A/N: 2010-what were Sara and Gilbert doing all that year? Not many clues so we gave them an adventure, sort of! Enjoy! Next time-into the future...10 chapters will end this one. And for 'Criminal Minds' fans-a bit of a shout-out to the show!

Fifteen Years

Chapter 8

2010

Sara and Gil Grissom

Carefully, Sara pulled into a parking space, got out of her car, hurried around to the passenger side where her passenger was already stepping out. Automatically, she said "Let me help" but she was ignored. Looking away from the car, exasperated, she muttered "why do I even try?"

Her passenger turned to face her, fingers moving rapidly. Sara smiled and signed, "again, please, slower."

Her mother-in-law, Betty Grissom, smiled—or made her lips move in a semblance of one. More of a grimace, Sara thought, as the older woman begin searching in her purse. A five dollar bill appeared and Betty stuffed it in Sara's hand. Sara recognized the word "park" at the same time her phone signaled a message.

"Okay," she signed and then checked her phone. "He is here," she said and held her phone so Betty could see it.

Betty frowned, smiled, and repeated Sara's message in sign language.

"Okay," Sara repeated the most often used word for her signing and headed in the direction of the terminal. She had learned Spanish, she had learned passable French, but learning American Sign Language was proving difficult at best. Her teacher said she needed more practice but since Betty was continually correcting the smallest mistake, most of Sara's signing consisted of simple words or phrases. Her teacher had explained that Sara's habit of using her hands when she talked carried over into sign language creating an odd or unknown word to the conversation.

So, Sara worked—signing to her husband who usually reverted to smutty sex words—or with her mother-in-law with results like today—corrections, continuous corrections.

As they entered the building, she touched Betty's shoulder and pointed to the sign for arrivals. Betty pointed to 'Baggage Claims'.

Sara's response of 'no bags' caused a flurry of hand signals of which Sara recognized "no bags…a week…you…" and something else that probably said Sara was a poor wife. Reluctantly, Betty had accepted Sara as the wife of her son, but Sara knew her mother-in-law did not really approve.

They had to wait several minutes before husband and son appeared. Sara had decided he could be as surprised as she had been when Betty arrived as she was leaving for the airport. An unannounced visit, with a friend dropping her off, planned to coincide with Grissom's return, Sara suspected. Sara could count on one finger other unplanned visits of her mother-in-law.

"Gil" she whispered seconds before he saw her—his arm lifted in a wave—and then he saw his mother.

Carrying a bag in one hand, a book in the other, there was an awkward moment as he contemplated who to greet first and how. Sara got his kiss; his mother got a one-arm hug. Sara took his book and his bag.

Grissom signed and spoke, "How did my two favorite women manage to be at the airport?"

Smiling, Sara whispered, "Surprise! And there's lunch planned."

Grissom was laughing as his mother's hands flew in conversation. "Slowly," he interrupted her. Shaking his head, he said as he signed, "No—I'm sorry—we will not join you for the foundation lunch. We talked about this."

His mother continued signing as Sara watched. "Important lunch…meet my colleagues." Sara looked away. If she had interpreted correctly her mother-in-law had stepped over the line by telling her son what he was going to do. She stuck Grissom's book under her arm and placed her hand on his back, feeling the hard tension developing across his shoulders.

He stopped walking, touched his mother's shoulder and signed rapidly without speaking—so fast Sara was lost by his second sentence. She watched Betty—a frown, definitely upset, and just as quickly her face softened and a smile appeared. She nodded in agreement before glancing at Sara.

Whatever had passed between mother and son was gone as quickly as it had flared.

At the car as they put his bag in the back, Sara asked, "What was that all about?"

He chuckled, leaned over and kissed her longer and more forceful than he had inside the terminal. "I told her she was not to make plans for us without checking with you—and we'll take her to dinner tomorrow night. Right now, I need sleep." He kissed her again, "And to be with my wife."

"Did you say the last part?"

He grinned. "I did—it made her smile—and it's the truth."

By the time Sara drove Betty to the college where she worked, dense and crawling traffic had stretched their drive to over an hour. Leaving his mother satisfied with dinner arrangements, Grissom settled into the front seat, closed his eyes, and said, "I am exhausted, babe." His hand came to rest on her leg. "A week of bug experts and I'm talked out."

