Disclaimer: I own nothing related to CSI or songs written by Eric Clapton.

CHAPTER 13

Grissom sat the back of the Parisian cab as it drove to his apartment. The City of Lights was aglow, it's nom de plum coming to life. He stared out the window at the beautiful vistas, and was reminded of Vegas, another nocturnal city.

Of course, Vegas could not compare to the history, culture and majesty of the European capital. Glitz and tourism cast an artificial glow on America's gambling Mecca. But, Las Vegas does possess something Paris could not hold at this time — his heart, which resides with Sara Sidle in Vegas.

Without his heart, Grissom found it harder and harder to concentrate on his work, on most everything. He recalled his conversation with Laurent and his mind went back to the evening two years ago when he and Sara attended the fundraising gala.

Grissom opened the door to the apartment and allowed Sara to enter before he did. As he locked the door, he felt her hand pressed upon his shoulder. She was using him as a leaning post as she did what he had wanted to do for hours - take off her high heels.

"Ughh," Sara said in relief. "It has been a long time since I've had to wear those things. Now I remember why I hate them so much."

Grissom smiled. "Has it been that long?"

"Actually it has," Sara said after pondering. "Probably since I had a court date when I was working in Vegas. You know, I didn't even wear heels for our wedding."

Grissom stood behind her and enveloped her with his arms. "Considering where we got married, I think forgoing the heels was a prudent idea."

"Technically we were in the jungle," Sara said.

"Technically?"

"OK," Sara conceded, "we were in the jungle. The heels would have just sunk in the ground. But it's not like I was wearing combat boots..."

"No," Grissom said softly, as he placed feather-light kisses upon her exposed nape and shoulders. "You looked lovely then. And seeing you in those heels with that dress... You looked wonderful tonight."

Sara snickered and sank deeper into her husband's body. "Wonderful tonight? Are you going to sing to me like Clapton?"

Without hesitation, Grissom sang, "And I say, 'Yes, you look wonderful tonight.'"

The moan of pleasure from his wife, only spurred him to continue. "I feel wonderful, because I see the love light in your eyes... and the wonder of it all... is that you just don't realize how much I love you."

Sara turned in his arms to kiss Grissom full on the mouth. She broke the kiss and said, "You have an aching head."

Grissom offered a perplexed look. "I do?"

"Yes," Sara said seductively, "And according to the song, I need to get you into bed."

Grissom chuckled as he let Sara pull him into the bedroom.

The soft smile on Grissom's face began to fade as he thought about how much he missed his wife and how they seemed worlds apart these days. He had felt like this before, but he had hoped they had jumped that hurdle of understanding in the jungle.

Despite taking the plunge to retire and seek Sara, Grissom couldn't sleep for a couple weeks after arriving at Sara's base camp. Between anxiety and humidity, Grissom felt uneasy about so many things.

One night while Sara was asleep and he was wide-awake, Grissom searched for his migraine medicine in the tent he and Sara shared. They kept their important documents and medication in a lockbox under their twin cots, which were pushed together. She awoke to find him looking at her passport.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"I'm sorry..." Grissom replied as he kept a hold of the passport and looking at the different stamps on the pages. His voice didn't reflect bitterness or anger. If anything, it sounded empty and lost. "I didn't know you went to Canada last February. Must have been cold."

Sara sat up and gestured for Grissom to sit next to her on the cot. He had his own passport in his hand and gave it to Sara to look through.

"My last stamp, before the one here, was in 2000," Grissom said. "I went to Amsterdam for a lecture."

"So," Sara said playfully, "did you get stoned there?"

Beams of moonlight illuminated her grin, causing him to smile softly.

"Sara... Do you want me here... with you?"

"Of course."

"Because I don't want our lives to be this different," he said as he grasped the two passports. "I'm scared we're too out of sync, and these serve as proof."

"Don't," Sara said, taking the passports out of his hand. With her right hand, she held his, and with her left hand, she lovingly stroked his cheek. "I know this isn't a visit. I know you're here to start a life with me. For us to have a life together."

With a sad smile on his face, he stroked her cheek. "I want that more than anything, Sara. Are you sure that is what you want?"

Her smile was anything but sad. "Yes, Gilbert. I do."

Things did get better between them after that conversation. Beautiful even. But once again, Grissom felt out of sync with her. Nothing had changed about his intentions: He still wanted that life with Sara, now more than ever. But had he done enough to savor and foster what they had? Why were all these circumstances in their lives fucking up the intentions? Why was he letting that happen?

