A/N: Okay. I've never done this before – fluff, I mean – but this little story was bugging me. We're all buzzing from Sara's return on the show and wondering what went on between our favourite couple while in Paris. This is my take on one romantic afternoon. I apologise if at times I laid it on too thick! Let me know in a review, I would greatly appreciate the comments.

Oh, Paris! France, the wine, the food, the history and museums, the parks and the beautiful people – the beautiful women. By far, the most romantic city in the world…

Or so they say, thought Sara.

She was thinking about the man – her man – propped up on one elbow alongside her when she felt something soft land on her shoulder.

A butterfly maybe?

"Shit!" Literally. Sara looked up from the book she had been reading to stare with disgust at the bird poo on her bare shoulder.

"Shouldn't that have been merde?" Gil corrected, his tone amused – a little too amused for Sara's liking – glancing up from the travel guide he had been perusing. He was trying hard but failing miserably to stifle the grin tugging at his lips.

Gil and Sara had spent the best part of the afternoon lazily lying on a blanket on the Champs de Mars.

"I could get used to this," Sara mused aloud, as she used the handkerchief Gil had kindly held out to wipe the poop off. When she finished she handed it back to him, his chivalry rewarded by her brightest cheeky grin.

"Mmm…" He eyed the offending article suspiciously before giving a carefree shrug. "Merci," he replied cheerfully. He lifted his right buttock off the ground and shoved the hanky in his navy Bermuda shorts' back pocket.

Returning his attention to his travel guide he asked, "What could you get used to?" There was no mistaking the glint in his eyes as he peered over his glasses. "Being a bird's-"

He didn't get to finish his statement though as Sara's deathly stare silenced him. "No, dear. Being here – with you. Doing nothing. I like it."

"I give you two weeks."

Sara shrugged and looked up skyward toward the top of the nearby Eiffel Tower. For Gil, who had been offered a stint as a lecturer at the world-renowned Sorbonne this was hardly a holiday. She on the other hand had nothing better to do than lose herself in this place; in the museums, the art galleries and all the places she was reading about.

On his days-off they would take long slow strolls along the banks of the Seine watching as the bateaux-mouche, the river's slow tourist boats, softly slipped past them; they would marvel at the monuments and architecture; they would sit on benches in the many parks and watch as the Parisians went about their busy lives or as today, bask in the Parisian sunshine content in each other's company.

Despite the frantic pace, the horrendous traffic accompanied by a strangely nicely-choreographed cacophony of car horns, and let's not forget, birds pooping on her, there was an air of calm, of serenity to the city.

Sara liked it. She felt at peace there.

"Did you know that we're sitting – literally – on the site of a massacre? Some French peasants seeking the head of King Louis XVI during the French Revolution?"

Startled out of her reverie, Sara slowly turned her head toward her husband, her eyes and facial expression unable to disguise her quietly-exasperated incredulity. "Gil, are you deliberately trying to be obtuse or are you simply trying…to kill the mood?"

"What mood?"

"Come on. Even you must feel the…the positive energy, the harmony, the looove emanating from our surroundings. Just look around you!"

"Oh! Looove," he repeated mimicking her tone. "I get it. It's looove you want. Well, in that case, I have just the right place for us. It says in my guide that we should-"

"Nuh, nuh," Sara said, shaking her head and suppressing a cold shiver although it was late August. "I'm not going anywhere your guide recommends."

"What's wrong with my guide?" he said innocently, banging it shut to look at the front cover. Paris: History & Mystery. Explores historic areas and haunted buildings; Reveals Paris's history in all its gore and glory. He twitched his lips into a satisfied smile. "That was fun, wasn't it? Told you it'd make you feel right at home."

The last comment earned Gil a playful punch in the arm. "I draw the line at calling piled-up hundreds-of-year-old bones and skulls fun," she said. "Of all the romantic places you could have taken me to in Paris, you chose the Catacombs." Secretly, Sara had enjoyed her foray into the three hundred-year-old underground quarries turned into cemeteries but she would never, never admit as much to Gil. She would milk his lack of romance for all it was worth.

"I've always been fascinated by the French's efficiency."

"Is that what you call it? Efficiency? Moving all their dead from over-filled disease-plagued cemeteries and relocating the remains into subterranean mines for storage?"

"See? I knew you were paying attention. I know that secretly, you liked it. I could tell from the way your nose twitches when you're absorbing facts."

Sara's eyebrows shot up. "From the way my nose does what?"

"Twitches. Your nose twitches. Everyone knows that. I know that. See? I may not know how to…seduce a woman but I sure know how to woo you, ma chérie."

Sara snorted at that comment. "Please, will the real Gil Grissom please stand up!"

And he did.

"Come on," he said, holding out his hand. "Trust me. You will love this place. I guarantee it."

Gil pulled Sara up to her feet with more force than was strictly necessary, propelling her up into his awaiting arms. He tilted his head to the side and brushed off some dried-up grass imbedded in her hair. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, sending shivers down her spine. He locked his gaze onto hers and smiled. He was leaning in to kiss her when Sara swatted him away.

"I know what you're doing, Gilbert and you don't need to try so hard. You're preaching to the converted. All right, I'll come with. Where are you taking me?"

Gil tapped his nose with his finger, winking. "Patience, my dear."

