A/N: Last chapter! Read, enjoy, write a review! We thought this would be 'the end' to this series, but at the end of this story, we looked at each other and realized we had one more to write! The fun is in the telling!!

Possessions Chapter 10

He hurried, picked up the journal from the swing, closed doors, turned off lights, and was back in the bathroom in minutes. He pushed the padded stool near the tub and sat down, the journal in his hands. Sara's eyes opened.

"This was quite a homecoming. I haven't had a chance to ask about your trip," he said.

"Trip was fine," she nodded at the book in his hands. "Bizzy didn't take the journal?"

"I think, after reading the last page—which, dear, was a brilliant idea—she realized your writings were private. And she realized her dear old dad was on the trip. She said she wouldn't read it. Her words—'put it some where safe'—to be exact."

He leaned forward and met Sara's lips, kissing her with a sudden passion matched by her own. Without effort, she was out of the tub and wrapped in a towel, finding his warm hands around her as he moved them to their bed.

"I miss you when I'm away, after all this time, I find it difficult to sleep without you," she whispered. She stroked his hair, kissed his eyes, moved fingers along his shoulders and followed her touches with kisses.

Grissom had always thought of the sea when making love to her, as though she were liquid moving through his fingers, waves of water rising around him. How many men have the same thought, all believing they are unique—a swimmer in a welcoming ocean, he thought? Here, within the arms of this woman, his heart beat, his life lived.

They had passed from fast, tumbling passion-driven sex to that time of infinite gentle touches and delicate motions. Yet each knew the other as well or better than their own body. Sara knew a feathery touch along his ear to the curve of his jaw while she moved her hips against his always brought a quiet moan.

Grissom had long recognized the gasp of breath she made when he touched her intimately, separating soft folds as he felt the rush of warmth against his hand. He breathed the intoxicating scent of the woman he loved as her leg moved over his, her foot sliding against his knee. Her fingers held his face to hers—later, he would please and take pleasure in other ways, but now she desired what made him a man, and he needed to be inside her. Their emotions, that overpowering desire of love, met in a combination that pleased and fulfilled both, resulting in a tangle of sheets around intertwined legs and exhausted breathing and tender kisses.

Sara had always called this time after sex "the most intimate act" of lovemaking and her hand played along his bare chest. He heard a low chuckle.

He asked, "What are you thinking?"

She kissed his shoulder, the place where his arm joined his shoulder, the place she always fit so perfectly. "I'm thinking about all the years—all the times—we've done this. How little you have changed from the first time we made love. The two little shells came from the beach that day. Looking in that box—why did I keep most of those things? I have you—that's all I've ever needed." She snuggled against him.

Grissom pulled her close and thought of the box of possessions—simple things she had collected in an earlier lifetime as mementos of events—jumbled together, yet distinct. He quietly said, "We are like those things—at one time, separate and dissimilar, but no longer. Together, we are the box carrying all the memories, the real treasures with us."

She sighed. "I love you, Gil." She raised her head to look into his eyes. "I love you for all you've done and will do." She kissed him and settled back against his shoulder. "I almost forgot—our research has been nominated for the Madam Curie Award for its use in retinoblastoma."

"Sara! That's terrific news—when will you know?" He kissed her forehead.

She nestled closer, wrapping the covers around them. With a yawn, she said, "I'm still on eastern time. In a month the award is announced and there is a ceremony in the spring."

She yawned again, her breath warming his skin as her body eased into a familiar and comfortable position against him. He could almost feel her drifting into sleep.

"A ceremony? Where?" His yawn met hers as his body reacted and adjusted to shared warmth and contentment.

Sara's slow breathing indicated she was already on the edge of sleep. She whispered, "Yeah—it's in Paris."

Epilogue:

Possessions or belongings or property can be identified as something one owns and Sara handed her possessions to her children and her husband on the night of her return. Realizing there were other things in her life that were more important or perhaps these things were best shared with others, she happily gave these mementoes of another time to those she loved. She had other boxes of memories—one for the early days of her marriage, another for each child.

Will hung the mask over his bed, seeing in it the possibility of adventure and excitement. He knew nothing of where it had been or how his father had picked it up in an unusual house one night. He knew nothing of the woman who gave it as a gift for kindness beyond the usual sense of moral or ethical principles. It became a play thing used for pretend; Sara and Grissom shared a silent acknowledgement that perhaps this was its best use.

Ava and Annie, always wanting anything sparkly or glittery and finding little of anything of that sort in their mother's box, managed to get the smooth turquoise stone given to Eli and Will. They saw it as a fashion accessory—much more so than a rosary. The gold cross, which had given away their snooping adventure, was shared with Bizzy who eventually claimed it as her own. They did get the globe with the two carved lizards—after all the lizards were twins, Annie insisted. Within days, the two had forgotten most of the night, remembering the kidnapping story of their mother because she was the beautiful heroine who married the story's hero—their dad.

Eli let his sisters and his brother keep those objects they wanted and he asked for the medal with his mother's name engraved on one side. He hung it beside his bed and for several years, he used it as a talisman, a lucky charm, as he studied. Sara was the first to notice how he held it between the fingers of his left hand as he worked math problems. He also sat the small owl above his desk; Sara had described it as a gift from a professor and Eli liked the sound of "Professor Grissom."

The rosary became Bizzy's, as did the gold cross. She also asked for the tour book on Costa Rica and had her mother mark the place where she had worked in the rain forest. The child read the book from cover to cover—she would have asked for the entomology text, but she did not. She knew the book, as well as the pressed leaves and flowers inside, were special to her mother. She found another insect book that belonged to her dad and read it, marking pages, learning to ask questions that often puzzled him but together they found an answer or the possibilities of an answer.

…When Bizzy entered the kitchen the following morning, after a late night and all the turmoil and muddle of her confused thinking, she found her mom and dad in the dining room looking at old photographs and reading the papers from the box. Both were laughing. She watched from the kitchen as they bent together, radiating some unconscious aura—something that Bizzy could not name, yet. Her mother had always been beautiful, but in the morning light, she looked younger, something pleased her, the child thought.

Her father—to his daughter, he had always been the most handsome man she knew—his white hair contrasting to her mother's dark head—laughed in a deep chuckle as his eyes rested on Sara. A thought struck Bizzy—they are like one person, never content without the other. She giggled at her thought causing both to look in her direction; her father motioned for her to join them.

A month later, Sara received an email followed by a telephone call. Their research had won the award. Paris, Sara thought, was such a long way away; she sent her regrets.

A/N: Thanks for reading--now send us a comment, a word or two! We'll have a little Christmas fanfic ready soon--write what those CSI writers will not!!