Were his decisions prudent or cowardly? Was he communicated well enough?

And the biggest question, what does Sara think about all this? Did she feel the same way?

Grissom let out a long sigh after thinking that. They hadn't been communicating well at all lately. He needed to call her. Maybe they could talk before their trip. God, how he would love for her to come see him, just for a couple of days. Would she even come? he thought. If I wanted that more than anything, would she do that for me?

But more importantly he asked himself, Do I have the right to ask that?

The cab was slowing to a stop in front of his apartment, so Grissom glanced at the fare meter and retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. He needed a smaller bill, so he checked his side pockets and found some bills, but noticed his cellular phone wasn't there.

Grissom looked on the seat next to him, in front him, behind him and on the floor of the cab hoping it might still be with him. "Shit," he cursed. I hope I didn't lose it in that cafe, he thought. Did I grab it today before I went to the Sorbonne?

"Monsieur, nous sommes arrivés."

Grissom gave the driver his money. "Merci. Bonne nuit." He exited the cab, and briskly walked to his apartment.

Once inside, he went to the bedroom to search for his phone. Next to the cordless phone on his nightstand was the wire for the cellular charger, but no phone. Frowning, he went to the closet to check the jacket from the previous day and then headed for the kitchen. It might have been near the bowl of fruit.

Finding nothing, he grabbed the cordless phone in the kitchen and dialed his own cellular number. If it were in the apartment, he would hear it. As the sound rang in his receiver, he heard nothing, and soon his voice mail picked up.

"Shit," he cursed again. That would mean it was in his office or he had dropped it in the cafe.

Grissom let out a heavy sigh. He really hoped he hadn't lost that phone. Sure, he could buy another one, but there were photos on the phone that he loved to scroll through, especially these days. That thought led him to dial his Vegas home on the apartment phone he still held in his hand.

"Answering machine. That thing's going to be the bane of my existence." Grissom muttered under his breath as he heard the familiar message on their home phone. Although he could have hung up, he thought he would respond after the beep. "Hi honey, it's me. I was hoping I might catch you today. I was just thinking about you..."

To Grissom surprise, Sara picked up the phone. "You were JUST thinking about me?"

He immediately noticed that her voice was neither flippant nor happy nor sarcastic. It was slightly caustic. This wasn't good, especially since he didn't know why she might be upset. "Sara? What's wrong?"

"I just find it odd that you say you were just thinking about me, when I called you... oh... more than an hour ago and you were too 'occupied' to talk."

Grissom rubbed his forehead. "Sara, honey, I didn't know you called. In fact, I've misplaced..."

He paused his thought because of knocking at his front door. A persistent knocking, followed with the yelling of "Gil! Professeur! S'il vous plaît. Ouvrir la porte! Gil!"

"Sara... hold on."

"What are you doing?"

"There's someone at the door." He knew who was on the other side of the door, and he really needed to get rid of her. He walked toward the front door. "Please, Sara. Just... just hold on."

As he took the cordless phone away from his ear, he could still hear the frustrated sigh that left Sara's mouth. He opened the door without looking through the peephole. "Mademoiselle Martin. Is there something urgent?"

Sylvie smiled wider than the Cheshire Cat as she held Grissom's cellular phone and wiggled it in her hand. Seeing he had the cordless phone in his hand, she surmised who was most likely on the other line and said, louder than necessary, "Gil, you silly man. You left this on the couch."

Grissom reached for the phone, but Sylvie simply put it to flush against her bosom and well-exposed cleavage. Grissom pulled his hand away, and Sylvie breezed inside the apartment, his phone in her one hand, and her clutch in the other. She spoke, and, again, her voice was louder than necessary, "Merci Gil, I would love to come in."

"Mademoiselle..."

"Gil, you know you can call me Sylvie," she teased.

"I'm talking on the phone."

"Oh," Sylvie said in a mock whisper that was ironically practically shouted. "Your wife called on your phone. She wanted you to call."

In response, Grissom tersely showed Sylvie the cordless phone in his hand. "I'm speaking with Sara, thank you for bringing the cellular, but could we talk tomorrow?"

Sylvie approached Grissom, who took a step back. It only made her take two more steps forward. "Gil, ça vous dérange si j'utilse vos toilettes?" she purred into his ear. "Juste le temps de me repoudrer le nez?"

Taking a step back, and simply wanting to get back to the conversation with his wife, Grissom waved Sylvie to the direction of the bathroom where she could "powder her nose," as she put it. "Through the bedroom, on the right."

