Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: So this is the 'sequel' to Leave of Absence. Although, it's really not meant to be a serious sequel as much as a fluffy journey into the beginnings of their happily ever after. :)

I have no idea how long it'll be... depends how long my inspiration lasts.

Let me know what you think!

I was nervous. Was it normal to be nervous? I mean, god, I'd already slept with the man about a million times. He took my virginity for god's sakes. But I was. I was practically shaking, and I had changed clothes about ten times. Because, unlike Sara-the-seventeen-year-old, I had a lot of hot date dresses. But I wanted to make an impression. …A better impression than practically mowing him down in a court suit and then dragging him to lunch where I twisted his arm into asking me out.

Okay, maybe it wasn't that extreme. But I had… convinced him. Assuaged his conscience.

I had decided that my dress was a good choice it was a strapless a-line in dark blue that hugged my curves. It was tight enough to make me look like I had more of a chest than I did and yet far enough down my thighs to not feel like I was in danger of being arrested for public indecency. This was a line a few of my friends pushed, every so often.

I even wore heels. And that, in itself, is a testament to how much this man that I believed I had gotten out of my system years ago still meant to me. I only wore heels to court—the kids I worked for, I was willing to damage my nerves and joints and endure horrible back pain… but not for any man, nor any night out with friends. For Grissom, I broke out a strappy pair of kitten heels that were several years old but, thanks to my aversion to them, still looked like new.

We'd finished our lunch, I'd given him my address and directions to it, and he'd agreed to pick me up at seven. I'd dropped him back on the street where we'd collided. realizing he'd never told me why he was there in the first place and I'd driven away. Everything had been ordered, natural… of course we would finish eating, of course we would exchange information, of course I would drop him off.

Now, however, I was hardly controlling my panic. I walked around my apartment—painted a medium blue, with white and brown furniture and curtains—straightening things that were already straight and dusting things that hadn't seen dust in years. I realized with some amount of alarm that I was so nervous that I was sweating, and I ran to the bathroom to reapply deodorant and give myself the hundredth once over of the night.

No longer pasty white from living in Boston, I appreciated the light tan I'd managed to acquire and maintain. It made my hair look darker, my dress look brighter, my eyes look deeper. There was a knock on my door and I nearly jumped out of my skin, but it was with a sense of relief that I moved to the door. At least I wouldn't have to wait anxiously anymore.

I opened the door slowly, and there was a moment in which we both simply gazed at one another. His eyes moved over my face and he drew in a breath, as if he couldn't believe that we were really here, again, after all these years. I recognized the expression, because I felt that way too.

The years had only been kind to him. He was pushing forty, but he didn't look it. His hair was still brown, although there was the slightest hint of gray at his temples—so small that someone less meticulous than me would probably not have picked up on it. I wondered if his curls were as soft as I remembered—his eyes were certainly as blue. He wore a soft smile and a black button down that only made his eyes brighter. He had put on a little weight in the six years we'd been apart, but not so much that he could even be called overweight. His stomach was fuller, but still flat with his chest.

The gray slacks he wore were nice—he'd obviously put effort into dressing for the date—and I was certain I caught a whiff of cologne as the door swung open. He never used to wear cologne. The most surprising, perhaps, was the flowers he brought. Not that he brought them—years ago, hadn't he told me that if he was worried about a date going well he wouldn't arrive empty handed? No, I was surprised because they were not roses, flowers I had always associated with him. Instead, it was a bouquet of pink azaleas and white daffodils.

I smiled. "Hi."

He seemed to come out of his reverie at my words. When he responded, his voice came breathy.

"Hi."

I took a step back, opening the door wider to let him in, and he stepped in after only a moment's hesitation, smiling nervously. "I, uh… brought you flowers."

I smirked. Clearly. "Thank you… let me get a vase and some water for them before we go." I closed the door behind him and took the bouquet he offered me, moving into the kitchen. It was small, but functional, and updated. I was proud of my home. He stood in the archway that separated the kitchen from the living room, watching as I pulled down a large glass vase, filling it with water and setting the bouquet into it. "…These are unusual. I would have expected roses."

To my surprise, the man actually blushed, remembering—I assume—our night in the hotel… my first time. I smiled, remembering a time when I had blushed almost constantly around him. He cleared his throat.

"I, uh… I wanted… something meaningful." At my raised eyebrow, he smiled, stepping into the kitchen. When he began speaking, I recognized his tone of voice with a pang of nostalgia. It was his teacher voice. I used to tease him about it, in bed, until he started using it in bed… something I had certainly enjoyed more than I cared to admit.

I felt my face heating at the memory—not a blush, but certainly just as telling—and I cleared my throat too. "Meaningful?"

Ah, and there's the reason for his teacher voice: "Well… yeah. The, uh… Daffodils mean, among other things, …new beginnings."

I smirked. "And the azaleas?"

He looked a little uncomfortable. "Well, they… represent love and romance but… especially first loves. And… fragile passion. Temperance."

I smiled again, feeling a swelling feeling in my chest. "…That's nice."

We were silent for a moment, and he cleared his throat again. "Are you… ready to go or… I can wait if… if you're not."

I linked my arm easily through his, turning off lights as I guided him towards the front door. "Nope. I'm ready."

I picked up a black clutch by the door and pulled my keys from the table along the entryway wall. "You, uh… this is a very nice place."

