Title: One Week in Paris
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Sara/Grissom
Rating: Adult
Timeframe: Sara’s week off in Paris before Coup de Grace (season 10)
A/N: Part of the Looking Glass universe
Disclaimer: Standard rules apply. I don't make any money off of this deal, though if CBS wants to hire me, I'd give all this up.

Summary:When it came to it, they didn’t need to work as hard as they did. They needed to work – traveling around the world was not an inexpensive thing – but they also had enough in their mutual savings accounts to allow them a little time to relax.



Monday

When the damned seminar finally ended, Grissom hightailed it to his office. The text message had been simple, a two word command that left him flustered and nearly incoherent through the second half of his three hour class. It hadn’t been his choice to work that morning, but there were no subs and he’d have canceled class, but arrangements had been made months ahead for guest speakers and presentations. So he was stuck. It had been a very long couple of hours, but he was finally standing in the doorway to the closet they’d shoved him in to, watching her play with one of his tarantulas.

She was wearing his favorite jeans, the ones that were a little loose in the hips and a little worn in the ass. Even though her back was to him, he knew there was a small rip in the knee and a patch on the right pocket. They suited her, casual and comfortable. Practical. Her shirt a comfortable blue t-shirt that perfectly complimented her alabaster skin. Freckles had been spray painted to her arms and he knew she had to have seen some sun in Vegas.

Her hair was up in a ponytail.

Grissom was instantly hard.

They were no longer newly weds but the time they have been married only strengthened his desire for her. If only his aging body could keep up with his constant need to feel her above him.

“You gonna come in and lock the door behind you?” Her voice was lilting, light, and completely seductive.

He obeyed and barely waited until the top was back on the spider habitat before spinning her around and crushing his lips to hers. She took the Vegas job at his urging, but he had a need to tie her to their bed and never let her leave again.

When they broke for air, his hands were already wandering up under her shirt and she’d latched her fingers through his belt loops. She giggled and molded to him and Grissom decides any other pleasantries such as “Hi, how was the flight,” could wait until he’d had his way with her. They’ve made love on this desk before; it would hold their weight.

He pushed her back and she went willingly, understanding his intentions. She saved him time, pulling her shirt over her head while his fingers tugged on the zipper to her jeans. Suddenly, he wished she’d worn a skirt for easier access but it only takes seconds until she is sprawled, open legged, on his desk. Beckoning. He wanted to take a moment to stare at the image of his wife, naked except for a black lace bra, but his libido had demands of his body and he could tell from just looking at her that she was in the same predicament.

Until his wife took a job on another continent, he’d always taken issue with men who only unzipped just enough to get business done. For all the times he and Sara had in fact had sex in his office (here or at the lab) he’d tried to at least undo his pants, if not match her level of undress. Now, he had no shame in taking advantage of the easy access created for men. Anyway, she’d teased once, she had no problem at times feeling like his whore. She liked feeling wonton.

He loved this woman.

It was fast and dirty. They were coming around each other before their minds really processed their actions. He tugged on her nipple rings; she scraped her nails along his back. And they stared into each other’s eyes, shocked for a moment, before dissolving into laughter. It felt good to know they could do that and not feel strange or awkward.

“I feel like I’m sixteen again,” he teased as he eased back and reached for one of the paper towels on the roll nearby so he could clean her up. She kept her legs open and arched her back as he did so and his heart rate sped up all over again. God she was amazing.

“Difference is that I enjoyed it,” she teased. “At sixteen, I guarantee whoever you were sleeping with was left a little unsatisfied.”

“Probably.” He laughed and eased her panties and jeans back up her hips. The least he could do was help to redress her. She grinned and buttoned his shirt before pulling her own over her head. “Hi,” he kissed her. “How was the flight?”

“Long. I’m glad we’ve budgeted first class for these trans Atlantic flights.”

“How is the team?”

Sara smirked. “Surviving without you.”

“Damn.”

