Something Old...

A very warm and very familiar hand reached out to take hers as Sara stepped out from the car.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming," Grissom teased in a tone that matched his touch.

She smiled as she peered up at him and said, "No chance of that." She waited for the sedan to pull away before she continued, "It seems the driver you hired decided to trust his GPS unit rather than your directions. And as you neglected to inform me of where we were supposed to be going, I really couldn't be of much help. Hence why we were late."

"I see."

"Contrary to what you may think, Gilbert, it is possible for a woman to be ready on time."

"I can't recall you ever not being fastidiously punctual, my dear," Grissom replied. "Except perhaps the first time..."

"I was ready on time," Sara corrected. "I just was having a little trouble with my shoes and needed a little help being done up. Which reminds me," she said, slipping the softly draping ivory shawl from her shoulders as she turned her back to him.

"Buttons," Grissom smiled as he began to fasten the neat pearly row that ran up her back. "You always did have a problem with buttons," he mused. "Well doing them up," he quickly qualified. "Unbuttoning, not so much."

Sara spun and pursed her lips, trying to look shocked and disproving at his innuendo, but failing miserably. She knew it was all together too true for her to deny. But she knew, too, that she could give as good as she got.

"Well, as you proved to be so deft at it --" She began. "I saved them for you. Or would you have rather I asked the driver to do it?"

Her eyes were full of impish delight and the same sort of mischief his had been when he had handed her out of the car. Her grin only grew when he merely shook his head ruefully and motioned for her to turn back around so he could finish.

The final button in place, Grissom paused for a moment to run his thumbs up the hard line of her spine that the cut of her dress left exposed. His hands slid around her shoulders before skimming along her bare arms as he leaned in and nudging a curl aside, proceeded to press a kiss into the soft hollow of her neck.

Sara leaned back into the brief caress and sighed contentedly.

But soon, all too soon, the moment had passed and he was gently replacing the wrap around her shoulders.

This time, when his eyes met hers, he found that the mischief had been replaced by tenderness and she, that his blue eyes had deepened, as had the look he was giving her. She was not quite sure what it meant, that look. But she could hear the reverence in his voice when he breathed, "You are so beautiful."

That look, that tone, those words left her momentarily speechless and she found that she could not help but blush and beam with pleasure at the utterly unabashed compliment.

Once she finally got her voice back she said, "You don't clean up so bad yourself," as she reached out to smooth the lapels of his suit.

Grissom smiled, enjoying the gentle pressure of her hands against his chest. He tugged at a tendril at her throat before taking a step back and giving her a perfunctory once over.

"You are missing something though," he whispered.

"Oh?" She inquired, peering down at herself, suddenly self-conscious.

His grin grew as he led her through the mostly empty parking lot toward his own car.

"I thought you might indulge me, just this once," he said, handing her a small hatbox.

She peered down at it, a little dubiously as she was more than a little unsure of what lay inside. Grissom's surprises were always well, surprises.

For his part, he merely stood there patiently waiting. When she finally lifted the lid, Sara was pleasantly surprised to find a small hand-tied bouquet inside.

As she gingerly removed the flowers, she asked, "Am I going to have to wait until we get back to Vegas so Greg can tell me what they mean this time, too?"

"No, not nearly that long," he replied, replacing the box in the car and taking her arm. "Besides, what makes you so sure that they mean anything at all?"

"Because they're from you."

He made no reply, except to guide her past a few scrawny looking pines and scrubby bushes and onto a rough dirt path that led to a series of crudely cut steps.

"Now I see why you told me to bring comfortable shoes," she said, intent on watching her feet for the first few moments. But the soft crash of waves and the rustle of the breeze through the tall grasses caused her to look up and gasp at the sight of the great blue expanse of ocean stretching out just beyond the timbered railings.

"However did you find this place?" Sara stammered.

But before he could answer, there came from up the trail an energetic bark and the thunder of paws racing upon the ground and Hank nearly bowled Sara over with the enthusiasm of his greeting.

"Down, Hank," Grissom commanded, but Sara neither seemed to notice nor care about the dusty paw prints Hank was leaving on her dress nor did she flinch when he began to lick her face in earnest. She simply laughed and knelt before him, the better to rub him behind his ears.

"Did you miss me?" She asked, patting him affectionately.

"Obviously more than he missed me," Grissom said, taking up the leash that trailed behind the dog.

"Go on," she urged Hank, "Go see your daddy."

But her smile faded when she caught sight of the figures coming around the bend. She stumbled slightly as she tried to rise, but Grissom's hand was instantly beneath her elbow to steady her. She peered up at him, suddenly pale and wide-eyed with apprehension.

"It's okay," he said softly, his touch moving from her arm to her shoulder once she had managed to stand. "Honey, they would never have forgiven us, if I hadn't asked them to come."

"That's not what I am worried about needing forgiveness for," she replied.

"I wouldn't worry about that," he assured her. "They were never angry, Sara. Just worried. They care about you. We all do."

She nodded, but as her gaze returned to their four friends, Grissom could see that it was as if she was still looking for one more to join them in the same way he had when Jim, Catherine, Greg and Nick had stepped out of their rental car.

That one more that wouldn't be coming.

He didn't realize that his grasp had tightened on her shoulder until he felt her hand cover his. He placed a long lingering kiss on her fingers as much to comfort himself as her, before he released his grasp.

"Go on," he finally said. "They're here to see you, not me."

Although it was more with tears than smiles that Sara greeted them, Greg didn't even seem to notice. He merely embraced her with a gusto that almost rivaled Hank's. Nick, too, gave her a hearty hug. Brass merely smiled and gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. But it was Catherine's response that Sara had been least sure of.

Catherine, however, simply reached out and brushed the tears from Sara's cheek as she said, "This is no time for tears. There will be plenty of time and occasion for them after you're married."

"Catherine!" Nick exclaimed aghast.

Brass chuckled. "Spoken with all the indignation of a man who's never been married," he said. "I always did have you pegged as a hopeless romantic."

"Actually, tears are supposed to bring good luck to the bride," Greg chimed in.

Catherine turned to him and quipped, "And you know this how, Grissom?"

"Actually, that sounds more like a Hodges' comment to me," Nick countered.

"You know, I think you might be right," Brass agreed.

Greg was saved from further ribbing by the sound of Sara's crying hiccupping into laughter.