A/N: I really appreciate all of the feedback. I'm so, so sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. looks around futilely for someone to blame. The next one will be on time.

Spoilers: Revenge is Best Served Cold

Disclaimer: Still don't own a thing.

Under the guise of choosing his snack, Grissom studied Sara as she performed her weekly pre-game ritual. Once she had her fries and soda in hand, she would return to the seating area, and he would dutifully purchase his nachos and follow her.

They worked well together over the preceding week, as always a professional and efficient team, but a distinctly awkward tension hung in the air between them. Although neither spoke of it, each was well aware that there were issues that couldn't be ignored much longer.

In Grissom's mind, the events of previous Tuesday constituted a setback. He longed for the opportunity to explain himself, but when the time came, would she be willing to hear him? Her reaction to his jealousy had been disconcerting at best. Was he really too late already?

He knew that confrontation was an inevitable and necessary step in the relationship, but he had hoped it wouldn't happen until they had grown a bit closer. Then, they could have approached the long-restrained emotions in a more controlled setting. But what had happened had happened, and there was no turning back now. His time line had been moved forward dramatically.

"Is that all you eat on bowling night?" He tried to sound casual as he placed his ball on the ball return.

"I eat," she replied with a tone that left Grissom unsure whether to describe it as playful or defensive.

Gil drew in a deep breath and steadied himself. "I was thinking we should get dinner after the game tonight."

Sara froze. "Grissom…I don't…"

"It's not a date, Sara. At least it doesn't have to be," he told her earnestly. "It's just two friends catching up over a meal. I've missed you…as a friend."

She continued to struggle with her thoughts and feelings, forcing out in a whisper "I miss you, too. It's just, I don't know."

"Think about it, okay?"

"Who are we bowling against tonight?" That was a pretty abrupt change of subject, Gil noted. I may have pushed too hard, made her feel backed into a corner.

"The Homicide Hooligans. Detectives, maybe?"

"Yeah," Sara supplied. "That's Brass and Vega. They're in third place. I didn't know we were facing them tonight."

"You rang?" Jim Brass dropped his bag to the floor and gave them his wry grin. "We're third, you're second. There are some bragging rights at stake here."

The match proceeded, with Sara watching the score, Grissom pretending that he wasn't watching Sara but fooling no one, Brass watching Grissom and Sara and Vega wishing he were home watching NCIS. By the end of the first game, it was clear that any discord existing between the CSIs was not going to hinder their performance as a team.

Jim Brass shook his head in amusement as he checked the score. It amazed him that two people as intelligent as Gil and Sara could sometimes be so obtuse. No matter what was happening between them, they were nearly always able to put it aside and work together when the situation required cohesion.

"We're down by 14 pins," Vega observed as the tenth frame of the final game approached. "You're up, Grissom."

Grissom took his place and rolled his ball perfectly, knocking down all ten pins.

"That's a turkey," Sara grinned, pointing at the bird on the electronic scoreboard. It flashed brightly to celebrate Grissom's third consecutive strike. "That should do it."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Licking his lips anxiously, Gil approached her as she placed her ball in her bag. "Have you thought about dinner?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Sunset Station's just up the street. Their café isn't bad."

"I've eaten there," she replied.

He hoped he didn't appear half as nervous as he felt. "And?"

"As friends?"

"If that's all we're ready for."

With a gentle tone and a slight tilt of her head, she acquiesced. "Let's go."

She opted to follow him in her own car, and they parked near the side door leading to the café. They were pleased to discover that the eatery was nearly empty; privacy would be a near certainty. The clanging and ringing of slot machines was distant, and the high walls around the dining area ensured that the keno boards provided the only evidence that they were indeed in a casino.

Dinner was pleasant, the tension between them slowly melting away until it was barely detectable. They kept the conversation light and mundane, steering away from the more emotionally-charged subject matter.

"I was thinking of attending that osteology conference in January," Sara enthused. "Have you been to that one?"

Grissom nodded as he swallowed his bite of potato. "I was one of the moderators two years ago. It's a very good conference. And Dr. Michaels is a friend of mine. I'm sure he'd be happy to give you a tour of the lab there."

Terror immediately washed over him. What was he thinking with that suggestion? What if she liked that lab—too much? And what if she liked Jefferson Michaels? Stop it, Gil, he chided himself. His insecurity has only caused trouble in the past. He knew he had to get over it. She was there with him. Smiling at him.

When the check came, Sara began leafing through her wallet.

"I've got it, Sara."

"I'll pay for half," she insisted. "You shouldn't have to pay for everything."

"So let's compromise and let Station Casinos pay. I'll use a comp."

Sara stilled her hand and looked up at him. "You have comps?"

Grissom shrugged. "I have comps all over town."

"What do you play?"

"Not much of anything any more. I used to play a lot of poker."

Sara eyed him curiously. "I thought poker rooms didn't comp players."

"They don't usually use the card system, but comps are occasionally given at the discretion of the host."

"I'll be you're a force to reckoned with at the table. You don't give away a thing," she smiled. What do you play? Hold 'em, stud or Omaha?"

Grissom found himself struck by his last conversation on the topic…

"Wow, I'm impressed," Warrick said. "I mean, the fact that you sat at a table with actual living beings."

"Well," Grissom hedged, "poker's not a game of interaction. It's a game of observation. I used to study people. And then I guess I, uh, got bored. Now I study evidence."

"What I don't get is why we've never talked about gambling before. How come you never mention it?"

"Same reason a good player hides his 'tells'."

Warrick nodded. "He doesn't want to be exposed."

Exposure. That was a big fear for him, he knew. But entering into a relationship with Sara meant exposing parts of himself he'd kept hidden for many, many years. If he was going to do that, it was best to start now.

"Earth to Grissom," Sara's voice cut through his reverie.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to leave you hanging. Hold 'em, but I don't play anything any more. I got bored with it." As the waitress disappeared with the complimentary ticket, Grissom deposited the tip on the table and took Sara's hand lightly in his. "Ready?"

They stopped at their respective vehicles. "Thank you for dinner," Sara said sheepishly. "It was…nice."

"It was nice," he nodded. "We should, uh, we should do it again sometime."

She pulled away slowly and shyly. "I'll see you at work tomorrow."

Grissom was warmed by her grin as they parted. The evening had gone well—much better than he expected. Perhaps this could work after all.

TBC