"We're meeting at the usual place in half-an-hour."

Sara saved the draft for the request-for-more-staff memo she'd been typing to Ecklie, then looked up at Greg standing at the door and rubbed her face. Ecklie had promised her one more permanent staff, but before an appointment was made the night shift couldn't carry on with just her and three CSIs, especially as Lindsey was still learning and needing supervision.

Finn's death had left a gap that hadn't been filled, and now with DB gone, it left them incredibly short, putting everyone under tremendous pressure. She was hoping day or swing shifts could spare a pair of hands and bridge the gap for the foreseeable future, or she'd have to cancel all leave and time off, which wouldn't be a popular first mandate as boss.

Frowning, Greg stepped into the office and closed the door. "You okay?" he asked, his voice soft and caring.

Sara snapped herself out of her thoughts, plastered a smile on her face. "Sure. I'm fine. Just a little tired, you know? Every time I think I'm getting on top of things something else comes up, requiring my urgent attention."

Greg smiled. "Joys of being the boss, huh?"

"I guess," she said in a sigh.

"You're not…regretting your decision to apply for the job, are you? 'Cause let me tell you it was a relief for me to know that…well, you'd be my boss."

Sara's weary face lit up with a smile. "Never look back, right?" she said, echoing Catherine's old motto.

Greg acknowledged the reference with a nod and smile. "Right. If there's…anything I can do to help, you let me know, alright? It's no trouble."

"Thanks, Greg," Sara said, giving her colleague a warm smile. "But short of cloning yourself, I don't know how else you could help. You're my senior guy now – my only guy – can you believe it?"

Greg gave a hearty laugh. "Sounds like you can't."

She shrugged. "Seeing Grissom here – and Catherine – brought a lot of stuff back."

"Oh, the good old days…" he said wryly. "You'll be fine, Sara. Better than that, you'll be great. And everyone at the lab is behind you." His gaze narrowing suddenly, he looked past her to the work counter directly behind. "Talking of behind you. Miss Piggy's back!" he exclaimed, glancing at Sara as he walked round the desk.

Smiling at his enthusiasm, Sara turned around. "Hodges brought her back. Said she belonged here."

Truth be told, even though the thought behind it had been genuine and kind, Hodges' gift had made her feel uneasy. She didn't know if it was because it was Grissom's and a constant reminder that once upon a time this chair, this office, used to be his, or because it had given her the feeling that unlike the foetal pig, she didn't quite belonged there.

Glancing over his shoulder, Greg picked up the jar she'd placed behind her desk so she didn't have to stare at it all the time, and studied it. "He's right. She does." He put the jar back and then turned around fully before leaning against the counter. "So, back to the reason I dropped by. You still coming, right?"

Sara averted her gaze, sighed. "I thought I might go straight home actually, run myself a bath."

"Sara—It's only breakfast with the guys."

"There'll be others."

With a put-upon sigh, Greg folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not supposed to say anything, but well, the girls – and me – wanted to…celebrate your promotion."

"Greg—"

"We promise to keep it low-key," he insisted. "Just the team, you know, what's left of it anyway, for a good old family breakfast." He lifted his shoulder in a sulky shrug. "And you got to eat, right?"

Sara opened her mouth, but all that came out was a long sigh, and when knowing she'd relented Greg flashed her a cheeky grin she had no choice but smile and nod her head grudgingly. It wasn't like she had anywhere – or anyone – to rush to, did she? The thought of once again going home to an empty house and a cold bed when Grissom was in town suddenly made her feel very sad. Very sad indeed.

Her smile wavering uneasily, she turned back to her memo. "I just got to send this," she said, tapping at her laptop keys, and then with a wave at the padded envelope on the desk, "take this to evidence lockup and I'm done."

Pushing off the counter, Greg reached for the envelope, and Sara remembered what it was too late. Greg turned the package over in his hand, his brow rising when he read Heather Kessler's name on it.

"It's a copy of the statement she gave PD," Sara said.

"You've…watched it?"

Sara shook her head. "Don't intend to either." She smiled. "Not if I want to make breakfast on time."

"Good for you," Greg said, and paused. She could tell mentioning Heather had made him think of Grissom, but he didn't say anything, and she was grateful. "I'll take it to evidence for you," he said after a beat, and moved toward the door. "And don't leave us waiting!"

