Grissom took a couple of steps to meet her, then paused before leaning over and awkwardly brushing his lips to her cheek. The kiss, however chaste and platonic, nearly stopped her heart. The gentle whiff of his aftershave brought about so many memories that for a moment she felt disoriented. She thought about returning his kiss with a slight hug, but decided against it.

He pulled back, and smiling softly reached behind her to pull back her chair. He was being the perfect gentleman, and she was barely able to hide her growing nervousness and disarray. Her heart was beating so fast, she wondered if he could hear it. Lowering her purse from her shoulder, Sara thanked him with a tremulous smile and sat down. Oh, how she hoped she hadn't made a mistake in coming.

"I worried you'd changed your mind," Grissom said, smiling warily as he took his seat across from her.

Sara tidied her purse by her feet, then for something to do set about straightening her cutlery. "I'd have done the right thing and let you know," she said, glancing up.

His smile stiffened, and she regretted the undercurrent of cold reproach in her response. With a nod he averted his eyes to the table before rubbing his hands along his upper legs a few times. He was nervous too, which was of some comfort to her. While his eyes scanned the room around them, she took a moment to study him. He looked good, tanned by his life at sea, despite the extra weight and lines etched on his face, and she found herself having to fight the urge to reach out and touch him.

"I've been here ages actually," he confided in an uneasy chuckle, bringing his gaze back to her, "and people were beginning to stare. So, huh, thank you for being on time."

Sara's gaze narrowed, and briefly she wondered if she should take his words at face value or if he was being clever and had known all along that she'd been outside waiting. "You're welcome," she replied, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt. And then with a playful smile, "But what if I told you that, all the while, I was parked outside making you wait?"

A wide smile spread across Grissom's face, lighting up his eyes. "I'd say it was a little cruel maybe, but deserved."

Sara's smile was dancing as they held each other's gaze for a few seconds. She was racking her brain for something else to say when the waitress appeared, pad in hand. She and Grissom exchanged imperceptible looks, and immediately on her guards Sara wondered at what it meant. "Can I get you guys drinks?" the waitress then asked, eyes flitting between the two.

"I'll have a small glass of red wine, please," Sara said, surprising even herself.

Grissom's brow rose, but he chose not to comment.

"Merlot okay?" the waitress asked.

"Sure. That's fine."

"Make that two, please," Grissom said.

The waitress wrote down their order, then nodded toward the two menus on the table. "I'll take your food order when I come back with the drinks, okay?"

"Thank you," Grissom and Sara replied at the same time.

Their eyes met again, and they shared a shy smile. The moment stretched, becoming awkward and uncomfortable, and averting her eyes Sara picked up her menu. Grissom's quiet scrutiny as she pretended to peruse it made her feel edgy all over again. Did he think her changed at all in the years since they'd last seen each other? Maybe a little wine was what she needed after all, some Dutch courage to get her through the meal.

"Thank you again for the plant," she said, looking up over the top of her menu.

Grissom gave his head a shake, refocusing, and she wondered how far away his thoughts had taken him. "Oh, it was nothing. I mean…it wasn't much." He shrugged, tried a smile. "I'm glad you liked it."

Sara gave him a nod, then turned her attention back to the listings on the menu.

"So, huh," he said, reaching for his own menu, "how was your first shift as director?"

"It was…okay," she replied, and shrugged. "A bit of an anti-climax actually."

He chuckled. "Don't hope for too much, too soon. That'll come, believe me. Take time to find your feet."

Sara held his gaze steadily, and his smile faded. "I will."

Grissom started at her a beat longer before nodding his head and glancing at his menu. "I hope you don't mind me picking this place. You used to like the food here, so I thought…" His words drifted off uncertainly.

Cone on, Sara, she told herself, relax. He is trying. The least you can do is try too. "No, it's great," she replied. "You're right; the food here is great. And look," she said, pointing half-way down her menu, "they still do my favourite." She put the menu down, gave him a smile. "Which is what I'm going to have."

This time, he was the first to break eye contact. Lowering his gaze, he reached into his breast pocket for his glasses, and giving him a moment to make his selection Sara cast a look around the restaurant, which hadn't changed at all. The food was indeed excellent and cheap, and more importantly, especially when they'd first begun dating, it was way off the beaten track deep in Chinatown. She remembered sharing many a happy meal with him there, but try as she might she couldn't remember the last one.

The waitress returned, placing their glasses of wine in front of them, and Sara almost pounced on hers before taking a rather large gulp. Grissom peered at her over the top of his glasses, and Sara hated the brief look of sadness that flashed across his eyes. Her wine got stuck in her throat, and embarrassed she swallowed hard, almost choking on it.

"So, what will it be?" the waitress asked brightly.

Grissom looked over to Sara questioningly, but she was still incapacitated. "We'll have the Wonton soup followed by vegan walnut scallops," he told the waitress, his eyes on Sara all the while.