They swiftly packed up their stuff and when they had finished Gil held out his hand. She misunderstood his gesture and shrugged before passing him the backpack. He shook his head at her in amusement and held out his other hand.

Sara gave out a chuckle realising her mistake. She smiled goofily tucking her hand in Gil's much bigger one. He squeezed it tight, caught her eye, smiling mischievously at her. He took off running across the vast green expanse of the park toward the Métro station, tugging her forward.

Two trains and twenty minutes later, Gil and Sara emerged hand in hand from the underground into the bright sunlight.

Sara stopped dead in her tracks, holding Gil back. She was looking up in awe at the purer than white round building at the top of the hill. The sun was glinting off the surface creating an illusion of mirage. "Gil, it's beautiful."

Gil smiled knowingly but he wasn't marvelling at the same sight. "Yeah, it is," he whispered softly.

Intrigued by his quiet, almost subdued tone – he was generally more effervescent and eloquent when describing a building of this magnitude – Sara turned toward him, an inquiring frown on her face. She found him watching her intently. "You are beautiful, Sara," he murmured. "Thank you for coming here with me."

"I trust you," she simply said. "Besides, I'm starting to think your guide's not so bad after all."

"I wasn't talking about this."

Sara frowned in confusion.

"Thank you for accepting to come here. For following me to Paris."

"If I remember correctly, you followed me first."

Gil nodded. "And I'll never regret that decision. Best thing I ever did in my life." He brought his hand to her face, cupping her cheek. He bent down near and whispered in her ear, "Je t'aime, Sara."

Feeling Gil's breath so near her skin caused her to shiver. She looked up and kissed him chastely on the lips. "I love you to, you goofball."

"Now, who's killing the mood?"

Sara was grinning, lost in the deep blue of his eyes. "Steps or funiculaire?" she asked quietly.

Gil took his eyes off Sara long enough to glance at the hill and the 237 steps zigzagging their way up to the top to reach the Basilica of the Sacré Coeur. He returned his attention to Sara, lifting both eyebrows in challenge.

Sara registered a half-second of surprise before taking off running toward the bottom of the steps.

"That's not fair; I wasn't ready," he called after her.

She turned round, jogging backwards, laughing. "When in France as they say…You snooze, you lose."

"Well, we'll see about that."

But instead of following Sara up the stairs, Gil made his way to the funiculaire, paid his fare and waited. He waited and waited some more. Until he could just about make out Sara's outline already half-way up. Damn…maybe not such a bright idea after all! At long last, he felt the long-awaited jolt as they departed, quickly making up lost ground. He waved mischievously at a panting Sara as he almost reached the top.

Oh, if the look she threw him then could have spoken. But instead of giving up, she renewed her efforts and made it to the top first. She was waiting – albeit breathing hard – very hard – when he finally joined her, after helping an old lady disembark. She threw him a look of pure satisfaction as she squared her shoulders proudly.

"I was afraid of knocking her over in my haste," he offered in guise of explanation, shrugging. He pulled the backpack off his shoulder and took out the bottle of water. Sara was already holding out her hand, mouthing grateful thanks at his thoughtfulness when at the last minute, Gil brought the bottle to his lips and took a long slow swig. "Mmm…I needed that."

"Hey," Sara said, not in the least taken with his teasing, "What's gotten into you, today?"

"Must be something in the water," he shrugged passing her the bottle, "besides the chemicals, of course." He paused, his expression turning serious. "I'm happy, Sara." He smiled shyly as though he had just made the discovery. "You make me happy."

He took her hand, clasping it tight and they walked up the remaining steps to the top of Montmartre like a multitude of other couples were doing. They turned and leaned against the balustrade and marvelled at the jaw-dropping panoramic view of Paris's roof tops and monuments. No words were needed; the scenery spoke for itself.

"My mother used to tell me stories about this place," Gil said after a while taking his eyes off the view. "It was one of her dreams to come here. Come on, let's go inside."

Even though Sara wasn't a Catholic or even remotely religious she felt truly humbled as soon as she set foot inside the church. The main nave was surrounded by many small chapels dedicated to Saints, each with its lit candles and offerings. Gil tapped her on the shoulder, pointing upwards to the roof and Sara couldn't help gasp at the sheer beauty of the cupola. He took her hand in his, squeezing it warmly and they began walking around the small basilica side by side in awe of their surroundings. Gil stopped and fished out a few coins from his Bermuda shorts pocket and fed them into the urn.

"Take a candle Sara. Make a wish."

"What about you?"

He shook his head softly. I don't need to. I have everything I wish for.

Sara lit the candle, closed her eyes and made her wish before lovingly looking up to Gil and nodding toward the exit. They stepped out into the bright sunshine both reaching for their sunglasses at the same time. Gil's hand found its way back into Sara's almost immediately and he led her down the few steps round the side of the church. Sara tugged him back, stopping him mid-stride. Gil turned round a frown on his face.

"Thank you," Sara whispered, rising on her tiptoes to brush his lips with a soft kiss.

"What for?"

"For bringing me here; for sharing this with me…" She shrugged all the other reasons off. Smiling shyly, she added, "Je t'aime."

Gil smiled back, winking. He reached his hand up to her face and ever so softly brushed his finger on her cheek. "Come on," he said, "there's one more thing I want to show you while we're in the neighbourhood."

A/N: More?