Somewhere over the Corcovado National Park. Costa Rica. Present day.

The mayday message from the frantic pilot echoes on the public address system inside the cabin. I can only imagine that we are not meant to hear his last desperate announcement. Sadly my rusty Spanish is good enough to understand that he is going to attempt an emergency landing on a nearby lake.

In the same instant, the momentum of the plummeting plane pulls me violently forward. Thank God I always keep my seatbelt fastened for it is the only thing that can save me from certain death. The older man seated across from me obviously did not display such prudence as he finds himself suddenly propelled forward, his forehead hitting the seat in front with such force that the whole of his body resembles that of a crash-test dummy smashing into a wall at full speed.

He is already dead.

I assume what I hope is the best position to protect myself, my survival instinct prevailing. I curl as far down as I can on myself, face as close to my chest and thighs as possible, arms tightly wrapped around my knees. There is nothing more that I can do but await my fate.

It's all over in a matter of seconds.

It was totally by chance that I found your

blog on the Sea Shepherd website when trying to locate you. It appears that you'd been writing it all along and it pains me to know that I could have followed your progress during these last long few months; I could have known where you were, whether you were well, what you were doing, feeling, experiencing – even if only from a distance, albeit a long one. I very much doubt though, that you'd trust your most personal, intimate thoughts to such a medium but it would have helped – a little.

As it happens, I haven't heard from you at all since your e-mail. "Relationships are a two-way process, Grissom" I hear you say and you'd be right – again, for I haven't made any attempt at contacting you either, well until now.

The last entry in your journal – I can't bring myself to call it a blog, such a non-entity of a word; anyway, your last entry however stops two weeks ago. Alarm bells maybe should have rung but I don't think anything of it as I avidly devour your words: so much happiness, energy, enthusiasm, so many superlatives, and it brings a smile to my face to imagine you among the beauty you're describing.

I find out that you're on the final leg of your trip and I make a promise to myself that I'd be there when you disembark. Two more days…timing is everything and mine is perfect for once.

A blog? I ask myself, a crazy idea nestling in my brain. Why not?

What better way to communicate all the things I should say to you that I never said; what I'll never find the right words for. I'm determined to be a changed man. I decide to follow in your footsteps and start writing too; no one will ever get to read it, right? So what the hell?

So there it is; day one of the rest of my life.

I leave Vegas in the middle of the night, having only just left CSI a few hours ago for the final time. After a few hours' restless sleep, Hank and I make our way to San Francisco, where I know you should be. We can't get there fast enough and make it with plenty of time to spare. It's only just the crack of dawn. We drive past the marina, yachts of all sizes gently wobbling in the morning light. The docks are deserted except for a couple of fishing boats unloading their catch.

The thought of missing the return of the ship and more importantly missing you, fills me with dread so I just stand there, at the quayside, watching, Hank's leash held loosely in my hand. He sits quietly by my feet, eagerly yet patiently waiting – is that even possible?

Both our gazes are turned towards the entrance of the harbour where I'm told your boat should be sailing from. It's going to be a beautiful dry day; the sun has only just started to burn off the morning sea mist and we're getting a clearer view of the whole body of water. The slight breeze blowing off the ocean is refreshing and the faint smell of salt fills my mind with foreign skies. I can't help but let my mind wander and think back to your words in your journal.

I don't know how long we stay there, immobile, mesmerised by the undulating water.

There's quite a welcoming committee now, you don't seem to be the only loved one returning from this trip on the Sea Shepherd. My eyes are still trained on the greyish murky waters, scanning the estuary in anticipation, searching for any signs of the impending vessel.

And finally, it comes. My first reaction surprises even me. The boat is a lot bigger than I expected. My second reaction? My heart skips a beat, my mouth is dry and I find myself grinning with giddy excitement. God, how I long to hold you in my arms again.

As I watch the last of the smiling volunteers disembark though, I'm left with the realisation that you're not there and sensing my discomfort and disappointment, Hank whimpers by my side.

I turn to leave, despondent, gently pulling at the leash of my reluctant friend. He doesn't seem to want to relinquish his spot on the quay, showing more optimism and hope than I do.

For, I already know.

"Can I help you?" I hear someone with a slight trace of a foreign accent ask.

I turn around, startled. "Excuse me?"

The man, who I think might be French smiles warmly at us. "You were waiting… are you looking for someone in particular?"

I hesitate. The man continues. "My name is Marc Sabatier. I'm the captain of the Sea Shepherd" he adds, nodding back over his shoulder towards the ship.

"Oh! Hello, I was…I thought…" I stammer and give the man what I can only think is a half smile, maybe even a smirk, shrugging in vain. I shake my head absent-mindedly, "never mind..."

"Are you looking for Sara?" wonders the man smiling, obviously sensing my uneasiness.

At the mention of her name, Hank sits up expectantly looking towards me, ears pricking up. I lift my head, hopeful, wondering. "What makes you ask? How do you know?"

"She's the only one from our crew not to have made it back ashore with us..."

"Has something happened to her?" I cut him off, unable to disguise the panic and concern from my voice.

Picking up on my alarm, he hastens to add. "No, no, sorry. Nothing like that. She just left us early." It was his turn to hesitate. "Do you know her well?"

Do I know her well? "Excuse me?" I can't seem to be able to put two coherent words together but as the captain is still giving me a friendly smile, I eventually manage to reply. "Yes… yes, I do."

He nods knowingly, seeming to understand something beyond my comprehension.

"She just… how can I put it? She didn't want to… wished to stay longer in Costa Rica, said she'd fallen in love with the place, something about finally finding beauty. She's right, of course; it's truly beautiful out there, still unspoilt."

His words resonate in my mind. Beauty. Unspoilt. What else can I do but silently nod my head in understanding. For I understood too well.

"We parted ways on our last stop on terra firma, before our final leg towards the US shores a fortnight ago. She was a volunteer so it wasn't a problem."

That explains the unfinished journal. "Where was that exactly, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Not at all. Puerto Jiménes on the Península de Osa on the Pacific side of the country. We anchored there for a few days."

"Thank you for your help." I manage to say after a while, the significance of his words finally sinking in.

I smile and bend down to gently ruffle Hank's ears. "Come on, boy, let's go back home, we've got some more searching to do."

Timing is indeed everything. And today my timing sucked.

Tbc.

A/N: Apologies if you've had chapter 1 reposted…I just needed to swap the fonts round, the content is the same. Also, I know that the Sea Shepherd sails from Friday Harbour, Washington State, but it was too far for Grissom to drive to with Hank so I used a bit of poetic licence.