The restaurant is just off Times Square, which means we need to find some transportation other than our feet, which aren't up to the multiple-mile walk. The women, looking like it's the most exciting thing they'll do all week, vote that we take the subway; of course, Alex and I can't disagree or we'd risk looking like we were scared of the big bad train. After fifteen minutes of studying the huge fold-out map the concierge gave me earlier in the day, between Alex and me we've figured out two things: we need to get on a subway, and it needs to be going north. Beyond that, we're still trying to untangle all the colored lines, letters, and shapes that denote individual train routes.
"We could ask the concierge," Sharon suggests.
"No!" Alex and I chorus. "It's silly to ask him about something we're perfectly capable of doing ourselves," I add.
Both women roll their eyes. "I thought you and the concierge would be old pals by now, Gris," Sara teases me.
"We can figure it out," I mutter, staring determinedly at the map. "We're all trained investigators."
"Riiiight," she says, then takes Sharon's arm and pulls her a little away from where Alex and I stand with the map.
I watch out of the corner of my eye as she says something quietly to Sharon, who nods slowly. A moment later, both women return and, before Alex or I can react, Sara snatches the map out of my hands and shakes it pointedly in my direction. "Since you two are obviously having issues," she says, looking smug, "Sharon and I will figure this out." The two of them study the map for less than a minute before they look up again. Sharon's adopted Sara's smug look, and now the two of them stand there, grinning at us.
"What?" I say, knowing we're about to be shown up.
"Now, boys," Sharon begins in the exaggerated voice one would use with a three-year-old, "you see this pretty yellow line?" She traces her finger over, yes, a thick yellow line on the map. "That's the N/Q/R/W line."
"Yeah," I mutter.
"And do you know where we are right now?" Sara prompts.
"7th Street and Broadway. By NYU."
"And where are we going?"
"Times Square," Alex says, knowing as well as I do that we're in trouble.
"So..." Sharon says, "let's use our deductive skills, shall we? This" - she points to a dot about three-quarters of the way down the map - "is the NYU station. This" - she points to another dot, this one about halfway up - "is the Times Square station." She looks at Alex, then me. "Are we following so far?"
I scowl; Alex crosses his arms and tries to look bored.
"Now," Sara picks up, using two fingers to point to the two dots, "what do we see connecting these two dots?"
"The line you just pointed out," I admit with a sigh, knowing that we've been soundly beaten.
The food at Dallas Dan's Barbeque looks as good as I was told, but no one warned me about the crowded, picnic table-style seating or boisterous atmosphere the place boasts. Sara takes one look at the setup and stops walking. "No way, Gris," she says when I look at her, confused. "It's a firetrap and I'm not going in. Neither are you," she adds. I'm pleased that I'm included in her protective instinct.
"But I made a reservation," I grumble. "They said the food's good!" It's not that I'm particularly eager to enter the firetrap, as Sara phrased it, but I already feel like I've screwed the night up, and if we don't use our reservation I'll feel even dumber.
"C'mon," Sara says, taking my arm and giving it a playful shake, "it's not your fault. You went with what the concierge told you."
I sigh as she leads me outside to the sidewalk. Alex and Sharon trail behind us, but as we move to the side of the pavement Sharon takes my other arm. "Sara's right, it's not your fault. Don't sulk." She gives my arm a squeeze, then catches Sara's eye and drops her hand.
"What are we going to do now?" Alex asks, slumping against the brick building. "I'm hungry."
We all think about that for a second. "We're in Times Square," Sharon finally says. "There are probably a hundred restaurants within the next two blocks. Why don't we just walk until we see something that looks good?"
"This is actually kind of nice," Sara says as we stroll down the sidewalk. "Sightseeing without the pointlessness." She takes my arm then, a few seconds later, seems to decide that's not working and slips her hand into mine. I'm surprised, but manage not to show too much of it. I give her hand a squeeze and splay my fingers so that they intertwine with hers.
"How 'bout a deli?" Sharon says from behind us. She points to a big lighted sign that says Roxy. "I see pastries in the window!"
Sara perks up at the word pastries. "Where?" she demands.
"There, see?"
We all strain to see into the window she's pointing at.
"Let's do it," Sara says. "I'm starving!"
The desserts in the window Sharon had been pointing at are huge, I realize as we walk in. Huge! Danishes as big as a human head. Cheesecake slices that look like they could feed a small country.