“Because yes, you want to go back to all that death and heartbreak.”

“And you do?”

“I’m waiting on research grant money. I’m not surrounded by beautiful young co-eds.” She puckered her lips and leaned forward, giving him a good view down the V-neck of her t-shirt. “Oh. Doctor Grissom … I have a … question. Could you look down my blouse and …Hey!” She yelped as he pinched her nipple. “That was uncalled for.”

He kissed her. “Shut up.”

“Okay.”

Sara pushed away from the desk and walked to the door. “Are you done for the day?”

He knew she was talking about classes, but his eyes wandered to her breasts. “No.”

“I married a hormonal monster.”

“Yes.” He grabbed his briefcase and joined her at the door. “You’ve been home already?”

“Yeah. I walked the dog.” She stepped into the hall and he followed her. “Why on earth did I leave Paris for Vegas?”

“I’m not sure.” He locked his office door and slipped an arm around her waist as they walked. She smelled faintly of sex and his scent and the territorial part of him was quite proud to have marked her as his. “I mean, you have all these reasons, but really … why again?”

“I don’t know. I mean, in Vegas we have this beautiful home, tucked away in a quiet neighborhood … but here, I step out onto my balcony and I have a view of the river and the tower and I can smell wine and bread and …” she paused. “Oh, that’s why. I started gaining weight.”

He coughed on the “Bullshit” and kissed her. “I’ve never minded five extra pounds on you.”

“Watch where you take this, Gilbert or you are most definitely not being given any kind of breakfast in bed.”

He laughed and swatted her on the ass gently as they left the building and headed down the street toward their small but comfortable apartment.

Tuesday

Jet lag caught up to her and Sara slept until far past noon. The bumpy plane ride and her husband’s rather enthusiastic welcome home had completely worn her out and she was glad he’d had to teach today. She needed the sleep.

He’d left the coffee pot ready to go and put bread and cheese under a dome in the small refrigerator. Her husband was many things, absent minded included, but when it came to her needs, he never missed a beat. She knew it was from his own feelings of inadequacy, endless worry not that she’d find someone else but that he’d failed her for years, so she never argued when he spoiled her. She was perfectly capable of preparing her own coffee, and her independent streak often butted heads with the wife she was. He understood her need to flee, she understood his to protect.

Not for the first time since marrying Gil, she flipped off the memory of her father. Take THAT asshole. I broke your cycle of abuse.

Yes, coffee and bread left her feeling vindicated against the world. It was the small things.

With Hank following at her heels, she moved to the balcony and curled up in a chair. Paris was alive with early afternoon action but she settled in, enjoying her breakfast and the feeling of doing nothing.

When it came to it, they didn’t need to work as hard as they did. They needed to work – traveling around the world was not an inexpensive thing – but they also had enough in their mutual savings accounts to allow them a little time to relax. It was too bad that honest research cost money and needed university backing. He’d encouraged her to finish her doctorate, and she wasn’t opposed to the idea, but there were no programs that really grabbed her interest for years on end. She was a physicist, not a biologist, and right now her love was in the physical aspects of biology. She liked Costa Rica, dammit.

The boxer greedily gobbled up bits of bread she fed him and when the coffee machine burbled, Sara moved inside to pour a cup and grab the papers. Reading in French had become a skill, but Gil was sweet enough to leave the English language papers behind. The Parliament was still scapegoating African immigrants and banning the Burka was still a huge controversy.

The news really wasn’t all that different in America.

“What do you think, Hank?” He huffed and stretched out in the sun. Sara chuckled and put her feet up on the ironwork of the railing and settled in to read.

Her phone buzzed.

“Home in a few.”

She was glad she hadn’t found the time to get dressed.

Wednesday

“No.” She wasn’t sure if she was angry or scared, but she knew she wouldn’t budge from her position on this.

“Sara.”

“NO! I’m not kidding, Gil. I don’t care what fantastic and fabulous research opportunity is there, I’m putting my foot down. You aren’t going to Mexico in any kind of official or unofficial capacity.”