He bounded out of the room before she could object to either of his statements, and once again she wondered at his endless energy. Sagging into her chair, she let out a long, tired breath. She reckoned another week – two maybe, a month tops – of pretence and covering up her feelings. Then Grissom's reappearance into her life would just be another memory and not hurt so much, and she would throw herself into her work and go on, just like she had done for the last two years since the divorce. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

When some forty minutes later she arrived at the diner, the car lot was full and Sara had to pull back out into the road and park the Prius curbside. She grabbed her purse, waited for traffic to pass before she got out and beeping the car locked trotted over to the diner. She was reaching the plate glass entrance doors when she stopped in her tracks.

"Promise to keep it low-key," she muttered under her breath, doing a worthy impersonation of Greg, "My ass."

It seemed the whole nightshift had turned up, CSIs, lab techs and clerical staff rubbing shoulders in various booths, even David Phillips was there, and it took all her resolve for her not to turn back. Greg caught sight of her wavering and grinning spoke to the people he was sitting with and waved her in. She pushed the door open to a round of applause, and her heart sank. Catherine, Brass and Ecklie, sitting at the counter with their backs to her, turned around on their stools and joined in.

Sara removed her sunglasses and stood uncomfortably, a stiff smile plastered on her face as she wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Could be worse, she mused, Grissom could be there. Her heart skipping a beat, she cast a quick look over the faces smiling at her, but Grissom wasn't one of them. She felt relief at first then crushing disappointment that he wasn't there, which was stupid really and totally irrational.

Catching up to her, Greg steered her toward the trio at the counter. "Sorry," he said in her ear, as everyone returned to their breakfast. "It just happened. And I swear I didn't orchestrate the clapping. That just—"

"Happened too?"

He winced. "Sorry."

Forcing a warmer smile, Sara put on a brave face and patted Greg on the arm. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"What are you having? It's on me."

Sara ordered her usual, then turned to Brass, Catherine and Ecklie. "We couldn't not be here," Catherine said, knowing exactly how Sara was feeling, and stood up to embrace her.

Brass stood up too and took his time hugging her. "Mind my ribs," he said, when she hugged him back affectionately, and then when she pulled back, "I don't seem to be healing as fast as I used to." There was a look of sadness hiding behind the friendly smile that she had trouble interpreting and tugged at her heartstrings.

Sara gave him a warm smile, then took her place next to him on the stool Greg had dragged closer for her. After apologising again, he returned to his table with Lindsey and Morgan. The waitress placed a cup of coffee and some cutlery in front of her, and Sara thanked her with a smile. Brass stood up, then excused himself to go to the bathroom and Sara watched him go.

"Is Jim alright?" she asked Catherine.

Catherine shrugged. "I think the explosion shook him more than he'd care to admit. He said he'd not been sleeping properly, which is to be expected, I guess."

"He's probably getting flashbacks," Ecklie said.

Sara nodded her head, then averted her eyes toward where Brass had disappeared to and picked up her cup of coffee.

"Sara, I've got our extra pair of hands," Ecklie said, as she took a first cautious sip.

Sara frowned, but then the penny dropped and carefully setting her cup down she turned toward him. "Already! That's great. Who?"

A wide smile on his lips, Ecklie glanced at Catherine, who opened her arms in a 'if you'll have me' kind of way.

"But how?" Sara asked, her gaze flicking between the two questioningly, unsure as yet whether to rejoice or not.

"Well, as you know, I asked for a transfer to the FBI's Vegas office. They turned it down, so I gave in my papers. Vegas is my home, and it's time I came back. And so when Conrad mentioned…" She let her words trail off, "I mean, only if you'll have me back."

Sara registered a moment's pause before her face lit up with a smile. "Of course we'll have you back."

"You don't sound so sure."

Sara shrugged. The roles would be reversed now; how would Catherine take to receiving orders from her, she wondered? Would they be clashing every time they disagreed on a case? And after the FBI, wasn't working at the lab again a comedown too far for Catherine? "Came as a surprise, that's all," she said, forcing a little enthusiasm in her voice.

"It'll be a pay cut," Ecklie cut in.

Catherine laughed. "Conrad, money's not an issue. And I know what you're thinking. But, Sara, my priorities have changed. Besides, it'll be good to spend some time with Lindsey, and mom. And I got the girls too, Little Maria and Helena."

Sara frowned, then glanced at Ecklie. "Yeah, about that. You working with Lindsey might cause a problem."

