A/N: A note about my choice of Mozart's Requiem in the previous chapter. The reason I chose that particular piece of music was because it absolutely DID NOT fit "the mood of frenzied sex" depicted in that chapter. Hence the use of enthusiasm-sapping, gloomy music that the pissed-off neighbour would want to play to dampen Gil's spirited performance and kill the mood. I appreciate it is a religious piece and didn't mean any offence by it. :-)


The quiet, insistent ringing of her cell phone woke Sara with a start. She was nuzzling to Gil, encased in the snug haven in the crook of his arm, her arm laying indolently over his chest. She turned her head and peered over the covers squinting at the digital clock on the bedside table. It read 12.30.

Somehow they had found their way under the covers and Sara lingered in the warm cocoon a little longer. Despite it being midday the room was pitch black. Her lips curled into a smile as she recalled Gil's bowtie flying out of the open window the previous afternoon; Gil must have got up at some point in the night and close the wooden shutters as well as the window, blanking out any light.

Beside her, Gil slept soundly, breathing warm low snores, turned on his side toward her. A dreamy smile adorned his lips. Sara gently ran her fingers in the curls of his hair, forgetting all about her cell ringing. Not for long. She sighed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and swung a bare leg out of bed. The ringing stopped and she smiled, glad she wouldn't have to leave the sanctity of the warm bed just yet. She pulled the covers back over her and watched as his chest slowly rose and fell with every breath. Her smile turned longing and she snuggled up closer to him. She draped her arm over him and wrapped herself around him, intent on waking him up very, very gently.

Gil sighed in his sleep, automatically adjusting his position to fit her into him. Sara was about to gently brush her lips onto his when her phone rang again. Sara cursed softly and carefully extricated herself out of his tight embrace, wary of waking him. She shivered and reached for her robe from the back of the Louis XVI battered chaise she had found at the Marché aux Puces and was planning to restore and reupholster. She listened for the origin of the muffled ringing and located her cell in the pocket of her old black leather jacket.

She frowned. The display had a '00-33-702' international code to France and Vegas number flashing on it but not one she recognised off hand. But somehow, she knew she had to take that call, however much she wanted to ignore it. A chill ran through her as she glanced back at her still sleeping husband as he shifted onto his other side, and quickly made her way to the adjoining bathroom to take the call.

She flipped the phone open and cleared her throat. "Hello?" she murmured cautiously.

"Sidle? Oh good, at last! I was beginning to wonder whether the two of you had fallen off the face of the earth." The man let out a low uneasy chuckle at his own joke. "Anyway, Sara, hi. It's-"

"Ecklie," she cut in with a sigh. Sara felt a tightening of her gut at the way he had called her Sidle. The man was an ass. She turned her gaze toward the bedroom and checked on her husband. Gil was still sleeping soundly, unaware and she smiled to herself longingly as she watched him for a short moment.

Ecklie broke the lengthy silence with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat and Sara pushed the bathroom door shut. "Did I catch you at a bad time?" he continued. To give him his due, he sounded genuinely contrite. "I thought France was seven hours ahead. It should be lunchtime where you are." He paused. "You weren't sleeping, were you?"

Sara closed her eyes and rubbed them wearily wondering whether she should just hang up on him. Could she simply blame it on a bad long-distance connection? But something in his tone stopped her. "Huh?" She shook herself out of her reverie. "It's…Sunday, Conrad. We had a late night." She paused, leaning against the basin and sighed. "This isn't a social call, is it?"

"No." There was another awkward silence and then Ecklie cleared his throat again, dispensing with the usual pleasantries. "I tried calling Grissom over the last week but all I get is his voicemail and he doesn't seem to be picking up his messages because I've left plenty. So I thought I'd try yours instead."