“Sara.”

She wanted to smack the smooth tone of his voice right out of his body. “NO!” She settled for crumpling the letter into a ball and throwing it at him. “Gilbert, last I checked, we didn’t go into war zones!”

She was blindingly furious. Mexico. Not just any part of Mexico but right in the heart of drug territory. Right into the heart of the war. “No.”

“Sara, it’s an amazing opportunity.”

“For you to get your head blown off.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “If you go, I’m going.”

“NO!”

“Why not? Why can you go but I can’t?”

“Because you know what they do to women down there!”

“And American researchers are safe targets? You’re going in and looking at graves and digging up the mass ones the drug cartels have built. They’re going to hold you hostage and then kill you. You aren’t going anywhere near those areas, Gil! I …” suddenly exhausted, she collapsed onto the couch and pushed her fingers into her eyes. “Of all places, Mexico.”

He shifted behind her and his hands were warm on her shoulders. She wanted to jerk away, to pace, to rail and cry, instead she let him touch her. “Sara, this dig is important.”

“And I’m not?”

His hands lifted from her shoulders. She flinched. It was absolutely the wrong thing to say and she knew that whatever came next out of his mouth was a result of that frustration and his own personal issues he’d been bottling up. She didn’t care.

“And you go out every night into the Las Vegas streets, into some of the most dangerous territories in the world, and risk getting shot at while you’re processing evidence? You take solo runs because Catherine knows you can do it, leaving you in the hands of uniforms who, half the time, aren’t worth the cloth they wear? You go up against drug king pins every day, Sara. You wear a vest that makes you a target. And I’m supposed to sleep at night knowing you’re doing this?”

“You encouraged me to take the job! We need to save money for the grant! We need me in the states to schmooze funders!”

“But how is it different than me going to Mexico!”

The anger dissipated. She was too hurt to fight. He resented her. He resented her freedom and her flight and he …

“Stop making yourself the victim here.”

With a flash, the anger was back, blinding her. She didn’t say anything, just stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Thursday

Gilbert Grissom knew he was an insensitive idiot and what he’d said to his wife the night before had been completely unfair and born out of petulant temper knowing that she was right about Mexico. The dig was exciting, but he didn’t need to go. This time, Sara was right.

The problem was finding a way to tell her. He’d slept on the couch, with Hank curled up by the bedroom door, whimpering for a mistress who never let him in. He’d cancelled his morning class – his wife was more important than work – but she still hadn’t emerged. She was probably waiting for him to leave.

The good thing was that he was as stubborn as she was. And not above guile. When eleven o’clock came and the shower had long shut off, he went to the door, opened it, closed it, and waited.

Five minutes later she emerged. Took one look at him and burst into tears. Gil made his move and wrapped his arms around her. “Sara, I’m sorry.”

“Jackass.”

“I know.”

“I’m still pissed at you.”

“I don’t think you play the victim.”

The words hung for a moment. She pushed away and looked at him, her still damp hair curling around her face. “Then why did you say it?”

“Because … I don’t know.”

“I don’t know if I like that answer, Gil.”

He gave her that power. She deserved it.

“I said it because I was feeling like a victim. Like …”

“Like maybe I was overreacting?”

“Something like that.”

They stared at each other for a long time. Her arms crossed over her chest. His hands on her shoulders. Finally she sighed and stepped back and continued her trek to the kitchen. He watched her pour water into the tea pot and measure out the loose tea into the decanter. Her shoulders were still tight.

I’m sorry I overreacted about the job in Mexico, Gil. I understand why you want to go, but I worry. But what you said …”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.”

“Gil, do you realize exactly what you meant when you said it?”

He chewed on her words before it hit him about what he’d said. She wasn’t mad about Mexico, she was hurting because he’d called her a victim. He didn’t think of her often as the domestic abuse and rape survivor she was. He thought of her as Sara, his wife, his beautiful and capable of clearing all obstacles wife. Never, even when Dan had been abusing her, had he ever thought of her as a victim. Once, he’d heard someone in the lab call her a martyr and he’d all but suspended the guy.