"Sorry about the unexpected pick-up—she arrived just as I was leaving."

His hand patted against her thigh. "My mistake—I told her the time. Lunch was not mentioned. She's fine—she has to remember I am not her little boy."

Sara laughed. His mother had been in Las Vegas for three years and had not forgiven two things—no, three things—Costa Rica, Paris, and their quiet wedding.

"And how is your mother doing?"

After exhaling a long breath, Sara said, "Same. She would forget to eat if not supervised, but otherwise—she's okay—the same. She's drawing now—an artist."

Surprised, Grissom opened his eyes, saying, "Is she an artist? I didn't know that."

Irony laced her laugh. "She isn't, dear. She just thinks she is."

His hand moved from her thigh to knee, fingers providing a light massage. "It's a lot to deal with, Sara."

"Not any more. She's in a good place, good people. Better than any place she's ever lived." She gave him a smile. "Thank you for understanding." He nodded and relaxed again; his eyes closed.

As she drove, she felt Grissom's hand relax on her leg. She braked for a slow moving truck which blocked two lanes and then traffic stopped. She swore, flipped the air conditioner to high and turned to look at her husband—who was asleep.

As she sat in traffic, she thought of her mother, Laura Sidle, diagnosed years ago with schizophrenia and now residing at Bennington Sanitarium in Vegas. Sara had little contact with her mother for years—institutionalized by the state of California after killing her husband. Then Sara had gotten a phone call as the only living relative—her mother was scheduled to be released. Sara had gone to California, met with strangers who knew her mother better than she did, researched how to care for a woman who had not been in a grocery store for two decades, and found a group home that became Laura's home. That worked for a while, but as she and Grissom were beginning life as a married couple, Laura had a relapse—which became a permanent decline.

She glanced at Grissom, peacefully sleeping, as traffic inched along. She wanted to lean over and kiss him, but decided to let him sleep. She had three days off, so she would wait. Her thoughts returned to her mother. The offer to return to her old job, coming from Ecklie after they had gone to Paris, had convinced her it was time to move her mother to Las Vegas. Looking back, she knew the decision had been the right one for both of them; it was much easier to visit her mother and she did—every week—but only rarely did her mother recognize Sara as her daughter.

At a traffic light, Sara turned right; traffic was slow, but she managed a left turn on a clear residential street and ten minutes later, hit the garage door opener. As the door closed, Grissom woke.

"That didn't take long."

Sara laughed and shook her head. "No, it didn't. You shower—I'll fix food. Then you can sleep again." She kissed him and ran her fingers through his hair—longer and curling over his ears. "And you can tell me all about your insects."

"What if I take a shower, you get in with me, and for a while we forget about food and insects?" He laughed deep in his throat and kissed her.

"I knew I married you for your excellent ideas."

They had learned to be leisurely in their lovemaking—using the shower as a "warm-up" they talked as they caressed and laughed as their passion grew. They forced themselves to move to the bed, damp arms holding each other. Sara fell onto the wide bed, leaning back as Grissom knelt, kissing her wet belly, moving his head between her thighs as his hands slipped across her moist skin. She let herself float on slow waves of desire as he played his tongue on her sensitive flesh; small shocks of sensation swept through her like iced vodka and warm honey, transforming her body into a fluid line of feeling.

She sensed movement as he suddenly lay over her and thrust inside her, gently rocking his hips as her legs wrapped around his thighs. He moved within her, then raised himself so the tip of his penis caressed her small bud, and then he plunged into her again so their bodies seemed to lock together. Again and again he rocked until the threads of Sara's body gathered in a knot and flew apart, giving her the ecstasy she craved.

Grissom's breathing was as rapid as hers as his hands slid down her spine. He kissed her throat, her earlobe, her forehead; he pushed fingers into her damp hair and continued kissing her face. When he looked into her face, he saw wonder and passion and as he continued to rock against her body, he knew she had reached a point of no return. The need, desire, and joy merged in an instant as he murmured her name against her mouth, their bodies moving together, and within them the same thought came—everything was perfect and would be forever.

