CSINut214's A/N: 6 shots of vodka, 4 Heinekens, and a drunkenly cowritten final fanfic in a pear treeeee. Boston is friggin cold. The hell?

ScullyAsTrinity A/N: This was hard for me to write because I'm going to miss the show a lot, but it was time. Thank you for everyone who's put up with our startlingly bad puns and our over-the-top scenarios. It's sad... but thanks.

The road was rough, though he had expected that. He anticipated it; at this point in his life, on the brink of geriatric status, he craved it. Leaving his old life behind in search of the new, the exotic, the beautiful.

His Birkenstocks crunching crisply into the fallen foliage, Grissom glanced down and briefly contemplated the route he had traveled and how he had come to be there. It had been a trying period, seeking what he needed to find.

He recalled the sound of shattering glass, the explosion which had caused his heart to clench in fear. He had run – well, ambled quickly and bowleggedly – toward what had formerly been his lab. Greg was injured, injured badly. Grissom followed him outside, furrowing his brow in worry.

As the ambulance pulled away, he fingered the object still hidden in his pocket; an object which he had procured months ago but still been too pansy-ass to use.

Then, he saw her.

Sara was sitting alone on the curb, looking woozy and kind of pretty and cut up. This was his chance. With the maximum amount of stealth that a man of his disposition could muster, he withdrew the object from his pocket and held it to his lips. Glancing this way and that, he noted that the coast – though littered with emergency personnel and lab staff – was clear.

Quickly, he blew, and a dart flew through the air, landing squarely in the wound that Sara had received.

She didn't notice.

Perfect. Shot.

It was epic.

Satisfied that he'd pulled it off flawlessly, Grissom tossed the blow dart tube into the bushes and waddled his distinct, yet sexy waddle over to where she was seated.

He pulled out her palm, noticing that the cut was just deep enough to cleanly embed the tracking device placed at the tip of the dart. Cleverly calling her "honey" to daze her like a wild animal, he examined his work and nodded, satisfied. The device was secure.

He, of course, would forget that it existed when she was, I dunno, kidnapped by a psychopath but that's neither here nor there.

Pondering that memory with equal parts nausea and itchiness, he sought the GPS device hidden deep within his pocket. Upon extracting it, he was relieved to note that he was, indeed, in Costa Rica... as though the men at customs, standing beneath the giant "Eureka! Welcome to Costa Rica!" sign hadn't been enough.

Taking in a lovely, deep breath of humid air, he kept his eyes focused on the strangely large blue dot that was pulsing on the screen.

She was close.

He could almost smell her, and couldn't wait to take her in his arms and–

Ooh, a bug!

Pretty!

Anyway, he couldn't wait to take her in his arms. He briefly imagined himself putting his hands under her armpits and hoisting her up like a wee baby. Tightening his sweaty grip on his backpack straps, he headed forward on the path, which was lined with ferns.

Then, he came upon a clearing. There was a large, rustic-looking tent and a man running into it. There was also someone dressed completely inappropriately for the weather, in a black shirt and a scarf.

Oh yeah. That was her.

Was she doing laundry? Really?

In truth, the capuchin monkey from Friends and Outbreak had paused briefly by her tent, so she'd decided to snap a few photographs before asking him for an autograph. He looked shorter in person, she noted, as she focused and took more shots.

Suddenly, her spidey sense tingled. Even though Grissom made no sound and his Speed Stick was working nicely, she still sensed his presence. She paused and then turned, the crazy-music in Grissom's head crescendoing sweetly along with the moment. He descended almost immediately into a robotic-like state, shrugging off the (wow, was that really all he brought with him to Costa effin' Rica?) tiny pack he was carrying.

His legs, emboldened with the livelihood of a much younger man, carried him swiftly to where she stood, his eyes soaking in the image of her. Sara was tousled, and had somehow managed to get a professional, razored coif while she'd been off gallivanting hither and thither.

It suited her... but maybe not.

It didn't matter.

What did matter was that his arms were sliding around her ribcage, pulling her close, their lips connecting in something so much more than desperation. Distractedly, he glanced up at the monkey who was, indeed, watching them neck.

Finally, overcome with emotion and arousal, the monkey looked away. He'd tend to his own needs later.

Later.

For what seemed like several seconds, Grissom and Sara kissed sweatily. The scent of ferns wafted up from the earth, breaking their embrace.

"Are you really here?" she asked breathlessly.

"I am. For good."

"One second." Sara ran into the tent to break up with the marine biologist, who marched out in a huff, grabbing his cargo pants off the clothesline as he went. "Kay, we're good now."

"I can't wait to explore this strange and beautiful world with you," Grissom said, grinning from ear to ear. "You wouldn't believe the cricket I saw just now. It was like a regular cricket, but big."

"This country is filled with huge insects," she gushed, showing him a massive welt on her knee where a mosquito had bitten her earlier. "I could stay here forever."

"If you stay, I too will stay," he cooed, wondering whether her tent had any condoms in it. He cursed himself briefly for not thinking to ask the marine biologist before he'd left.

"Well, anyway, first things first," Sara said. She gave him a winning, crooked smile. "Where's my special guy?"

Grinning back, Grissom began unbuttoning his pants.

"No," she said quickly. "I mean, where's Hank?"

He sighed, "Does it really matter now? Now that I'm here? Now that we're finally, truly together?"

Hands on hips, Sara stared him down. "Yes, it does matter. In fact, it matters quite a bit! Haven't you read the boards?! Everyone is wondering!"

Attempting to keep the mood level, he was quick to assuage her fears, "I'm pretty sure he's living with Brass now. Did you know that he got a boat, but not really?"

"That doesn't make sense."

"I'm confused too, but apparently we're going fishing? I can wear my ridiculous hat on the boat!"

Just then, a shriek sounded above them, as an osprey swooped down and snatched the chapeau from Grissom's head. The bird ascended in a glorious whoosh, landing in a tall tree and settling the hat to use as a really big, ugly nest for its young.

"Well, I guess that bird had the right idea." Sara throat dipped into a sultry lilt. "Let's get you out of those clothes–"

His eyes flared. "God, yes..."

"So I can wash them," she finished. "You're disgustingly sweaty. Ooh! And I can hang them on my clothesline!"

Together, they stripped away their clothes and their lingering doubts, becoming one in a gloriously orgasmic experience. As they lay naked together in Sara's tent, she began tracing his hand with her fingertip.

"What is this?" she frowned, pointing to a pink bump.

"Not sure," he said. "It showed up right around the time I announced I was leaving CSI. I figure it was stress-related, especially since it's healing now."

"Makes sense," she nodded.

Curling around one another, they fell blissfully and sweatily to sleep.

Outside, in the brush, a lone figure gazed at his own GPS device, which was steadily blinking the location of Gil Grissom.

"Wherever you go, I'll find you," Hodges whispered softly. "I'll find you, for you are my Holmes."