A/N: I know what you're thinking…another post-ep story…but Grissom's gift of a plant to Sara at the end of 12.18 Malice in Wonderland got me thinking. I just wish he was home in Vegas, even if we never got to see him, rather than gallivanting in some foreign land. Still, it was nice to get a mention of the man…and not just through another shot of Sara's wedding band.

While watching the episode I couldn't help noticing that Sara showed signs of not being happy...maybe that's a tad too much, but she seemed a little melancholy to me, almost resigned to her lot when she talked to Ecklie about watching daytime TV. Long distance relationships only work for so long after all until one of the parties grows frustrated and wants more than what the other is prepared to give them. Hang on a minute…haven't we been there before with those two?

I hope you'll enjoy.

Malaise in Wonderland.

Resting her bare feet on the coffee table in front of her Sara beckoned Hank to her. The Boxer sauntered over, hopping onto the couch when she patted the spot next to her and smiling she gave him a good rub around the ears.

"Who's a good boy, huh?" she said smiling broadly before turning her face away at his effusive show of affection, "oh, yes, you are!" And then a little more sadly, "what would I do without you?"

The plant she'd placed dead centre on the coffee table caught her eye and she paused, reaching over for the card. From Grissom, she read and sighed and as Hank settled himself next to her on the couch grabbed the phone on the side table. She wanted to thank him; she knew the message hidden behind the plant wasn't good news but what could she do about it? And there were worse ways of letting her know.

She hit the speed-dial for his cell, closing her eyes as tiredly she sank deeper into the couch. Trying to reach him on a landline at this time of the day and at his location would take forever; she'd just leave him a quick message and then wait for his call in the evening before she left for shift. They'd talk then, they always did. Expecting to go straight to voicemail she was surprised when he picked up.

"Hey," he said, his voice as soft and cheerful as ever, as though he'd been expecting her call.

She sat up abruptly, causing Hank to whimper his displeasure. "I―I didn't expect you to pick up," she said animatedly.

His warm chuckle came crackly over the line. "Well, hello to you too, Sara dearest. How was your night?"

"Long. Weird." She sighed and ruffled Hank's ears. "You don't want to know."

"You got the plant," he stated quietly, seemingly reading the weariness in her tone.

"Huh, yeah," she replied. "So, what is it this time?" Hank's head snuggled deeper onto her lap and she smiled at him, her free hand automatically settling on his side and patting.

"We're almost there, Sara."

The unconcealed giddy enthusiasm in his voice twisted her insides, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. "How much longer?" she asked, sad and resigned, her heart heavy with longing and disappointment.

"Two weeks, at the very most," he replied after a short delay, and to give him credit he sounded a little contrite about it. "Honey, I'm sorry. I know I said we'd be finished and I'd be home by now, but we are so very close. I can't leave them yet. I'd be letting them down. Besides I want to be a part of the big reveal. You mind?"

She sighed. "Sure."

"Sara? I didn't hear that. The line's not so good this end."

She smiled, the irony of his words not lost on her. "I said, I don't mind," she said, louder.

"You okay?"

"Sure." Why shouldn't I be?

"I'm sorry the plant came to you at CSI. I wasn't sure what time the florist would find you home, and I didn't want it to wither on the doorstep like the last one."

"You certainly gave everyone something to talk about."

"I'll make it up to you when I get back, I promise."

"I know," she replied in a quiet sigh, and she knew he would because when he was home their life was everything married life should be, and more. So much more. He told her once that one of the things he loved most about her was that she never judged him, and she wasn't about to start now. She did her best to shake herself out of her melancholy, then repeated a little more enthusiastically, "I know you will."

"What?" His voice sounded distant all of a sudden, as though she was about to lose the connection.

"I look forward to it," she said, almost shouting.

There was a pause and then genuine concern in his voice when he asked, "You okay?"

"I'm tired," and she was. Very. Truth be told she hadn't been sleeping that well recently; falling asleep to the sound of Hank's snoring instead of her husband's was wearing thin, as was waking up to unabashed licking because the pooch needed to be let out. But Grissom was happy. He sounded happy and excited and ultimately that's what mattered.