They fell asleep for awhile; their hands were together, their legs twined. So in the first moments of waking, before opening their eyes, they seemed to move together, encircled tightly in each other's arms. Slowly, they came awake to the afternoon light in the room and held each other for a long quiet time, drifting in warm closeness until desire flickered and grew like a small ripple far out in the ocean that gathers force and becomes a thundering wave. As desire built, they moved even more slowly, holding back to draw arousal out like a long swell moving to shore, lifting passion until they rode its crest and swept onto the sand. The results were a somnolent embrace similar to what had been, drowsy yet wakeful

Grissom could not keep his hands from exploring the curves of her body. "I miss you when I'm gone—do you know how much?"

A smile spread across her face. "And I miss you, dear." Her hands caressed his face. "And where are you going next?" She knew his confession of missing her meant he had discovered another bug to study.

He rolled and snuggled against her, propping his head on a bent arm. "How much time off do you have?"

"Not much—two weeks plus a few days. Why?"

He pushed a curl of hair behind her ear. "Go with me—two weeks. We'll have fun."

"Where? You know I'm not big into bugs."

He chuckled. "You'll like these—they are dead. Been dead a long time." He reached for the sheet and tucked it over their shoulders.

"Where?"

"Drumheller, Alberta in Canada."

Sara's eyes widened. She had no idea where Drumheller was; she knew Alberta was north of Montana. But her dislike of bugs made her leery.

She said, "Tell me more."

He grinned. "In Drumheller there is a paleontology museum—Royal Tyrrell Museum of Paleontology. And not far from there researchers have discovered a field of fossils—lots of insects. We could go for a couple of weeks."

Sara twisted her mouth into lopsided grin. "My vacation would be spent—what? Digging in dirt?"

"Yep—say you'll go," he said as his hand moved from the hollow of her neck downward. "We'll have fun. You're an expert already." He shifted his body so his chest covered hers. "When I told the researcher my wife was a crime scene investigator, he nearly leaped across the table." A smile broke across his face. "It seems he's had good experience with CSIs volunteering at his digs in the past." He kissed her nose, then the space between her eyebrows.

Sara narrowed her eyes. "Have we already volunteered?"

"No!" He kissed her again. "But it's only a phone call away—what do you think?"

Two weeks later, Sara watched as the bright green terrain drew closer to her window and was gradually replaced by the outlying landscape surrounding the Calgary airport. She glanced at her husband whose eyes were glued to a book.

"It's beautiful—so green!" Sara said. "And flat—where are the mountains?"

Grissom looked up. "West side, I think." He looked across the aisle, pointed a finger and said "There."

After landing, they picked up a rental car and then drove north; according to the GPS the drive was ninety minutes northeast.

"Big sky takes on a new meaning, doesn't it?" Sara said as they drove. "It's even a different color of blue."

The mountain range in the distance, white with snow, disappeared behind them and Grissom said, "We'll go one day. We can't spend every day sweeping away sand and gravel."

"Where is this dry valley?" Sara asked. "Everything is so green—and goes on forever."

Grissom shrugged. "I looked at pictures—big deep valley with exposed geological strata." He glanced at his wife as she drove, wind blowing her hair, a healthy blush to her cheeks. "Thanks for coming. We'll have fun."

Sara smiled. "As soon as we find that dry valley—and Drumheller."

An hour later they were still seeing vivid green fields. Houses and barns were few and far between; they could count traffic on one hand. An occasional oil well pumped slowly in the middle of a field.

"Are you sure we're going in the right direction?" Sara asked. Her affectionate laugh sounded like a musical symphony to his ears. In his mind, she was perfection.

Grissom chuckled and pointed to the GPS. "That thing says we are."

"Oh! There's a sign!"

The highway curved into a downward slope and suddenly they were in a valley—a very long gorge carved below the flat terrain of the prairie. As the road turned again they had a view of the town of Drumheller spread across the floor of the valley—trees, buildings, completely surrounded by tall rocky cliffs.

Sara was the first to speak as she slowed the car. "It can't be more than a mile wide."

"It's long," Grissom said. "Well! We just dropped off a plateau and fell into the canyon!"