And he’d called her a victim.

A victim. Sara Anne Sidle, who had survived absolutely everything under the sun and still woke up and smiled in the morning. He’d called her a victim.

“God, Sara …”

“You can really be a jackass, sometimes, Gil.” She still hadn’t turned around. “Look, I don’t want you to go to Mexico, but if you’re hell bent on it, I won’t stop you. Just … be careful. Please.”

“Okay.” He couldn’t promise her he wouldn’t go, not right now. But right now, there were more important things to worry about. Slowly, he walked over to her and put his hands on her waist. She tensed but didn’t pull away. “Sara, I’m sorry I said it. I’ve never thought of you as a victim. Ever.”

“Just that I play one sometimes?”

“No.”

“Then why did you say it?”

“Because I was mad. I wanted to go to Mexico and you weren’t letting me.”

Her shoulders started to shake and he worried she’d started to cry. He hated it when she cried. But her knees buckled and she leaned back against him and he realized it was laughter. Pure laughter.

“What are we, twelve?”

Grissom chuckled and kissed her temple. “Probably.”

She sighed. He slipped his arm all the way around him. “Sara, I really am sorry.”

“I know. I also know you still don’t always speak before you think. Neither do I.”

“Fair enough.”

She checked the time. “You canceled your classes today?”

“You are more important and it wasn’t anything we can’t make up later, unlike the other day.”

Now, she smiled. “Come on. Let’s go back to bed.” She paused. “And talk about Mexico.”

Friday

He knew for a fact that none of the men in the lab, none of them, who had ever sent Sara Sidle long, lingering gazes had ever imagined her like he saw her now.

The skirt of her spaghetti-strap dress danced at mid thigh, the chiffon of the fabric brushing against smooth, bare legs with gentle kisses. The blue rivaled the sky, and was accented by the amber and jade jewelry around her neck and on her wrists. She was even in heels, open toed sandals dyed to match the dress.

Every professor was ogling his wife. Every wife was pretending to not hate her. All of them assumed Sara was a trophy at worst, or a mistress at best. He was the doofy, American, entomology professor, he wasn’t deserving of a wife like her.

In that, he knew, they were right.

The makeup sex from the fight yesterday had been slow and gentle. No hot, still-angry, grabbing and biting. Instead it was a gentle exploration of each other, of her scars and his insecurities. Marriage did not erase those things, only made it possible to deal with them together. Sometimes, they had to remind each other of that.

He brought her a glass of sparkling water and sipped at his own glass of merlot. She’d all but stopped drinking and he had to respect her determination to remain sober while in the midst of the best wines in the world.

“I do have the most beautiful woman in the room on my arm tonight.”

“Remember that.” She smirked and sipped her drink. “I know I will.”

Grissom laughed and bent to kiss her cheek.

One of the young professors approached them. “Doctor and Missus Grissom!” He was from England, and terribly proper. Behind closed doors, Sara referred to him as the uppity Sir Uptight. “How are you both tonight?”

“We’re both well, thank you.” Sara held out her hand to him. “And how have you been?”

“Well, well.” He nodded to Sara, “I hear that you have been stateside?”

“Yes. I’ve found a job back in Las Vegas.”

“A job!” He glanced at Gil, who nodded sagely. “And you stay behind here?”

“It’s a good fit for Sara, and that’s what matters.” He squeezed her gently. “I think we need to go say hello to the Dean before we pay our respects and leave for the night. I will see you around, Malcolm.”

They moved through the crowd, out toward the patio, and Sara sighed. “I hate these functions.”

“You work them well.” Sara rolled her eyes and Grissom chuckled. “I mean that as a compliment, Honey.”