Well, the man was insistent, she'd grant him that. She frowned. Grissom? "He doesn't need to so much anymore," she said by way of an explanation. And she liked it that way. Then suddenly it hit her and her face fell; she knew what this call was about. "Surely you're not calling because you want him back, are you?" she asked her tone suddenly curt and cold. Not now, please. Not when we're so happy. Not when we're building a new life for ourselves.

"Well, to be brutally honest – yes. For a little while anyway, until things pick up." He paused expecting maybe that Sara would fill the silence but gob-smacked at the man's gall, she was lost for words. "You see, Catherine's not coping well at all," he added. "The lab's not what it used to be. I won't beat around the bush here Sara but…we're slipping."

He needn't say more; she knew exactly what he meant. Slipping in the rankings. The reputation of the lab was in question; hell, his reputation was in question and he couldn't have that happen, could he? That's why he needed Grissom's help. Sara bit her tongue, keeping her thoughts unvoiced. "Listen, Conrad," she said eventually as diplomatically as she could. "Your timing's not the best."

"Well, Riley's timing wasn't the best either," he said rather curtly. "She left us in the lurch. Langston's not experienced enough to work the tougher cases solo; nightshift has a backlog of cases that they can't hope to clear anytime soon and the sheriff's breathing down my neck to sort this mess out."

Riley? Oh, yeah, that's right. The girl who replaced Warrick. Well no. No one could ever replace him. Her heart suddenly heavy and pained, Sara took a deep breath. "Gil's only just started here; term's beginning in a couple of weeks' time. There's no way he can afford to take time off now. He's still finding his feet. He needs to-"

"Can I speak to him, please?" he interrupted impatiently. "Hear it straight from the horse's mouth?"

"Not right now, no," she countered defensively.

"Can you at least pass on a message? Ask him to call me back at his convenience? He has all my numbers."

Sara closed her eyes. "What did you have in mind, Conrad?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's a simple enough question to answer."

"I was thinking – hoping – that maybe he could help us bridge the gap until we can find a replacement for Riley."

What does one reply to that? Nothing. She knew that if Ecklie spoke to Gil directly and if he mentioned even in passing that Catherine was in effect struggling with the job, he'd do anything in his powers to help even if it meant postponing the start of his lectures a few weeks.

It was all happening too fast. "How long for?"

She could hear Ecklie's mind process this new titbit of information with interest. That it wasn't the resounding 'No' he had first feared. "A few weeks. A month, two at the most," he replied with newly-found enthusiasm. "As I said, just enough time to clear the backlog or just help out with the paperwork. He wouldn't even need to get in the field." He paused. "Do you think he'd do it?"

I know he'd do it and without even thinking twice about it. She sighed. "I know someone he could recommend to you – maybe."

"You do?"

"Yeah," she replied. A month at the most. No more. She could do that. It could be good for her. Four weeks apart wouldn't be too long, would it? "But there would be conditions."

"Absolutely – no problems. Do you have a number I can call them on?"

"You've just called her. I mean, if you'd be happy to have me back, of course. I'm no Grissom."

"You?" The disbelief was evident in his tone. "I…I thought when you left there was no turning back, that you were done with CSI."

"So did I, but people change." Or situations change them.

"They do." There was a short pause as Ecklie thought about Sara's proposal and then she heard him chuckle to himself. "The lab would love to have you back, Sara. Thank you. This is a big weight off my mind. I wasn't looking forward to having to talk to Catherine about her mismanagement of Riley and of the state of the nightshift and maybe now I won't have to. Especially as you know everyone and how we work. In fact you will be an asset to us, Sara." He paused. "When can you come? When can you start?"

All of a sudden Sara felt scared that she had, to all intent and purposes, almost accepted without discussing it first with Gil. Ecklie was taking this as a fait accompli; like she had already agreed. The urgency and the speed of the conversation had blown her away. And now she could only wonder at the motivations behind her even suggesting herself for the job. Was she doing it because she didn't want her husband to do it himself? Was she doing it because she wanted to help Catherine and the guys out? Or did she feel the need to prove something to herself?