In a straight line across the valley, the distance was a little more than a mile; it's length almost seventeen miles. Clumps of bright wild flowers spotted the road side with color, but the gray, red, and orange of the cliffs reminded both Grissom's of mountains around Vegas. There were few straight lines; the cliff face was uneven as broken teeth with piles of dust, gravel, and broken rocks every few steps. Yet, people were everywhere—climbing up and down the valley walls, walking along the highway, shopping, eating, working in this hidden low-lying land.

"Wow!" Sara said as she slowed to a stop. The GPS voice gave directions. She turned.

The town was small, old, and heavily involved in two industries—agriculture from the number of tractors and farm equipment on display and tourism. Every third sign and building advertised 'Dinosaur Valley'.

"Here's our place," Sara said as she turned into a paved, dusty parking lot.

The low building before their eyes had probably been a motel back in the fifties, but was now a 'research center'. A long wide porch ran along the front, which faced east. Windows and doors were spaced in a regular pattern between trellises where flowering vines grew. Chairs and tables were scattered around the porch—empty in mid-afternoon.

Grissom pointed. "Down there—an office."

They were expected; a key and a folder of information waited on the desk of a woman who introduced herself as Diane Foster.

"Your unit is the last one—on the end. Cleaned and furnished with bare necessities. You'll need to shop—there's a map and coupons in there," she indicated the folder. "And welcome to Drumheller. Dr. Adams has talked about you non-stop."

The phone rang but before she answered it she added, "He will be back around seven tonight to talk with you, so be prepared to go out tomorrow." She smiled, answered the phone, and waved as she talked to the caller.

In a few minutes, they had unloaded luggage and opened the door to find a small apartment in a narrow definition of the term. Everything was in one room except the bathroom and closet at the rear of the room. Left of the door was a small sofa, a table with two chairs, and a door into the bathroom; right side was the bed and an efficiency kitchen along the wall.

"Well, at least we have one bed," Sara said with a laugh. She bounced onto the bed. "No noise, pretty comfortable." Her nose wrinkled. "Smells like bleach."

Grissom laughed. In the camp in Costa Rica they had shoved two cots together and any movement caused a racket of creaks and groans. And for Sara, the bleach smell was a good thing. "And a nice refrigerator," he said as he walked across the room and pushed the ice dispenser button. "And we have ice!" He opened cabinets while Sara stepped into the bathroom.

After several minutes of checking the contents of the kitchen, putting clothes in the closet, and making a short list for food and other items, Grissom asked, "Well, Sara?"

Sara answered with a soft laugh, "I am the most fortunate of women, Gil."

He stood in the center of the small space and held out his arms. "And you are the light of my life and the joy of my existence."

She burst out laughing and went into his arms for a very adoring hug.

"Let's go for a walk—see what's around us," he suggested.

After their flight and time spent in the car, they were ready to stretch their legs. Grissom pulled a map from the folder and in a few minutes, he was pointing to a trail. "A trail along the river—we'll check out the largest dinosaur in the world."

Their path cut through a section of downtown, through a park, and followed the Red Deer River, and along a long curve, they found the famous dinosaur. Kids were running out of control around the giant statue; Sara and Grissom watched from a distance, and turned back.

"Food," he said. "Around the park, I know I smelled a hamburger."

After eating, they found a small store selling what they needed and walked back to their temporary apartment carrying several bags. Several other vehicles were in the parking lot and Sara noticed the picnic tables among several trees.

"How many other volunteers are here?"

"Only four including us, I think—for the fossilized insects. The big dinos get all the attention."

As they discovered the next morning, excavation of fossils, even small insect ones, was an act of destruction—and similar to a crime scene. Dr. Adams had discovered and uncovered a small portion of the area the year before; the summer volunteers were spread across several hundred feet of parched-looking land. After a brief introduction to the process, Sara and Grissom were smiling and Dr. Adam was handing them a bag of small tools used in the process.

"Make precise measurements, lots of photographs, and thorough sifting. We don't take everything we find, but we do want a record," the researcher explained.

