Title: Atlas
Spoilers: None
Rating: K
Disclaimer: I wish I owned them, but I don't! They all belong to CBS :(
Beta: GER
Notes: My first time coming out with a fluffy GSR story :) I tried to make it as fluffy as possible without suffocating anyone. I was inspired after staring at a world map in a particularly boring Maths lesson.

Please enjoy and R&R!

Altas

Grissom awoke to the delicate flipping of book pages. His eyes opened to the sight of warm sunlight streaming into the room, to the almost tangible mood of Sunday mornings. He turned to his side and realised that Sara wasn't in bed. Frowning slightly, his dark wavy hair messy, he rose and exited the oak bedroom door into the living room before spotting Sara curled up on the large couch, a thick book in hand. Not an unfamiliar sight, he noted with a slight smile.

"Good morning," he said sleepily, giving her a smile.

She looked up, looking fresh and radiant with those chocolate locks tucked behind her ears and wearing one of his blue flannel pajama tops. She smiled back, eyes warming him from the inside out.

"Morning."

She turned her attention back to the subtly browned pages of the book, seemingly enthralled. Grissom, with his curiosity piqued, walked pass the many bookshelves that lined their apartment and sat himself down next to her. "What have you got there, Miss Sidle? I have never seen you so captivated, not even in my company." He asked light-heartedly, smiling.

Sara looked up and laughed. "It's an atlas, Mr. Grissom. Why, everyone knows what an atlas is, don't tell me an entomologist like yourself doesn't know one…?" she replied sweetly but with a resonating smugness.

He reached out quickly to grab the book from her hands, ignoring her loud squeal of surprise as he held it just out of her reach.

"France, huh?"

She swiped at him playfully before snatching the book back. "Do you really want to know why? Or are you just going got flirt with me the entire time, Gil?"

He responded by intertwining his fingers with hers. "Okay, I'm all ears now." He replied seriously, but not without that twinkle in his eyes.

Sara looked him dead in the eyes. "Have you ever wondered what paradise looks like? Your very own Shangri-La?"

"'I have always imagined that paradise will be a kind of library.'"

Sara gave him a look. "Jorge Luis Borges. I'm serious, Gil. Haven't you ever wanted to visit Shangri-La?"

"Shangri-La is described as a harmonious valley, an earthly paradise that is untouched by humans. Lush trees and cascading waterfalls. It came from the book - "

" – The Lost Horizon, I know, I read too you know." She gave him the look, and he became slightly embarrassed. "My Shangri-La appears to be right here," she said, pointing to a tiny dot next to the Mediterranean Sea, not noticing his slightly flushed face.

Grissom squinted before reading the even tinier print out.

"Provence?"

Sara smiled, eyes bright with wonder. "It's adjacent to Italy, located in southeastern France and rich in culture. Paul Cezanne and Vincent Van Gogh are only two of the many artists who have lived there. Imagine how inspirational that place must be!" she gushed, reading off the atlas.

Grissom stared at her with an amused smile. "It sounds, uh… quaint."

In other words, boring.

Sara understood his tone and playfully rolled her eyes. "Just because it's not an insect haven, doesn't mean it's inferior, does it? Where would you want to visit?"

Grissom took the atlas from her hands, flipping its pages till he reached Asia. He pointed to a small island off Indonesia. "Komodo Island, Sara. And I don't want to go there and see the insects. I want to see the Komodo Dragons, a unique species of lizards that are indigenous there. They can grow up to 3 meters long."

Sara made a face. "Paradise has nothing to do with lizards the size of crocodiles, thank you very much. Bali seems a lot better. It's famous for its beaches and it's a surfing destination. I've always wanted to try out surfing, but Bali's too saturated with all those tourists. The perfect surfing spot would be Darwin," she said, turning the pages to Australia.

"Darwin is Australia's least populated city. Hmm, no wonder that appeals to you," he said laughing.

She granted him a smile and flipped the pages to Africa. "How about this?" she asked, pointing to South Africa.

"Hermanus?"

She nodded excitedly. "It has the best land whale watching area in the world. Steep cliffs that plunge into the deep sea open up a new world, the world of the whales. The small place has a quiet, fisherman's village 'feel'. Seems perfect," she said, in a far-away voice.

"Sara, you know that Shangri-La is a real place right? It's in the Kulun Mountains and it runs eastwards along the northern part of Tibetan Plateau." Grissom said, snapping Sara back to reality.

"I'd still prefer southeastern France or the southeastern area of Cape Town." She replied, pouting.

Grissom chuckled at Sara's face. "We have everything in our backyard, Sara: Paris, Venice, New York, even Ancient Egypt!"

"It's not the same," she replied in a small voice. "And I've always found the Venetian rather tacky…"

Grissom gave her another small smile. "Maybe one day we can go to all of those places." He kissed her forehead gently. "Just don't worry too much about it, honey. I'm going to make breakfast now," he said before he got up and walked towards the kitchen. " 'Travel is a fools paradise,' " he called out, looking behind his shoulder and giving her a grin.

That made Sara smile. "Ralph Waldo Emerson." She watched as he got the ingredients ready, looking so at ease. She knew how bad she was at cooking and felt incredibly relieved she wasn't the one doing all that. She looked back down onto the pages that read 'France' before closing her eyes.

They would rent a tiny, cozy cottage that was perched at the edge of the sea. They would take walks during the day to watch cascading waterfalls while eating hors d'oeuvres. They would lie down and indulge their senses in sprawling fields of redolent lavender -

Her little daydream bubble was burst by Grissom's loud voice. "I might not be able to take you to France, but I can make French toast for breakfast, if that's any consolation." he said warmly.

Sure enough, the delicious scent of eggs penetrated the air while she looked on at him carefully plating the golden-brown pieces of bread.

And that's when she saw it. There she was, living in Las Vegas; Sin City, in a quiet neighborhood, in a bright breezy apartment, sitting on a plush couch surrounded by books, watching the man she loved making breakfast for her, trying to cheer her up.

She watched him as he set the plates down on the table, piled with delectable pieces of French toast topped with thick honey. Their eyes met and she realised something, something she had failed to see all this time.

This is paradise, her very own Shangri-La.