She needed to do some back-pedalling and fast. "I need to talk it over with Gil first," she stammered. "I can't make this decision on my own. Can I call you back tomorrow?"

Ecklie sounded taken aback by the sudden change of mood when he replied a cautious, "Sure." There was a apuse. "Oh…and Sara?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for doing this. I'll be…waiting for your call then. You'd be doing me and Catherine a great favour." Sara remained silent, stunned by what had just occurred. "Au revoir," Ecklie greeted cheerfully, ending the call.

Sara just clicked the phone shut, her mind swirling with a thousand and one thoughts. She needed to think. On autopilot, she tossed the phone on the shelf over the washbasin. Then, she opened the cabinet underneath it and got out a sponge, rubber gloves and cleaning products. Mindless scrubbing would quiet her mind and help her make sense of the situation. After all, she could still decline the offer, couldn't she?

She pulled on the gloves and squirted far too much Mr Propre inside the tub, kneeling down as she pushed the sleeves of her robe up to her elbow. She started her frenzied scrubbing. When the whole bathroom was gleaming and she still couldn't hear any movement coming from next door she sat down heavily on the edge of the bidet nowhere near any idea how she would broach the topic with her husband.

The door opened and Gil strolled in, naked and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He found Sara in her robe, clad in her rubber gloves, sponge in hand and deep in thought, and smiled sleepily, tenderly before doing a double take. "You're cleaning?" he asked the surprise and disbelief evident in his voice. She hadn't cleaned like this in a very long time and Gil suddenly grew worried.

Sara didn't respond. Her eyes were turned in his direction but it was as though she was looking through him. She was a million miles away from Paris. From France. She was already back in Vegas.

He lifted the toilet lid and seat up in one swift movement and turned away. "Sara? You mind?"

"Huh?" She shook herself out of her daze and refocused enough to turn her head away while he availed himself of the facilities.

"Sara?" he asked with a quick look in her direction while running his hands under the tap. She looked up and tried a smile, not quite succeeding. "Is everything all right?"

Her smile widened at his concerned tone. She nodded. "I'm sorry; I was... I'm fine." She tried very hard to force a genuine smile but it came out more a grimace. She looked down toward her hands and peeled the gloves off. "I love you," she whispered.

Gil frowned, then kneeled down in front of her and watched her for a moment. "And I love you," he said catching and holding her gaze. He reached over and wiped a little foam from the corner of her eye with his finger. "Honey, what's up?" he asked tenderly. His gaze wandered to the discarded cell phone on the shelf above the basin and his frown deepened. "Someone called?"

Sara followed his gaze and stared at the phone. She then flashed him a quick grin as she shook her head 'No' in reply. "I was thinking about last night," she said after a while. "It was the best night of my life." Her eyes filled with tears and she looked down.

He placed a gentle finger under her chin and tilted it up. The sad look in her eyes betrayed her smile. "Sara? Honey, what is it? Talk to me."

She made a conscious effort at brightened up and then she sighed with a wistful smile. "I was thinking about Hank. I can't wait for us to get him back from quarantine."

Gil chuckled. "I bet he can't wait either."

Sara became pensive. Gil took her hand in his and ran his finger over it absently. Something was bothering her, he could tell, and it wasn't Hank. But he had learned over the years that the best way to get Sara to confide was not to push her. So he didn't. "Honey, we have another day of peace and quiet left before the beast's return. Come back to bed, it's still early."

She looked up toward him, grateful for his thoughtfulness. She would find a way to tell him about Ecklie's call. But not just yet. It was Sunday, after all. "I was going to take a shower," she said with a grin. "Freshen up a little, wash my hair, you know?" she asked mischievously.

Gil looked at the tub with interest, stood up and leaned across to turn the taps on full. He pulled the knob redirecting the water to the overhanging showerhead. "Mind if I join you?" he asked. "I'm told I give a mean, earth-shattering head massage."