A/N - What can I say, really? That was an amazing send off for our geeks, and this is my tribute to them. We're gonna miss 'em, that's for sure.Click. Click. Click. The soothing sounds of the camera shutter was helping to ease Sara's mind--not that it needed as much easing as before. As the days wore on in Costa Rica; as she met and got to know more of her peers, as she settled into her surroundings, and as she picked up new hobbies like monkey photography, it became easier to let go of Grissom. 5 years ago, the time she considered her own personal rock bottom, Sara never would have guessed that she'd be here now. The Sara of 5 years ago would not have been able to let go of Gil Grissom, and the Sara of now was learning how to let that become her reality. It was difficult. She wouldn't say it was the hardest thing she ever had to get over--after all, she did live through her father's murder at the hands of her mother. Oh, and there was also that time she was kidnapped by a serial killer and left for dead. There was, at one point, a mental patient who tried to slit her throat with a piece of pottery, too. So it wasn't the worst thing she'd ever been through, but it sure did suck.
The monkey, named Jed by her peers, was a great subject. He happily went about his business and ignored Sara and her camera. And for just a brief second, he looked up and apparently saw something, or someone, in the distance. But this something wasn't the leaf he was currently eating, so he looked away, completey disinterested. Curious, Sara turned around to look at what Jed found so interesting. And then everything changed.
God, he looked like such a mess. He clearly wasn't used to being in such a tropical climate, for one. Oh, he tried. He was wearing the appropriate clothing and that damn hat, but he still looked...adorably out of place. It was funny; Sara never actually allowed herself that girly fantasy of her long lost love combing through the jungle to find her. It was too preposterous a thought; to think that Gil Grissom, a man who once wouldn't even accept a dinner invitation from his smitten colleague, had come such a long way to see her again. But there he was. Her mind wasn't playing tricks on her. He had come for her.
They shared hungry glances, sizing each other up before embracing. She could tell he was wondering, still wondering, if she'd accept him back into her life. How could he not know, after all of these years, that she would always take him back? Maybe that made her weak, maybe she should be ashamed, but she didn't care. It had always been Gil Grissom, and there was nothing she could do about it now.
She smiled at him, a trace of sadness in her eyes. Looking relieved, he dropped his backpack, held out his arms and ran to her. Feeling his lips on hers again was like the answer to the question. It didn't even matter what question, it was just the answer. The hat, that damn hat, got in the way, but she was determined to taste that forbidden kiss once again.
The kiss didn't end, it just stopped for a moment. Grissom clung to Sara, his only Sara. There were so many things to say--Sara had so many questions. She desperately wanted to ask who was taking care of Hank. But she didn't want to ruin the moment, so she kissed him again. This one was longer, and Grissom took a minute or two to explore her lips with his, like he was searching, like he was trying to figure out if he missed anything while he was gone.
It was mutually and nonverbally agreed what would happen next. Their bodies were speaking much louder than their words possibly could. Before anything else could happen, they had to settle a primal debt. Every nerve ending in both their bodies were doing a song and dance, and would not be ignored. There was no intention to ignore these feelings, either.
So after more kissing than Sara knew what to do with, Grissom finally, FINALLY whispered in her ear, "Can we...can we go somewhere?"
Sara thought about this. All the tents were full at the moment. She was still pretty new to the area so she didn't know where people went for conjugal visits. There was the tiny tent she slept in during the long, hot hours of the night, but her newly acquired friend Bette was using it for a quick nap. Ah, well, she'll understand, Sara thought, and dragged Grissom to the small, rugged tent.
She found the tent and banged on it with no dignity or grace. There was no time for either one of those. After a few seconds of no answer, Sara banged again. Bette groaned and started unzipping the tent.
"Jesus, Sara, what's the rush? Did that bug guy of yours come for you with his boner or--" Bette smiled up at Grissom. "Oh, well, that answers that question. Have fun!"
Sara punched Bette in the shoulder and she and Grissom entered the tent. It was not lavish in any kind of way. It was small and dusty and smelled like old socks. But it didn't matter. They just needed a time and a place, and now they had both.