The microwave pinged, startling her back to the present and her dinner for one – leftover pasta marinara. Gently nudging Hank out of the way with her knee she pushed to her feet, headed to the kitchen.

"When I get back," Grissom was now saying, "we'll take some time out, go on a vacation."

"Abroad?" she asked in a chuckle of disbelief as she padded barefoot down the stairs.

"This is useless," he grumbled, "I can't hear a word you say. Sara, let me call you back tonight from a landline and we can talk. Usual time?"

"Yeah. My dinner's ready anyway."

After their usual parting words, she disconnected the call, put her TV dinner on the waiting tray, then sprinkled a little grated parmesan on it before returning to her eatery of choice and waiting for Hank to shift up on the couch to plop herself down next to him.

Tray on lap, she switched the TV on, mindlessly flicking through channels as she brought twists of pasta to her mouth. Daytime TV was the pits. She'd meant the words she'd spoken earlier in the interrogation room when she'd said that getting married, being married was special, but there was no denying that it would be a lot more special if both spouses were in the same place, and not thousands of miles apart.

Away from each other. Abroad.

She could have chosen not to return to CSI and follow him around the world as she had done in the beginning, but once the novelty of being in a new place had worn off and the tourist jaunts been exhausted there was little for her to do and frankly she'd soon grown bored, lonely and a little restless. When the opportunity of resuming her position at CSI had arisen she'd jumped at the chance, and hadn't looked back. Financially it made a lot more sense too, her steady, fixed income handy to pay the mortgage and fund her extensive travelling.

Abroad.

The doorbell rang, jolting her awake. She must have dozed off and judging by the crick in her neck should have gone to bed to do it. The tray lay askew on her lap, the television still on, a documentary on the mating ritual of the African hippopotamus playing quietly in the background. She wiped her mouth, turned the TV off and setting her tray on the spot Hank had just vacated on the couch followed him to the front door. The boxer let out a joyful bark, his tail wagging furiously behind him as he waited. She ran a quick hand through her hair then checked the peephole, her brow rising at her impromptu visitor.

"Sara Grissom?" the FedEx delivery guy said, breaking into a smile from behind his sunglasses when she cracked the door open.

Squinting at the bright light suddenly assailing her pupils, Sara found herself grinning back automatically; it wasn't often she was called that. "Yeah."

"Sign here, please," he said, holding out a pad and a plastic pen to her.

Sara opened the door wider, allowing Hank out, and took the pen signing Sara Sidle on impulse. She stared at the pad, her smile fading in disbelief. "Can I do that again?" she asked.

"Nah, you're all right," the FedEx guy replied easily. He reached under his arm for an envelope and swapped it for the pen. "There you are, mam," he said, "and have a nice day!"

"You too," Sara said, but her attention was already diverted by the familiar scrawl behind her name and address. Her brow rose, her mouth pursing in puzzlement as she pulled open the sticky flap of the envelope. Immediately the sweet scent of a flower hit her nostrils and her grin returned. Hadn't he just sent her a plant?

Gently she slid out its content, her face lighting up as she caught a single dried frangipani flower in her hand – or so said the handwritten label affixed to the stem. Next she took out a bad colour printout of a log cabin in the heart of Yosemite National Park. Frowning, she peeled the sticky note off it and read:

I've cleared it with your boss. Two weeks, no longer, I promise, and then I'm all yours. Hiking? I hear Half-Dome is beautiful at this time of year. Sara burst out in a chuckle of disbelief. They'd be lucky to make it even half way up. Then a quick stop in SF. I miss you, she read on, and her heart grew heavy. Tell Hank I miss him too. I'll call tonight. Love, Gil.

"We miss you too," she said out loud.

Hank's nose nuzzled its way into her side, and she smiled at him.

"He's coming home soon," she told him softly, "and then the three of us are going on a trip. How about that?"

Did she wish her life was different? Sure, who doesn't? But what she had with Grissom was special and cherished and she wouldn't change it for the world. She was hardly the only spouse in such a situation, servicemen's wives and husbands all over the world had to content themselves with similar setups. Being away from one another didn't diminish the love they felt for each other, it enhanced it and made the time they did spend together more special.

Yes, she thought, being married to Grissom was special.