"Thanks." I smiled again. "I think I got a pretty good deal on it… my mortgage payments are lower than I expected. I mean, some things were outdated but I've slowly but surely been remodeling…"

"You own it?" He asked in surprise and I laughed.

"I do."

"Aren't you… you're… twenty-four, Sara."

I closed the door behind us and locked it. "I started at Harvard at sixteen. I wasn't about to keep renting when I could afford to buy. So, what're we doing tonight?"

"Well, there's this great seafood place…"

I looked up at him in surprise to discover he was teasing. He had on a silly grin and a glint in his eyes. I chuckled. "If I break out in hives, there's no second date…"

He took me to an Italian Restaurant, asking if it was still a favorite, seeming nervous still. I laid a hand on his arm, trying to reassure. "It is still a favorite. And… you don't need to be nervous, Grissom. Let's… let's look at this like a fresh start. I mean… we obviously can't ignore our history but… I forgave you for everything a long time ago."

He smiled and nodded and looked down at his menu… and then glanced back up at me. "Gil."

I glanced up from my menu as well. "I'm sorry?"

He took a deep breath. "Call me Gil. Please."

I smiled, and took a sip of the wine he'd ordered for the pair of us, and he smirked. "This is the first time I've seen you drink legally."

I smirked too. "So… you're still in Vegas… supervisor of the Crime Lab. From what I've heard, you're single-handedly responsible for it becoming the number two lab in the country…"

He gave a modest sort of smile accompanied by a wave of his hand. "No, I… I have a great team… they're the reason we've been doing so well…"

I watched his eyes light up as he spoke about them—he was happier in Vegas than he used to be. His eyes used to get dark when he talked about the place. It made me happy to know that it no longer haunted him. "Tell me about them…"

His descriptions of his colleagues carried us through ordering, an appetizer, and the arrival of dinner. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed so hard—I'd heard about Catherine, of course, but there were two new CSIs on his shift and a DNA technician whom he claimed to find irritating to no end. I say 'claim' because he smiled when he described the young man's antics and his tendency to wear any evidence that could be classified as women's clothing.

The two CSIs seemed very young, though they were my age. They'd just been hired—which proved that they had not been responsible for the Crime Lab's rise in ratings—Nick was a Texan with a heart as big as his homeland. Gil confessed to worrying that he identified too readily with the victims but also to his great pride at the man's successes. Warrick was a Las Vegas native who had been raised in near poverty by his grandmother and emerged a brilliant criminalist who could play classical piano with the best of them. He seemed to need less guidance and approval, but also seemed more susceptible to his own demons.

He spoke of the men with absolute love and pride, and I found myself longing to know the people who seemed like they'd become his make shift family after we'd parted ways. I was about to ask about his mother, and Hank, but he beat me to it. The waiter set our plates before us, and as I picked up a fork, he took the opportunity.

"I've been doing all the talking. I really want to hear about you."

I smiled, swallowing the bite I'd already popped into my mouth. It was rather amazing—artichokes and ravioli in a gorgonzola sauce. All cream and cheese and fat.

"Well… you know that I'm a forensic social worker. I've been doing that for… four years. Three of which have been in San Francisco. …You obviously saw my condo. I volunteer as a mentor for young girls in foster care on the weekends. My girlfriends insist on Margarita Mondays to keep in touch, and I have breakfast with my mother every Friday—she works the night shift, but Thursdays are her nights off, so she's free to eat with me before I have to get in to work…"

I shrugged. "That's about it, I guess. Work, friends, family."

"Dates?" He asked me, eliciting a grin from me.

"Occasionally, yes. Nothing serious."

He nodded. "…Tell me about your mother."

I cleared my throat. "Well, you… you knew that she was… in prison. After she… killed my father, she went to… a mental institution. She kind of… had a break with reality, briefly. It took about six months and she was deemed to be in her right mind. I think she would have gotten off on self-defense, even though he'd been hurting my brother at the time, not her, because there was a history of suspicious hospital visits, but…

I sighed.

"She… had been kind of a heavy drinker. The state said that it contributed to her actions, and that if she'd been sober, she would have called the police rather than taking matters into her own hands." I frowned, disliking the sentence to this day. "They sent her to a jail that dealt specifically with addiction… she got out while I was at Harvard and I… ignored her letters, for a long time, but… eventually I wrote her back and… we cleared up a lot of things. I moved to San Francisco to be close to her… get to know her, again."

"Have you… seen your brother?"

I frowned, glancing down at my meal. "He's… not doing so well."

There was a brief silence as we both took some time away from talking to eat, uncertain with where the conversation had steered us. Eventually, I pushed past it.

"Do you still have Hank?"

He laughed. " I do… I warn you, though, he's gotten rather fat. It's the guys…"

"At the lab?"

He chuckled. "Yeah… he's kind of become the mascot for the Crime Lab. He's a service animal now—nothing cool like a Seeing Eye dog, but he offers… comfort, to victims. So he spends all day in my office, until there's a case when he's needed. …Which means that he gets a treat every time someone passes by."

I giggled, finishing off my meal. "Aww… I miss Hank!"

He smiled, softly. "He missed you too… he was miserable for… over a year, after."

The waiter arrived, saving us from the discomfort again. He asked if we'd like dessert, and though I made it a rule to have dessert on dates—I wasn't interested in a man who couldn't feed my sweet tooth—I was rather full. He left the check and Gil slipped a card in, passing it back immediately. I glanced at the watch on his wrist—it was still early. I wondered what else he had planned for the night...