"The bedroom, of course," Sylvie said. "Merci."

Grissom shook his head and cursed the timing of Sylvie's arrival. "Sara?" he said in the phone. "Are you still there?"

"Yes," Sara said, a trace of distance and disapproval. "I haven't gone anywhere. Who was that?"

"Sylvie Martin from the Sorbonne." Grissom let out a deep breath. "I had lost my cellular..."

"I heard. In that woman's couch."

"No, Sara. Not in her couch, dear," Grissom said, trying not to clip his voice. There had to be a reason Sara was so upset. "She asked me to meet her at a cafe to discuss final arrangements about the proposal. She was seated on a couch in the back, and I sat next to her before she, her assistant Laurent and I could move to a table. My phone must have..."

"Dropped out of your pocket," Sara interrupted. "That what that Mademoiselle Martin had said when I called earlier and she answered your phone."

"She did what?" Grissom said incredulously. Now Sara's attitude made sense. "Honey, I had no idea about that. I didn't know I even misplaced my phone until I was in the taxi driving home. She must have picked up the phone immediately after I dropped it. Then she was talking with other people in the bar, she must have took the call then."

"And she felt the need to answer your phone?"

"She had a lot to drink, Sara, and people's inhibitions seem to leave them when they had a lot to drink."

"She's a bitch, Gil."

Grissom smiled. His wife. So succinct. "Well, honey, I hardly spent any time with her this evening. We talked briefly, and then I spent most of the evening talking with Laurent, her assistant."

"About what? The project?"

"Yes, some. But we talked about you, actually," Grissom said. "Do you remember Laurent, because he remembered you."

"I think so," Sara said, her attitude toned down a little. "Younger than me. Gay. Shame. He's good looking."

"He wanted to know what perfume you were wearing that evening."

"And now we add creepy to Laurent's list," Sara joked.

Grissom laughed. "No, he was being nice. His sister likes perfumes. I told him you probably had some of your essential oil mix here."

"I'm not sure if I left some there or not," Sara said.

"You know I think about you all the time, Sara," Grissom said. "On the taxi ride home, … I thought about how nice it would be to see you, even for a couple of days before you left for your trip."

Sara sighed. "Coming to see you? Gil, you're not serious about that, are you?"

Her response made him regret saying that last thought out loud. Maybe he truly didn't even have the right to voice that thought. "I'm always serious about wanting to see you," Grissom said.

"I thought we talked about this... The jet lag alone would be killer, Gil. I can't believe you'd want that."

"Sara, please, I was daydreaming," Grissom pleaded. "Yes, it would be a nice surprise, but I know it's not feasible to change any travel plans at this point. You're leaving in a week."

"OK. As long as we are on the same page," Sara added. "But what about the project? What did you discuss?"

Grissom was going to speak when his attention was drawn toward the bathroom. He heard a toilet flush and forgotten that Sylvie Martin was still in his apartment, something his wife would definitely not appreciate. "Sara, let me call you right back."

At that moment, Sylvie passed him by and said a seductive, "Merci" in the same ear he held the receiver.

"She's still there?" Sara's patience was obviously waning.

"Let me call her a taxi, and I'll call you back."

"You know what, Gil, whatever." And Sara hung up.

Grissom closed his eyes tight. That went poorly, to say the least. Part of him thought he should just let her be, but another part of him wanted to talk to her. To do that, he needed to get rid of his unwanted houseguest.

He rubbed his tired face and saw Sylvie standing next to the door, fiddling with Hank's leash, which still hung on hooks where he also kept his keys. "It's hard to let go of things so familiar, oui?"

"Shall I call you a cab or will you stay with you sister?"

The question caught Sylvie off-guard for half a second. "My sister. She is out for the evening, but should be back in an hour... or two... perhaps I could wait here?..."

"I think I should call you a taxi," Grissom said.

"If you wish," Sylvie said as he dialed the number. "Your wife? She is well?"

"Oui. Merci," Grissom said lightly, before giving instructions to the person on the line. With his back turned, Sylvie admired his ass as she continued to fiddle with the leash and keys hanging on the wall.

tbc

A/N: Not sure how I feel about this chapter. Not sure if I got the voices right. Next chapter will be from Sara's point of view, along with someone else.

And I admit, I cheated a little within this chapter. If you can tell how I cheated, let me know. Let me know about anything. Comments and reviews are always appreciated. If you have the time, just push the review button and let me know about the story. Thanks to all who have reviewed. Means a lot.