"Oh, wow," Sara breathes. "Look at the size of that sandwich." I obediently look where she's pointing and see a man holding a deli sandwich too tall to fit in his mouth. "Wow," I agree.
We wait a few minutes to be seated, then peruse the menus we're given. At this level of hunger, everything looks good to us, and I'm sure we annoy the waiter with our hemming and hawing. Eventually, Sharon and Alex decide to split a Reuben, which the waiter assures them is big enough to serve the two of them and still have leftovers. Sara and I can't share, since I want something with meat in it, so I order a Turkey Club and remind myself how lucky we are that our hotel rooms have mini-fridges, while she asks for a Three-Cheese Club. We return our menus to the waiter, who slips away with a look that clearly says Ugh, tourists.
"So?" Sharon says when the waiter is gone. "Tell us more about how you guys have managed to work together for five years with all this sexual tension between you!"
We're no longer shocked by Sharon's prying questions. Instead, Sara just looks at me.
I look at her.
We both shrug. "Years of practice," I say.
"Keeping ourselves busy with lots of other things," she adds.
"And fighting," I conclude.
Sharon blinks. Obviously we haven't provided the juicy details she wanted, but really, what details do Sara and I have to give? We spent the past five years avoiding such messy things as details as much as possible.
"Enough questions about me and Grissom," Sara says. "We don't know anything about Alex except his name!" She looks expectantly at Sharon.
Alex clears his throat and puts down his beer. "Well, uh...I'm Alex Cane and...what else do you want to know?"
"Let's start easy," Sara says. "Where are you from and what do you do?"
"I'm a lieutenant of the Ontario Provincial Police. I mostly handle training of new officers, these days. That's why I'm here; the higher-ups are hoping that I'll absorb all this and then disperse it among the rest of the officers."
"How do you know Sharon?" I ask, eager to keep attention diverted from us.
They exchange a look. "We just met here, this week," Sharon says, sounding like she doesn't much like attention being turned on her.
She's saved from more questions by the arrival of our sandwiches, which are every bit as big as the one Sara pointed out to me earlier. We dig in amidst numerous oh my gods and wow this is greats.
By the time we finish our sandwiches, we all know that there's no way we're going to have room for dessert. Sara seems intrigued by the gigantic slices of chocolate cake, though, and I ask her if she wants to try it.
"Mmm," she says indecisively. "It looks so good, but I'm so full..."
"Why not get it as takeout?" suggests Alex.
"Ooh, yes!" Sara says. "Midnight snack, here I come!"
It's decided, and we move on to settling the bill. The sandwiches' prices are proportionate to their size, and I'm surprised at how much three sandwiches and two drinks cost in New York. We decide to just split the cost in half, rather than calculate who ate what. Alex, Sara, and I all reach for our wallets. I look at her, feeling slightly off balance. Shouldn't she be letting me pay for her, if things are going as well as I thought?
I push her hand away. "I'll get it."
She frowns at me, ignores what I said, and takes a twenty out of her wallet, adding it to the two bills Alex has already set on the table. I promptly pick it out of the pile, slide it toward her, and replace it with two twenties of my own. Her frown deepens. "What are you doing?"
I raise my eyebrows. "...Paying?"
"For me?" She looks genuinely confused now. Alex and Sharon are now watching us curiously, but without surprise. I guess they're used to our bickering.
"I had planned to, yes."
"I brought money," she says, as if that should bar me from using mine.
"I know," I tell her. "And you can keep it. I'm paying."
"But..."
I slip an arm around her shoulders in what would be a comforting gesture if I weren't currently ready to wring her neck, and whisper, "You figured out that I was going to pay for your dessert before we even left the hotel. Just let me pay for the rest of it too. It's...easier."
She sighs. "Fine. I'm getting it next time."
I smile at her, thinking Yeah, right. "Sure."
Sara seems to have forgotten the check-paying tension by the time we exit the subway onto 8th street. She's holding my hand again, much to my pleasure. We say good night to Sharon and Alex in the lobby, where they're going to be heading for the hotel bar and Sara and I are going to head to our rooms.
We spend the elevator ride in silence. Just like last night, the closer we get to the rooms, the more nervous we get. Or, at least, the more nervous I get. On the other hand, last night she wasn't holding my hand; it's hard to be quite as nervous with her touching me already.