“I know.” She squeezed his fingers and settled on one of the stone benches that overlooked the garden of the home.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Sunday. I have to be back in the lab on Monday night. All of this made sense a few months ago, Gil. And I know it’s the right thing to do, but it’s hard to think of leaving you.” She paused, looked up at him, and smirked. “Either that or it’s Paris.”

He laughed and settled next to her on the bench. She slipped her arm around his waist and leaned against him and in a heartbeat, he was reminded why he married her. Moments like this slowed the passage of time and gave him an eternity with her.

“Did you ever imagine this when you were a kid, Sara?”

“What, sitting on a bench with my husband in a beautiful home, overlooking the Paris lights?”

“Yeah.”

“I only imagined getting the hell out of dodge. Thoughts like this came about after I met you.”

He blinked away tears and leaned in to kiss her. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Done deal.”

Saturday

Hank chased down the tennis ball down the edge of the pond and brought it back, dropping the sopping toy into her lap. He slobbered happily over her hands and looked hopefully at the ball, wanting her to throw it again. Sara obliged and it went into the nearby pond, but Hank didn’t care. He raced in, tracking down the ball, and raced back, this time giving the offending thing to Grissom.

Sara giggled and stretched out on the blanket. They’d gone through the cheese and bread she’d packed for their impromptu picnic and all she wanted was to dive into the container of sweet treats, but Hank was too focused on play. When he wore out, they could treat themselves.

“What about kids, Sara?”

Her heart stopped a bit. It was an on-again-off-again conversation with them and they always came to the same conclusion: if she did get pregnant, they would keep the child unless there was a specific health reason for her not to. While declared healthy after the incident with Natalie, the car, and the desert, her doctors were still hesitant to give long term prognoses regarding the nerve and kidney damage that had resulted. She was fine, but they didn’t know what carrying a child would do to her until she actually got pregnant.

“I don’t know, Gil.” She took her turn to toss Hank’s soaking tennis ball to him to chase. “I think my decision is as ever.”

“Fair enough.”

“You want children, I know.”

“I do. I also know the risks involved.”

Sara chuckled. “Do you ever wish we were just two normal people who didn’t really care about risks or calculated choices? Do you wish we could just throw caution to the wind, have kids, and see what happens?”

Gil smiled at her. “Every day. I like to dream of white picket fences and Hank in a bad by the fire.”

They stared at each other and Sara burst out laughing. “We’d be bored out of our minds.”

“After about three weeks, yes.”

Hank came back and collapsed onto the grass next to this masters. Grissom took advantage of the dog’s exhaustion to reach into the picnic basket and retrieve the sweets they’d packed. Sara grinned and slipped closer to him.

Sunday

The list was completely checked off.

Laundry? Done. Early check in at the airport? Done. iPod and Nook charged? Done. Equal amounts of cash in US and French currency? Done. Passport easily accessible? Done. Sweater for the plane? Ready to go.

Husband completely worn out and sated? Done three times over.

Sara was glad for the long flight. It would give her time to recover from what Gil had been doing to her since late the night before.

Gil was stretched out on the couch, sipping tea and flipping through a biography of Benjamin Franklin. He smiled when she came into the room.

“You ready to head back?”

“Yeah.”

He moved his legs and she curled up on the couch with him. “Give my regards to Ecklie.”

Sara snorted. “He’s so irritated that we have this life that involves Paris and he is stuck in Vegas.”

“He gets what he deserves.” Gil was quiet for a moment and Sara glanced up at him.

“What is it, Hon?”

“I’m thinking that after my time is up at the Sorbonne, I’ll send Hank back to you in Vegas. He won’t be very easy to handle on digs in remote areas.”

“You’re going to Mexico then?”

“No. I made that decision. But there are other opportunities out there that I am interested in.”

Sara nodded. “Fair enough. Just, not Mexico right now.”

“I promise.” He kissed her temple. “How much time do we have?”

Sara chuckled and leaned up to kiss him softly. “Enough.”

Grissom set the book down and tugged her gently onto his lap.

~fin~