"We spoke about that," Ecklie said, "and—"

"And Lindsey said she was fine with it as long as I don't boss her around or do her evaluations. Which in all honesty, I am more than happy to leave to you." Catherine paused and smiled. "So?" she asked, her tone hopeful and expectant.

Sara glanced at Ecklie, then smiled at Catherine. "Welcome back," she told her warmly. "But more to the point can you start straightaway?"

Catherine grinned. "Maybe not straightaway, but the FBI owe me some leave, so I'll see what I can do."

The waitress placed Sara's breakfast in front of her, and she turned toward it. Brass returned, and they caught him up on the new developments. His brow rose wryly, his eyes fixed on Sara, as Catherine spoke animatedly. The mood remained light and cheerful throughout, the conversation revolving about work and kids, Grissom's name surprisingly never passing anyone's lips. Sara was half-way through her breakfast when people started to leave, patting warm congratulations on her back on their way out.

When she finished her plate, Sara wiped her mouth on her paper napkin, then stood up and excused herself to go to the bathroom. Happy for a moment's peace, she took care of business, washed her hands and then splashed a little water on her face, checked her tired and pasty reflection in the mirror. The window on the side wall was open a crack, and a smile forming she wondered if she might just fit through it.

"Don't even think about it," a laughing voice said.

Smiling, Sara turned to face Catherine. "You know me too well."

Her smile stiffening, Catherine let the bathroom door close behind her. "You okay?"

"Sure."

Catherine fixed her with a concerned stare. "Sara, it's me, Catherine. You don't need to keep up the pretence."

Sara shrugged, sighed. "Everything's moving at warp speed. I'm kind of feeling a little overwhelmed by it all, I guess."

"That's only to be expected." Catherine paused, checked the stalls were empty. "But work's not the issue, is it?"

Sara averted her gaze, but not nearly soon enough.

"He's an idiot, Sara," Catherine said in a sigh, and Sara didn't need elaborating to know who they were talking about. "And I told him as much. Leaving again, when it's clear he's still got feelings for you. Feelings you return. You watched that video yet?"

A frown creasing her brow, Sara looked up sharply. "What video?"

"Heather Kessler's statement."

"No," Sara replied with puzzlement, "I haven't." A feeling of suspicion crept up on her and she narrowed her eyes. Her voice hardened. "Why?"

Catherine looked away, shrugged.

"Catherine?"

Catherine sighed. "I'm not supposed to know anything, alright? But Lindsey came to me for advice." She paused, met Sara's puzzled gaze dead on. "She was in the viewing room at PD, picking up pointers, when Heather made her statement. Grissom was there too, and—"

Sara raised a hand, stopping Catherine short. "Listen, Catherine, Grissom's business with Heather is his business. I don't want to know."

Catherine's face softened. "Well, that's the thing, Sara. It's all about you. Not her."

"Well, then, he should have told me, not her."

"You're right, he should have. But it's Grissom we're dealing with here."

The door to the Ladies' room opened, and Catherine stopped in her tracks. One of the lab tech came in, smiling at both women, and they returned the smile a little stiffly. Sara turned to the sink and proceeded to wash her hands again while Catherine went into a stall.

Sara left the diner soon afterwards. She knew Catherine meant well, but she wished she'd stop meddling. Grissom was his own man; he knew what he was doing. Heather was his friend and if he'd confided in her, then so be it. If he wanted Sara to know what he'd said, then he should tell her, not let her find out from a third party. Where were they, back in fifth grade? She certainly wasn't going to go out of her way to find out. What purpose would it serve, except to keep a bleeding wound from healing?

She pulled the Prius up in the driveway, cut the engine, but stayed behind the wheel for a few minutes before she made her way to the front door. She rummaged in her purse for her key and was about to slot it into the lock when she noticed a piece of paper slotted between the door and the frame. Frowning, she slipped her sunglasses to the top of her head and pulled it out, an instinctive smile forming on recognising the familiar handwriting. Her heartbeat quickened of its own accord, and she willed it to calm down.

Behind the bougainvillea, the note said, ever to the point.

She paused, hesitating, then checked behind the shrub as instructed, her smile returning as she saw the potted plant waiting for her in the shade of the bougainvillea. Carrying the plant, she walked over to the road and checked left and right, but everything was quiet, as normal. With a sigh, she walked back to the house and let herself in.

It probably didn't mean anything, and besides it would take a lot more than a plant.

Or the few words scribbled inside the card attached to it.