A/N: As usual, we own nothing. This is our little story of Sara and Gil in Paris for their first Christmas as a married couple. Enjoy!

The First Christmas Chapter 1

The Plane

There was a plan—but as most plans go, theirs was disrupted by the unexpected. Now, she was returning to Paris, flying east to Atlanta and a change of planes for a direct flight to Paris. She had done this often enough to know what she needed and desired; music, water, eye mask, a travel toothbrush, and her own light weight blanket meant she could cocoon into her own space regardless of who sat beside her. This time she had an exit row window seat, lots of leg room. She lowered the shade; she thought the airline had coded her name for exit row seating since she had gotten the same seat on two flights—traveling light and alone. She stretched her legs and pulled her blanket to her neck.

The plan had been to celebrate Christmas in some warm sunny spot, maybe Mexico or a Caribbean island, just pick a place where the sun was shining and go. However, those plans had been squashed on Thanksgiving Day, and it really didn't matter where they spent Christmas, just as long as they were together.

Vegas was never a real Christmas kind of place—too many lights burned all year for holiday lights to make an impact, too many tourists every day of the year to notice more or less on any one day. Of course, for too many years—except for the last two years—Christmas had been spent at work or on-call. This year, Grissom was supposed to be finished in Paris, however, his seminar had proven to be popular and even an institution as esteemed as the Sorbonne, the University of Paris VI to be specific, saw financial rewards in providing the opportunity for additional students to pay for the privilege of attending said seminar. And they were quite happy to pay Dr. Gilbert Grissom a handsome stipend in addition to the normal remuneration for his services if he would repeat the course.

She quietly chuckled, as she thought about his seminar; who would think the swarming processes of some tropical insect would grab the world's attention—the bug people of the world anyway—and the Smithsonian Tropical Research center would ask Gil Grissom, Ph.D., forensic entomologist, lately of Costa Rica, and retired supervisor of the Las Vegas crime lab, to present recent research. She giggled again, not quite so quietly, causing her row companion to notice her. And she was the one who went to Costa Rica first! She turned her head toward the window.

When the head of the Charles Janet Entomology Department asked for Grissom to extend his stay how could he say no and how could she refuse to agree when the excitement in his voice told her how pleased he was at this unexpected turn of events. He loved teaching and Sara knew teaching was his secret dream. He also had access to the Sorbonne libraries which safeguarded the original works of Charles Janet and she knew he was there every day. He had also brought up insects in amber and sifting sand or blue earth or something along those lines. She had read 'Jurassic Park' and seen the movie. That's what she knew about amber.

They talked about possibilities for a holiday, never saying the complexities of meeting would mean they could not. This was their first—in a long line of "firsts"—and neither would think that perhaps he staying in Paris and she remaining in Vegas was an option. Christmas break at the Sorbonne was a few weeks away and he was already packing when Sara called. "Stay in Paris", she said. "I'm coming."

And she was. At first hesitant to ask Ecklie if she could take off, she realized she was working at his request, not his demand. Surprising her, he was almost gracious when she explained Grissom had agreed to teach another seminar before returning to Vegas and she wanted time off. Of course, she had been working double shifts, giving the rest of the team time off as she did paperwork for old cases, went home to sleep, and was back before the others ever woke.

The second leg of her flight, from Atlanta to Paris, was her time to sleep and, after she ate, she wrapped her blanket around her, set her music to soothing sleep sounds, and was asleep before cabin lights were dimmed. She had learned to avoid jet lag by sleeping on the plane, arriving in Paris in early morning, and staying active once she landed.

Paris

Grissom had cleaned, shopped for groceries, filled a thermos with hot tea and checked for arrival time. Of course, the postage stamp size apartment took ten minutes to clean. It took longer to make tea. They had found this tiny "double studio" near the Sorbonne lecture hall from a list provided by the university and selected it because of the view from the equally small balcony. Standing in the right corner, one could see the Eiffel Tower, and moving four feet, one could see Sacre Coeur.

He switched on lights because, in Paris, in the winter, day light came around mid-morning and he wanted the balcony to be noticed. By the time Sara walked out of customs, he would be waiting. He had bundled up—grey clouds hung low over the skyline with a chill that seeped into bones—in a long coat, his official French beret pulled over his head. He joined hundreds heading to the airport, one of the few without luggage, and somewhere he realized, after hearing a cell phone ring; he had left his phone on the table in the small apartment.

It was a fast train, much quicker than using the streets, and glided into the Charles de Gaulle in thirty-five minutes. He made one stop to refill the thermos and weaved through arriving passengers to the luggage carousel. He stopped quickly when he realized the carousel was almost empty and the few remaining people were families and groups. No single female was there. He looked around—how could he have missed her, he thought. He knew she would head for the train, so he backtracked, checking lines at coffee bars and restrooms as best he could, before arriving back at the train—which was just pulling away.

As the train gained speed, leaving a growing crowd on the platform, Grissom caught a glimpse of a dark haired familiar face on the departing train—her head bent against a phone. He swore and clinched his fist—he had missed her by seconds! He swore again as he placed fingers against his forehead. She would be eight minutes ahead of him and he had no phone. He paced—for eight minutes, regretting he had come one minute, the next knowing it was fate that her plane had arrived minutes early or short lines or no checked luggage had put her a few minutes ahead of him.

Grissom knew Sara would take the Metro to the stop nearest the apartment and have a three block walk. He might catch her as she changed trains, but he might get ahead of her by taking a cab to the apartment. It was Christmas; he did not want her to be alone, he wanted to be there when she opened the door. He managed to step ahead of the crowd to the line of taxis and, in haste, gave the address in English, and passing money to the driver as he added "Quickly, please" in French.

As the yellow cab arrived at the corner of the narrow cul-de-sac, Grissom saw Sara walking just ahead with a small backpack and shoulder bag.

Ordering the cab to stop, he paid double for the short ride and hurried to catch her. "Sara," he called.

When she turned, he knew what he had missed for four weeks. He knew why he tumbled into bed and lay awake for an hour before sleeping. He knew why the phone bill was so high and what his eyes missed every hour they were apart.

Sara smiled, head slightly to one side, a broad, face changing grin that showed her surprise and her pleasure.

"Gil!" Her arms opened.

He pointed upward to their apartment. Her broad grin got wider. "You didn't."