Sara's aware that all eyes are on them as they walk out of the squad room, Tony having told John that they're taking some lost time. Based on lunchtime conversation, she knows that they're the topic of squad gossip, that her lunchtime words will be retold, and Sara can't quite believe that she shared as much as she did, or that she's not embarrassed about doing it. She tells herself that it's because she doesn't know Connie and Rita, will probably never see them again after this week, and because she trusts Warrick, knows he'll keep his own counsel.

But she knows the truth; knows it's because she wanted, needed, to talk about Mike, because she's tired of bottling up that part of her past. Until now, Tony's been the only one in her life who knew about it; it's time that there was someone else.

She pushes the serious thoughts aside, tells Tony about Connie's questions at lunch, about her replies. He laughs, points out that they're really giving grist for the rumour mill, the two of them leaving together in the middle of the day, and buying a bunch of flowers within sight of the house.

She laughs too, but mention of the flowers reminds her of their destination, and she falls quiet.

Tony understands this, he always does, and they drive in silence until they get there, falling into step with one another easily as they make their way along the well-worn path. Tony stops before she does, squeezing her elbow in a silent gesture of support. She nods, gives him a weak smile, and continues alone.

The shiny gold letters of her brother's name still stand out in sharp relief against the black of the headstone, ten years seemingly having made no mark. "Must be nice," Sara mutters to herself, kneeling to brush away some stray leaves that have fallen, placing the flowers in front of the stone.

She allows herself a few moments to think about Mike, to remember him the way he was, finds none of the anger and bitterness that she used to feel when she stood there.

She also allows herself a few minutes to think about how she's changed; the scared college girl who buried her brother, who pushed people away after his death, not wanting to deal with their sympathy. She'd kept on pushing people away, and it was only in the last year, after Hank and the explosion, that she'd begun to let them in again.

Tony, her silver lining, was the notable exception.

As if her thoughts conjured him up, she realises he's standing behind her, and she rises, forcing a smile to her face, brushing away an errant tear. "Take your time," he says, perhaps misunderstanding her expression. "We're in no rush."

She nods, stands beside him, and he takes his hand in hers, begins telling her a story about the first time he met Mike. She's heard it before, but listens anyway, and she smiles.