Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or its characters. They're all property of Alliance Atlantis, CBS Paramount and Anthony Zuiker.

A/N: The inspirations for this chapter came from all over the place starting with a certain phrase I had written in the previous chapter about GSR seeing all the continents, to the episode 6x04 Shooting Stars, to my desire to visit the Giza Plateau some day to the news that Marg is planning on leaving after this next season. It also was written over several weeks snatching a few minutes here and there at work. So my hope is that this actually is coherent and makes sense!

"Night, Cath!"

Catherine lifted her eyes from the paperwork spread out before her to find Greg standing in the doorway of her office.

"Good night, Greg," she returned with a smile.

With a jaunty flick of his finger, Greg spun on his heel and was headed out.

"Greg?"

She grinned as she watched Greg back-pedaling into view again.

"Yeah, boss?"

"You did good on the Matheson case. Really, really good." With a small shrug and a grin, she praised him. "You impressed me. Keep it up and you'll be taking my job away!"

"Wow! Really?"

"Yeah, really." They just grinned at each other for a second before Cath warned, "Just wait a few years, yet, OK? I'm not quite ready to retire yet."

"Oh, yeah, yeah, no problemo!" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the office door. "Well, I gotta go. Hot date!"

As he bounced out of view, she couldn't help but be reminded of the old Greg. The DNA-tech Greg – the one who spiked his hair, blasted the lab with loud, obnoxious music, and basically had just irritated the hell out of Gil. Although he had matured greatly over the last few years, it was refreshing to see Greg's quirky side still peek through occasionally.

With a huff, she turned her attention back to the stacks of paperwork cluttering her desktop. Now she understood why Gil used to get so grouchy when dealing with the endless streams of reports and reviews and requisition forms and just plain pointless paperwork.

Well, moaning and groaning wasn't going to get it done. So she signed off on the report she had just finished reviewing, flipped the folder closed and dropped it on the Completed pile.

The swirling air currents of the folder hitting the stack stirred the other papers lying scattered across her desk and as they resettled in new random patterns, a corner of a sand-colored picture peeped out from below.

"Ah-ha!" she exclaimed softly. She was wondering where it had disappeared. She remembered seeing it about a week ago when it had first arrived but between the latest crime streak to hit Sin City and the piles of paper that had built up on her desk, it had gotten lost in the shuffle.

She plucked the postcard from its hiding spot.

Gazing at the picture of the Great Pyramids of Egypt set against a Saharan desert backdrop, she couldn't help but recall the time when Gil had just taken off walking across Nevada's own desert following evidence, waxing poetic about someday seeing those same pyramids for himself.

Now, if she had discovered the drag marks, she would've first gone back, gathered a bottle or two of water and let others know where she was headed. She might've even sent a subordinate out to chase the evidence trail rather than tracking across the hot arid desert herself.

But that wasn't Grissom. It never had been and she imagined it never would be. He tended to get lost in whatever evidence, experiment or other thought process had most recently captured his interest often to the point of forgetting the people around him. It had made him a great criminalist and even a great scholar but also it made him a rather lousy social creature.

Yet, looking back at the afternoon now, she realized that was one of the first times she noticed that something was just a little bit different about her old friend. That he was changing, evolving, sharing. His talk of dreams and wanting to see the pyramids was rather unexpected.

A few weeks later when he started talking about his father's death, she was both pleasantly surprised and saddened. For him to share such an obviously personal and painful memory made her feel trusted but also to wonder what had brought on such a change. She had known him for maybe about ten years at that time and she had never known anything behind the circumstances of his father's passing. She knew his father was no longer living. She had gathered that much from various remarks made over the course of working together for years, day in and day out – or in their case, night in and night out. But he had never before talked about it openly so she had never known the circumstances behind the story. She had just assumed that Gil was older, most likely already working, when his father had passed away. When she found out that he had only been nine years old at the time, many pieces of Grissom's personality had fallen into place.

Coming back to the present, she flipped the postcard over and had to smirk at the text, or rather, lack thereof. No greeting. No "hi", "hello" or even "hey". No "how are you" or even "we're doing fine." Nothing. Nada. Simply the lab's address to the attention of the night shift and a quote. There wasn't even a signature though that was hardly a necessity for the elegant script on the postcard was both familiar and unmistakable.

The quote scrawled across the card said so little and yet revealed so much about the man who had reiterated the words.

"You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream." - C.S. Lewis

For those who didn't know Grissom, they could take that at face value. He was an older gentleman who suddenly changed careers, moved away and got married. One would think those were the new goals, the new dreams.

But she knew there was so much more to this than just the simple surface changes. Gil was a creature of habit. For years, he had lived a solitary life carefully keeping everyone out, not letting anyone too close. She never knew why he was like that. Was it some lingering abandonment felt by a nine-year-old child who suddenly and unexpectedly lost his father? Was it the peculiarity of being the child of a deaf mother? Or was it the isolation of being a prodigy who was further advanced than his contemporaries and shared few interests with them? Or had he once been young, in love and irreparably betrayed by some thoughtless, unappreciative hussy?

Whatever the reason, she knew those words revealed so much more than Gil probably ever intended. For in order to set those new goals and dream that new dream, Gil had to accept change and risk, to grow emotionally and socially. He had to let Sara in, to open himself up, to allow himself to become attached, to allow himself to possibly be hurt but also to possibly be loved as he deserved to be loved and appreciated. And somehow that made this postcard seem so much more personal than any of the others with their breezy chit-chat.

And maybe that's the reason she hadn't posted it yet. It felt too personal. Too personal for Grissom, revealing too much about the man behind the mask. Too personal for her, bringing back cherished memories of their close friendship.

As she laid the postcard off to the side, she felt a twinge of guilt for not sharing this latest treasure with her team. She'd post it in another day or two….maybe. But for now, it was hitting a little too close to home.

And it was starting to make her question herself, her direction, her goals and dreams. If Gil was never too old to change, then what's to say that she isn't either? Maybe it was time to think about a life beyond this job, this career, this lab. Maybe it was time to set a new goal. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to dream a new dream.

TBC

Thanks for taking the time to read my little story!