Few tourists found their way to this area of fantastic rock formations in Horse Thief Canyon with its multiple twists and turns and dead ends extending in all directions; the trail was barely a path and sheer cliffs were almost vertical until they arrived at the site. Most visitors found the area stark and forbidding, no tree or flower disrupted the layers of gray and white rock. The air was still and very warm; the only color was the blue sky overhead.

Grissom and Sara spent the entire day, switching from brushing away dirt and stacking small stones to sifting while both took photographs. Several times, Grissom's whistle brought Dr. Adams over—the man could move like a goat along the walls of the canyon. They found an overabundance of fossils—coral, crinoids, a small dinosaur tooth—but no insects. Late in the day, other searchers found a wing no larger than a fingernail impressed into rock.

As it was passed around, Dr. Adams said this was the kind of thing to look for. "Complete insects are rare; the veins and bands on the wings are like putting your hand in wet cement. It makes an imprint for us to find!"

Covered in dust, the group hiked back to where vehicles had been left, drank all the water remaining in their packs, and headed back to Drumheller. Sara learned the purpose of the picnic tables on their return; beer and junk food appeared and the dusty, tired group talked until the sun was gone from the valley. When someone mentioned dinner, Sara quickly declined the invitation; she knew she was exhausted and so was her husband if he took a few minutes to think about it as he listened to the story of finding a dime size Lemmatophora complete with body, wings, and legs in the area they were searching.

Sara was amazed at how fast each day passed. She had thought it would be routine, somewhat boring, and she would tire of the bleakness of Alberta's badlands. But the rocky barren canyon changed continually through out the day with the sun. What had appeared as a vast, barren landscape presented plants and tiny flowers in crevices and in the shadows of rocks. On their second afternoon, they visited the focal point for tourists, the Royal Tyrrell Museum, and saw the results of years of work in the area.

On their fourth day, Dr. Adams asked if Sara would work with two new arrivals, young men—college students, she thought as they approached. Each dressed in the latest from REI, complete with walking sticks, expensive backpacks, radiating an atmosphere of immature confidence. She hid a smile as Jeff and Mark introduced themselves and Dr. Adams marked an area for them to excavate.

Within minutes, she realized she was working with a very young Greg—times two. The boys, she learned, had grown up as best friends in a small town in Georgia. After five years of pleading, begging, and attempts at bribing parents, they have been given tickets to Calgary and a rental car to Drumheller to volunteer on one of the dinosaur digs. Dr. Adams had agreed to take them on because he knew one of their college professors.

Their interest was dinosaurs, not insects, but those groups had volunteers signed up for years in advance—so they had wrangled their way into this group. As Sara watched Grissom and Dr. Adams head into the canyon on some vague trek, she knew her husband had something to do with the new volunteers being left with her.

"Okay, guys, this is how this works," Sara said as she handed Jeff the small scoop and several brushes and to Mark she handed the sifter. She kept the camera.

The guys were hard working and quick-learners; in several hours they had stacked, swept, and sifted a two by four foot area and had a small pile of fossils which they had examined as closely as one would a unique find. And Sara knew everything about them—from kindergarten sand box stories to college lab experiments.

They laughed when Sara said, "I know you guys—you're geeks! I've heard all your stories and not once have you mentioned a girlfriend!"

The boys snorted and laughed. "Jeff had a girlfriend—once!" Mark said.

"Well, it beats having Jessica McCade following me around like a stray puppy!"

Before he had finished his sentence, all three heads turned. Others spread out along the cliff had stopped working and were looking in the same direction.

"Its Grissom," Sara whispered and started running in the direction of the shouting. A minute later, she saw him jogging along a sloping path. Whatever was making him hurry was definitely not an emergency but all the same, everyone was running toward him.

He stopped, wiped his perspiring face with his arm, grinning from ear to ear. "Bring your packs—we've found—we've found something pretty spectacular."

There was a scramble to pick up backpacks and cameras before gathering to follow Grissom.

"What have you two found?" Sara asked.

Grissom grinned. "You have to wait!"

The group followed a path winding across slopes more suitable for goats than people and if possible, the scenery became wilder and more spectacular. After almost an hour of strenuous walking, Grissom stopped so everyone could sip water.