Was he waiting for her to tell him he'd made the wrong choice? However much she'd like to, he was spot on. He'd ordered exactly what she would have, which would have been sweet if it wasn't so damn infuriating. The waitress waited a moment longer before leaving them to it, and after removing his glasses Grissom picked up his wine, raising it at Sara in a silent toast, a gesture Sara hesitantly returned before slowly bringing the glass to her lips and this time taking the smallest of sips. Grissom unhurriedly followed suit.

"How's Heather?" she asked when silence once again built between them.

Grissom registered a look of surprise. Lowering his glass, he wiped the back of a finger to his mouth. "She's doing okay."

Hating the way she'd reacted during Heather's interview, Sara didn't show any bitterness or jealousy as she spoke. Her sympathy for the woman's loss was genuine, and she felt she should voice it. "I was sorry to hear about her granddaughter. It must be an awful time for her."

Again, Grissom showed surprise at Sara's words. "It is. Alison is—was all Heather had left, apart from her work. It's tragic really, what happened―what keeps happening to her." He shrugged. "I only heard after the fact myself. She called, left a message on my cell but I was at sea. I only got it when we docked."

Talking about Heather always made Sara uncomfortable, and now was no exception. Grissom never hid his friendship with Heather from her. He always was open about it, candid and honest — a little too much so at times. But she couldn't help feeling painfully inadequate and lacking when compared to the intense and beautiful ex-dominatrix, however unfounded those feelings might be, always finding herself coming up short. She'd been ill prepared with dealing with these feelings when they'd once again come face to face the previous day.

"And you called her back," she stated simply.

The smile that grew on his face was sad. "I did." He paused, sighed and met her gaze dead on. "I'm sorry if…it wasn't always the case with you."

Uncomfortable at the turn the conversation was taking, Sara averted her gaze to her wine and picked up the glass with a shaky hand.

"You can blame the sketchy cell reception most of the time," he went on quietly. "But other times…it's just easier to stay out of touch. Less complicated. And don't think it's not the case with everyone. I hadn't spoken to Heather in more than a year." Sara looked up sharply, and he chuckled. "It's true. My mother likes to remind me she moved to Vegas to be near me…" he opened his hands, left the rest of his sentence unsaid. Sara knew all about Betty's gripes with Grissom's absences; for a long time the two women had had that in common. "I heard from Nick, though. He called when he heard I'd gotten myself arrested."

Sara laughed. "I heard about that."

"Hey," he defended mildly, raising both hands in front of him. "All charges were dropped."

She tilted her head to the side, fixed him with a questioning stare, and with a shrug he went on to tell her about the poachers he'd been tailing. What awkward silences there were at first gradually filled until the conversation flowed more freely, as genuinely interested Sara asked more and more questions about his work and Ocean Peace. He was doing something he truly loved and was enthusiastic about, still somehow putting the world to rights and keeping true to who he was, and despite their differences it was heart-warming to hear.

And yet, for all his passion, she couldn't help glimpsing at a lonely soul. Life on a boat didn't lend itself to much meaningful human interaction, she knew that. Did he miss her at all, she wondered? Did he lay in his cot for one at night and think of her? Sara swallowed, hid her sudden emotion behind a bright smile. When he had no more anecdotes to tell, Grissom lowered his eyes, picked up his wine and took a large sip. Silence once again stretched between then, and Sara couldn't think of anything to say to fill it.

Grissom's gaze suddenly flicked over to a point beyond her shoulder, and she turned just in time to see the waitress returning with their appetisers. The latter set two steaming bowls of Wonton soup down in front of them, bid them a good meal and promptly went on her way. Sara picked up her spoon and without wasting time began to eat. She was leaning forward and blowing on her spoonful when out of the corner of her eye she saw Grissom smile, before he followed her lead more sedately. That smile, soft and gentle, was so reminiscent of happier times that Sara found herself returning it.

They ate in companionable silence, the quiet only punctuated by flitting looks and smiles, and idle chitchat about how good the food truly was. Grissom commented that living on a boat didn't lend itself to fancy cooking, and Sara refrained from telling him that living alone didn't either. It wasn't until the waitress returned to clear their empty bowls that Grissom cleared his throat and looked up meaningfully at Sara.

"You must be…wondering why I asked you out to dinner," he said hesitantly.

"For old times' sake, you said."

He gave her a nod, smiled stiffly. "The truth is…I took Heather to dinner last night – after she finished at PD – and—"

Sara's gaze averted uncomfortably. There we go again, she thought, more talk of Heather.

"—and she told me I should be taking you out, not her."

Sara's eyes snapped up to meet his. She tried to hide her discomfort behind a smile, but failed to. "She did, huh?"

He chuckled uneasily. "I know what you're thinking; that we're only here at her suggestion." He sighed, held her gaze as he spoke. "And maybe it's true."

The honesty in his words cut deep. "Well, at least, that's honest," she said, her hand shaking as she reached for her glass and raised it to her lips.

"I'm trying to be." His shoulder lifted. "Maybe I needed a kick up the backside."

"Well, ass kicking is certainly right up her alley," she remarked dryly, before she could censor her words. "Literally."