When we step out on the thirty-second floor, I steal a glance at her and then quickly look away. A few seconds later, I see her do the same thing out of the corner of my eye. I'm feeling a little tenser now, although for a different reason than before.
Our beds are behind those doors. Are we going to...do things? Will we share a bed? I'm the one who stopped things last night; will she be waiting for me to give permission for her to touch me?
How the hell am I going to figure out the answers to these questions? I may not date much, but I'm pretty sure that saying, So, what do I get to do to you tonight? is taboo in most circumstances.
I'm still turning this over in my mind when Sara lets us into her room, waving her key at me and saying, "Plenty of room for it tonight!" Distracted, I just manage a nod and follow her inside.
"You're quiet," she tells me, turning to look at me questioningly once we're standing between the door and the bed.
"Sorry." I'm at a complete loss; I just can't think of what to say, so I wait for her to say something, instead.
"Anything wrong?" she asks, sounding casual as she sits down on the bed and pulls off a shoe. When I don't answer, she pulls off the other one, then looks up at me, looking a little worried now. "Are you mad that I didn't want you to pay for dinner?"
I shake my head. "No. I mean, I would have preferred you hadn't argued about it, but it's resolved now."
Barefoot now, she stands up and approaches me. She's a little shorter without the shoes and I have to look down at her. "Then what is it? You look...either mad or scared, I can't tell which."
She's going to keep pushing, I know now. I try to think of a way to say this without embarrassing myself or her. "I'm just, uh...unsure."
"Unsure of what?"
"Uh." I look around the room, hoping she'll notice and get the point.
She gets a point, but not the right one. "You can go to bed if you want; you don't have to stay and entertain me."
"It's not that."
"Well," she says, leaning into me and wrapping her arms around my waist. I look down at her in surprise as she says, "Obviously I'm not going to be able to guess the right answer. So just tell me."
I tentatively hug her back. "I'm just wondering, uh...what we - I mean you - I mean..." I trail off. I'm just making things worse, I know it.
She lets go of me and steps back, looking a little hurt. "We don't have to do anything, if that's what you're trying to say.
"No! I mean, not exactly." She takes another step back and I sigh, grabbing her hand to keep her from retreating any more. "I don't know what last night means for tonight," I attempt.
"Huh?"
I don't know what else to do; I finally say, "Ok, look. I'm going to say this the way it is in my head, and it's going to come out sounding really bad. So, uh, could you try not to get angry?"
"It kind of depends on what you're about to say," she said with raised eyebrows. "But I'll try."
"Ok. Fair enough." I take a deep breath. "I enjoyed last night." I stop, waiting for a response. She just gives me a small smile and waits. "And I'd like to spend more time with you tonight."
"Oookayyy..." She seems to be waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"But I was wondering what, uh..." Deep breath, Gil. "What what we did last night means for tonight. That is, what what I did last night means for tonight."
She furrows her brows. "I'm not totally following you. Give me an example."
I must be bright red by now. I can't believe I'm saying these things. "Well, I...stopped things last night."
"Yes..." She waits.
"And I don't know where that leaves us for...tonight."
"You mean whether anything's going to happen?" She blinks. "Gil Grissom, are you asking me how far I'm going to let you get with me on a second date?"
I'm horrified. Is that what it sounded like? Worse yet, was that what I meant? "No!"
She looks disappointed. "Oh. Then what did you mean?"
I roll my neck, trying to work out the kinks caused by how stiffly I've been holding my body. "Ok, fine. I sort of meant that. But not exactly!"
"Keep going." She crosses her arms and sits down on the end of the bed, looking at me like I'm about to tell her an interesting story.
I press my lips together. "I just don't want to do anything that will...alarm you, or makes things awkward. So I wanted to know - to ask you - before it became an issue."
She uncrosses her arms and sets her elbows on her thighs, putting her chin in her hands and looking up at me. "You know, it seems to me that if anyone should be worrying about alarming anyone else tonight, it should be me. I forced you to start things last night, and you had to tell me to stop."
That catches me by surprise, although I guess I can understand how she'd see it that way. I'm not at all concerned about Sara taking advantage of me, though, so I don't try to counter her statement. "So you're not going to have an objection if I...touch you?" I ask, needing to be sure.
She grins. "Nope." Standing up, she hugs me again like she did a few minutes ago. "Touch away."