Grissom usually liked to watch Sara get undressed. He liked it to happen while he sat in his favorite chair in their townhouse. He would watch her do this striptease to the Ramones or the Sex Pistols. Sara knew he liked to watch her unbutton her shirt slowly and then drop it to the floor. He liked watching her shrug off her jeans, languidly down her waist, seductively down her thighs. He then liked it when he got to take off her bra himself and then look at her nipples like they were a special present just for him. On special occasions, when they had all the time in the world to themselves, he liked it when she straddled him on his favorite chair and he could pull aside her panties--not take them off--and take his time fucking her. They had a rhythm, like most couples do. He knew when she was about to come, and she knew the same for him. They'd take turns driving each other insane, pushing each other to the brink, and then starting all over again. Sara had been surprised about Grissom's stamina, but needless to say, it was a pleasant surprise.
Sara treasured those sessions they used to have. She'd think about them often before drifting off to sleep. It helped the long nights without him more bearable, albeit a tad depressing. But now was not the time to be slow. Now was not the time for a striptease or stamina. Now it was time to have sex, or if they wanted to be vulgar about it, it was time to fuck.
They didn't speak inside the tent. There were only grunts and groans and moans as they rushed to take off their clothes. There wasn't much room in the tent to spread out in, but they didn't need much room. Because after Grissom took one brief moment to look at Sara's sweaty, tan, muscular body, raw heat in his eyes, he grabbed her close to him. They were skin to skin, sweat to sweat. They were both used to sweat after living in the middle of the desert for so many years, but usually they had an air conditioner. There was no air in sight now, so their sticky, wet bodies mingled together to form one nasty mess of heat and desire.
More kissing. A lick, and then a bite, of a nipple. A few strokes of an erect masterpiece. And suddenly he was on top of her, inside her, not caring that they were sweating all over each other; not caring that Sara's peers were probably all outside of the tent cheering her on; not caring that just a few months ago, both of them were so hurt and angry with each other that they both considered cutting ties altogether. There was only sex.
Their bodies responded to this familiar rhythm. Grissom and Sara's chemistry, apparent from the first day of the conference back a decade ago, permeated the tent like a fine sexual mist. To feel Grissom inside of her again--to hear his familiar moans in her ear, to feel his familiar fingers on her clit, to cling to the familiar butt as he thrust into her with everything he had inside him...it was almost too much. But not quite.
"I love you," he whispered to her before he came. "I love you, and I am never leaving you again. We'll take pictures of monkeys together. I don't care what we do, as long as we get to do this."
She wasn't sure if by "this" he meant "sweaty sex" or just being together. She didn't care, because she was on the edge of a mind-blowing orgasm. He smiled broadly as he felt her come, feeling like King of the Jungle. His orgasm followed shortly after.
They wanted to stay in that tent all day and just touch each other--snuggle, cuddle, whatever you wanted to call it--but the tent was not in the best shape and was smelling even worse. So Sara led Grissom to the showers, and they promised their long talk would happen after they freshened up.
30 minutes later, Sara sat by the makeshift kitchen, waiting for Grissom to appear. There was a smile on her face; a smile that she hadn't felt in a long time. Only Grissom could make her smile like that. Of course, there were a lot of things only Grissom could do, and not all of them were good. But she couldn't help but think how, 8 years ago, she traveled over 500 miles to Las Vegas because Grissom asked her to help with his friend Warrick Brown. Now, 8 years later, he came over 5,000, after the death of that same friend, to be with her. Needless to say, it had been a long 8 years between then and now.
Grissom came out of the bathroom, looking happy and refreshed. He joined her at the table, and they shared a beer. He talked about how it was to leave the lab. She smiled with pride when he talked about getting to teach Nick for the last time, comparing Hodges to Holmes and making him happy, handing over the reigns to Catherine, and giving Langston a new career. She was proud of this Gil Grissom. This wasn't the same Grissom who confessed his sins to a murder suspect. This wasn't the same Grissom who sent her a plant when she threatened to leave CSI. This was a new Grissom; one she was ecstatic to learn more about.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Jed, happily eating another leaf. This was their life now. It wasn't about dead bodies or uncooperative suspects or deception or lying or guilt. It was happy monkeys and sweaty tents and makeshift kitchens. It was about the beginning of a new journey, and Sara couldn't wait to take it with Grissom by her side.