"Not much farther," he said, pointing to a ridge. "Just over that ridge—hop, skip and jump!"

It was more of a scramble, slip and stretch once they were over the ridge. A narrow canyon stretched north, the ground littered with fallen rock and loose dirt and gravel. From the end of the valley, they heard a shout.

Dr. Adams waved from a perch about thirty feet above them. "Crawl, climb up any way you can—we've found a big one!"

Somehow, everyone managed to get up the steep cliff and there, under his hands, was the cleared jaw of a dinosaur. A very large jaw—with squared teeth still in place. Speechless, everyone watched as the researcher went back to brushing away more dirt.

"It's a big one." He nodded at Grissom. "We've uncovered this much of its head and down there is more—sixteen feet, right?"

"Pachyrhinosaurus," Mark said, awed reference reflecting in his voice. "There's one in the museum."

Someone else said: "Several skulls and bones were found in a bone bed north of here."

"There's never been a complete adult found," Dr. Adams said. "But we think we've uncovered the jaw and part of a hip."

In a voice filled with amazement, Jeff said, "Thick nose lizard—1946, Charles Sternberg found the first one."

Sara watched the group as they crowded around Dr. Adams, like priests around the pope, she thought, as he wiped away more dirt. One of the men picked up a handful of dirt and put it in his pocket. She caught Grissom's eye, smiled and made a fast funny face. She stepped around everyone to get to his side.

"How did you find this?"

"We were scrambling around and literally tripped over what Dr. Adams says is the hip bone. He's into insects now, but 'cut his teeth' on these big guys. I thought I'd have to haul him out of here in a body bag the way he was jumping around."

Sara chuckled, softly. "Which one is it?"

Grissom waved his hand over his head. "Big one with that frill flat thing on its head—plant eater."

She lowered her voice to a whisper, "Never knew any of them except a T. Rex and then only from Jurassic Park!"

No one's excitement died down as they followed Dr. Adams instructions to place markers around the site. Using several maps, they managed to locate the right canyon and marked the map as well. On the walk back, they were asked not to reveal the find or location.

"This is significant," Dr. Adams cautioned. "Fossil thieves would be in here over night for what we've found—helicopter them out before the right people can get in here."

The small group was jubilant even after cautioned; a story to tell for the rest of their lives, Dr. Adams clarified, but not yet, not today or tomorrow, and keep the location vague. That night everyone ate together, a secret celebration of an event that would not be made public for months. No one mentioned the very large jaw fossilized in a remote gulch of Horse Thief Canyon as pizzas and beers were passed around the table.

The surprising discovery had an unexpected effect on the small group searching for insect fossils. The next day, and the following days, they became a team, swapping workplaces, learning from each other, excitement in their voices as small fossils were found, a few excavated, dozens photographed.

As they packed their belongings on their last night, Grissom took Sara's hand and pulled her into a two-armed hug. "You've had fun?" he asked. Her nose and shoulders were covered with tiny freckles even though she had used sun screen every day. The long necklace he had found in a local shop looped around her neck, the golden amber nugget hung between her breasts. He had watched her fingers caressing the smooth rock as she had packed.

"I have—I've enjoyed being outside and with this group," she laughed. "And I've learned a lot about digging for dinosaurs—little ones, big ones."

"You are beautiful, dear." He kissed her, softly on her forehead, pulled away and looked into her dark eyes. "What's wrong? It's in your eyes."

Sara slumped against his chest as his arms wrapped around her. She shook her head. "I—I'm disappointed, I guess." She took a deep breath and raised her face, kissing him on his bearded jaw. "I was hoping—you know—this might be the month."

"Sara," Grissom's voice whispered against her face. She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Within days of arriving in Costa Rica, the weeks spent in Paris, and then the well-timed visits after she returned to Vegas, they had thought it would be easy—month after month they had been proven wrong.

Soothingly, Grissom's hand stroked her hair. "It will happen, honey. All the testing says we're good." He kissed her again and playfully wiggled his hips against hers. "Smoke on the rooftop means fire in the furnace."

She answered with a muffled laugh. "I love you, Gil."

Effortlessly, their heads turned, their lips met.

A/N: Thank you for reading.