"Sara―" he warned, but failed to keep the amusement out of his tone.

She raised her hand in apology. "You're right. I'm sorry. That was a cheap shot, and totally uncalled for. I completely take it back. So…you were saying, she gave you a deserved kick up the ass and―"

Grissom laughed. "You're not making this easy for me, you know."

"Good," she said, "Because it's not easy for me either."

Slowly nodding his head in understanding, Grissom let out a long breath. "She told me a few truths, made me realise a few things, and anyway I am glad I found it in me to ask you out tonight. It's something I—we needed to do. Talk, I mean. Face to face and openly, like we're doing."

Was that what they were doing? Sara gave him a slow nod as she let his words sink in. Well, so far it sounded like he was doing all the talking, and mainly about Heather. "Okay," she said, feeling her temper rise at his self-righteous tone, and set her glass down. She arched a brow challengingly. "You want honesty? I'll give you honesty. What pisses me off most in all this is that you came back for her when you couldn't come back for me, that you value her friendship more than mine." Her emotion was getting the better of her, and feeling tears rise she clamped her mouth shut. Once again she reached for her wine, then thought better of it and put it down again agitatedly. She didn't want him thinking that on top of everything else she had a drinking problem.

"That's not true, Sara," he denied vehemently, his voice rising before he checked himself."I don't value her friendship more than I value yours, and I certainly didn't come back just for her. Sure she needed me, but what did I do that the lab couldn't have done?"

"You were there for her as her friend," Sara retorted heatedly, punctuating every word with a pointed finger. "There were times when I needed you too, Gil, and you weren't there."

To his credit, he didn't shy away from her stare or her accusations, even though he must have been deeply uncomfortable discussing his faults and shortcomings, his feelings and thoughts, and ultimately his decisions. "I could say the same thing about you," he retorted softly, sadly, but not accusatorily, and realising that what he was saying was true Sara looked away.

He cast a look around, checking their surroundings, and kept his voice deliberately low. "But I regret that – not being there for you those past few years – and will for the rest of my days." He let out a sigh. "But I can't change the past, Sara. Whatever I did, I did because I felt it was best for both of us. Now I—we can look forward to the future, should look forward to the future, and see how we can move on from where we are now, or choose to stay in the past."

Sara's eyes darted about the place, except to meet his. What he said was true; she couldn't deny it. The long distance and lack of communication had made them both miserable and full of guilt; but had they been any happier since? Well, she knew she hadn't. But that was beside the point. Because to all intent and purposes, it sounded like he was ready to move on – if he hadn't already – like he'd reconciled himself with their failed marriage.

Maybe the divorce had given him back his freedom, the freedom to do as he pleased without having to factor in another person's feelings and needs. Maybe he needed to put his ghosts with her at rest, before he could truly move on with his future, which was why he'd orchestrated this meal. What did she know of his life in the last two years anyway?

"When I lost you," she said, surprising herself with the candour of her words, "I lost my husband, but I also lost my friend, my best friend, and that's what hurts the most."

Grissom swallowed and nodded his head, then flicked his eyes down before hesitantly bringing them back to her face. Sara didn't know it, but her words struck a chord with him. Before he could formulate a reply, the waitress appeared with their main course.

When asked, both declined another drink, and the waitress swiftly left. Without another word, Sara turned to her food, and began to eat a meal she loved, but the constriction in her throat made every mouthful hard to swallow. If he was after friendship and nothing more, then that was fine by her. If he had moved on, then she needed to herself.

She'd managed about two thirds of her walnut scallops, when she pushed to her feet, gruffly excusing herself to go the bathroom. Briefly she contemplated bailing out on him, but then remembered that in her haste to get away she'd left her purse behind. And anyway, soon she'd be able to make her excuses and retreat to the safety of work. Despite it all, he didn't deserve being walked out on.

"Everything okay?" he asked, when she came back.

"Sure," she smiled.

"You phone rang," he said, with a nod at her purse on the floor.

Frowning, she immediately reached for her phone, checked the display and then the message.

"Work?" he asked.

Looking up, she gave him a nod. "Scene out near Primm. I'm going to have to go."

His smile was as resigned as his nod. "You couldn't drop me off on the way, could you?" he asked, as she put her phone away.

Her brow rose. "You didn't drive?"

"My mother brought me," he said, his shoulder rising sheepishly, and laughed.

"You told her who you were meeting?"

His expression sobered. "I did."

"What did she say?"

He laughed again, and then made a sign she recognised well, the sign for, "Good luck." He shrugged, hesitated. "Then she signed something along the lines of…It's about time."

Sara's eyes averted as a lump formed in her throat. Her cell chimed again, and Grissom caught a server's attention and asked for the bill, refused adamantly that she paid for her half. Shouldering her purse, Sara pushed to her feet and then stopped hesitantly. Somehow a thank you and see you soon didn't seem appropriate. A parting kiss would be too much. A hug maybe?

Sara looked toward the entrance door and sighed. "So, you coming, or what?" she asked, glancing back at Grissom.