apologetic. He was going to speak when he thought better of it. His eyes flicked up to the top of her head and then back to her face. "You did your hair up," he remarked softly, "Just the way I like it."

He didn't need to elaborate for her to get the subtext, the fact that he knew that secretly she'd been hoping he would be there. Her smile faded a little as her shoulder lifted. At a loss as to how to go on from there, she lowered her gaze to the cake, cutting off another morsel she brought to her lips and ate, keeping silent.

She knew from the French clothes he was wearing – cream dress pants, crisp, white shirt open at the collar under a tailored navy jacket she'd helped him buy and he sometimes wore to professional cocktail parties and luncheons at the Sorbonne – that he had come straight from the airport. If not, he would have had dinner with her.

"You look lovely," he said emphatically, putting his fork down and reaching across to touch her cheek.

Instinctively she found herself leaning into his caress. "What happened?" she queried, glancing up, aiming for a casual tone.

He let out a long breath, and dropped his hand. Then he let out a chuckle, but it sounded hollow to her as though he wished he had a better excuse. "The students are on strike," he said, "Can you believe it? Sit-ins, demonstrations…the whole hog. They're refusing to attend lectures and tutorials until the government backs down on the latest reforms. Nothing unusual apparently, it happens with every new government, or so I'm told." He flashed her a brief smile. "Only in France, huh?" His expression darkened, and he shrugged. "So I'm here, playing hooky."

"When do you have to be back?"

"I don't know. I got myself an open return. A few days at the most. Until Sunday anyway."

Her eyes lowered and she nodded. He picked up her hand. "We need to talk," she said, looking up sharply.

Grissom pinched his bottom lip. "Yeah, we do."

"I'm―"

His hand lifted from hers on the table to her mouth, quieting her. "But not here. Not now," he said in a soft, yet commanding tone, "Not tonight."

He brushed against her lips with the soft pads of his fingers and she sucked in a breath, her mouth opening a fraction as she did so. Her heartbeat quickened with each stroke and brush, her body's instinctive and immediate response.

"Tonight's special," he went on in a whisper, unaware of the turmoil of sensations his lightest touch created inside her, the smouldering fire slowly rekindling deep in the pit of her stomach. "Tonight we're celebrating your birthday. Let's just…suspend everything for a few hours, forget our troubles and just…" His shoulder lifted. A half-smile formed, playing round the edges of his mouth, "Enjoy each other's company."

Sara's face softened with a smile. "I can do that," she murmured, pressing her lips to his fingers.

"Good," he smiled, and lowered his hand. He glanced to a point beyond her shoulder. "Let's dance," he suggested brightly, refocusing on her. "I want to dance with you."

Sara eyed him with disbelief for a moment, thinking that she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had instigated a dance, then slowly nodded her head. He stood up, and taking the hand he was offering she followed him to the dance floor. They never noticed the man watching them intently.

Few couples were dancing, but it didn't matter as she only had eyes for him, and he for her. She wrapped her left hand around him and rested her head on his shoulder, and as he held her to him, his left hand clasping her right one tightly between them while he kept his other hand on her left shoulder, they moved as one in their small corner of dance floor in gentle circles.

She closed her eyes as his lips grazed her temple and surrendered herself completely to his lead and to the feeling of wellbeing that enveloped her. She kept her eyes closed, and revelled in the feel of him, of his strength, his confidence and familiarity, the slight swaying and twirling motion and feather light stroking of his thumb on the bare skin of her shoulder wrecking havoc with her senses. For a moment she stopped thinking, and all that mattered was the here and now. Them. Tomorrow could wait.

The melody stopped all too soon, but they remained in each other's arms and continued swaying to some silent music, a soundless rhythm only they could follow. Around them, couples left the dance floor, and as a new tune began, a little more up-tempo this time, new couples join them. And still they danced, to their own slow pace. After a while, Sara reopened her eyes and pulled back from his shoulder, seeking his gaze. She saw love there, and passion, but also a lingering sadness she knew she mirrored.

"Don't think of tomorrow," she whispered, leaning in to his ear, the hot breaths reflected off his skin back on to her as she spoke sending shivers down her spine. "Just think of the here and now."

He stopped dancing suddenly. She watched as he pulled back from her and searched her face before dropping the hand holding her shoulder. His breaths came in small gasps as he stared at her. His eyes burned with an intensity she'd seldom seen. She swallowed. Lifting his hand to her face, he pushed a tendril of hair that had worked its way loose behind her ear and leaned in for a kiss. His lips were soft and warm, tasting of chocolate, of home, and of promise, and she welcomed their return.

Unbeknown to them, the man now stood at the edge of the room, carefully following their every move with a nasty scowl on his face and silently reeling at the thought that his wicked plans had be foiled by this unexpected turn of events.

Grissom ended the kiss and Sara's hand crept up to his face, holding him close as she traced her fingers over the slopes and planes of his face, beardless and looking older than the last time she'd seen him. "I've kept the room," she said gravely.

His eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "I know."

"Then what are you waiting for?"