Disclaimer: I own nothing related to CSI. (Author note at the bottom)

CHAPTER 20

Denis stepped directly in front of his wife, knowing she would go into the bathroom. "Allow him some privacy," he said to her softly in French. When he heard a pause in the retching, Denis came within a few feet from the bathroom and yelled, "Grissom? It is Denis Chauncey. Do you need a doctor?"

Then came the sound of retching again, and the toilet flushed. The Chauncey's could hear water running from the faucet. A few seconds elapsed, then a visibly-shaken Grissom stepped into the doorway of the bathroom. Denis stepped forward to catch a hold of Grissom's arm to help steady him, but the older man waved him off and slowly made his way to the edge of the bed. Grissom sat down gingerly on the corner of the bed.

An uncomfortable silence rippled through the room. Grissom couldn't look at either Denis nor Amalia and put his head in his hands. No one spoke, but after a while Grissom could hear someone move closer to him. He lifted up his head to see Amalia standing over him with a wastebasket.

"In case you do not make it back to the toilet," she said compassionately.

Grissom took the basket with a nod of thanks. Amalia leaned against the edge of Grissom's nightstand. She could tell it was his side of the bed because of the various pairs of reading glasses spread haphazardly and the numerous yellow sticky notes filled with his chicken scratch. She saw the other nightstand was neat and held one book with a mark sticking out at an odd angle. "We are only here because we were worried about you. You did not seem well. And then we got the call from you about the police."

"You were the one I dialed?" Grissom asked. He didn't even think who would get the call when he pushed speed dial. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"That should not be a concern of yours. What happened to you, Professeur?" Amalia said. Her voice was firm but not without concern. "I know this has something to do with Sylvie Martin. Please tell me, so you can move forward."

His head pounding and the regretful actions of the last hour still reeling in his conscious, Grissom took a deep breath. "What happened? I'm an idiot. A goddamned idiot."

Grissom felt a wave of nausea and placed the wastebasket under his chin in case he needed to vomit. When he gained some control of his faculties, he put the bucket down and with shaky hands, he retrieved his phone from his pocket. "In the taxi, I got text messages. I thought there were from Sara. I can't believe how stupid that I was to think that. Should have been more careful and known better."

At that point, Denis stood next to him. "You thought the texts were from your wife?" Grissom nodded. "Grissom? May I see them?"

Grissom nodded his head and gave him the phone. Then he quickly stood up and stumbled to the bathroom. Amalia went to the kitchen, took a dish towel and soaked it in cold water. She took it and a glass of tap water to the bathroom. Grissom had finished with his additional nauseous spell and sat down against the toilet, with his head in his hands. Amalia knelt down next to him and put the towel on his head. "Better?" She asked.

"Oui. Merci."

"Do you want water?"

"I don't think I can."

Denis came into the doorway. "Did Sylvie Martin ever have access to your phone before you received these messages?"

"Access?" Grissom head continued to pound. Then he recalled the night at the cafe when his phone fell out of his pocket into her scheming hands. "I misplaced it during a meeting with her. She found it. Had it for a couple of hours."

Denis nodded his head. "She put her number in your cellular phone book under the name, 'Sara Cell.' I am guessing your wife's contact was deleted. So when Martin texted you, it looked like a message from your wife."

"Bardajona," Amalia said scathingly, referring to the woman as a bitch.

"Oui," Denis concurred.

Grissom began to recall the previous night. Although his brain felt a little fuzzy as he tried to process what had happened with Sylvie and connect it with his innate sense of right and wrong. He stood up and opened his medicine cabinet. He searched for something and came up empty-handed. "I can't believe it," he said despondently. "I can't believe she did that."

"What is it, Professeur?" Amalia asked.

"Sara's essential oils. Her parfum. It's not here. Sylvie used it so that she would smell like Sara. And she talked about the blue dress in the text. I talked about both those things with Laurent in the cafe a few nights ago," Grissom said, stringing together thoughts that didn't make sense to the couple. "And the spare key. I had it on the hook with Hank's leash. She must have took it. Jesus. Why would she do this?"

Between his emotional state and his physical state, Amalia knew he should sit down.

"Perhaps we should take you to the doctor?" Amalia asked as she helped him out of the bathroom. "There is no telling what Mademoiselle Martin put in your drink."

"She wouldn't say if she did," Grissom said, as he again sat on the same corner of his bed.

"I have no doubt she did," Denis said. "I sampled the liquor, Grissom. It was not the same as yesterday. It had been compromised to make you more vulnerable to intoxication."

"She wouldn't leave till I finished another drink with her," Grissom said, berating himself under his breath. "I just wanted her out of my office."

"Grissom, Sylvie Martin conducted many offenses against you - theft, breaking into your apartment, and it is possible she put your life in danger from alcohol poisoning," Denis said. "The provost must know about their violations made against you."

Grissom shook his head. "No, Denis."

"We cannot allow these actions to happen without consequences," Denis said. "She cannot be allowed to play these... I do not even know how to say it, but... games and get away with it."

"This isn't a game, Denis," Grissom said solemnly. "And she will just turn everything around. I'm sure she's thought of what she would say against accusations ... but it doesn't matter. This is my fault."

Amalia took a serious look at her boss, then turned to her husband. "Denis. Eu quero falar com ele." Amalia normally didn't speak in Portuguese in front of someone who doesn't understand the language, but she found it necessary to secure a moment alone to talk with Grissom.

Denis understood his wife and nodded his head at her. "Grissom, I ask you to please think about these concerns, s'il vous plait." Grissom looked up and met Denis' eyes. "Also, I believe it is best these messages are saved, backed-up on in another location. Would you mind if I did that for you?"

"Whatever you think is best, Denis," Grissom conceded.

"I will be in the kitchen," Denis said, leaving the bedroom area.

Grissom head was slumped down, one hand over his mouth and chin. He sat sadly reflecting what happened. Amalia stayed quiet, hoping he might say something. But he did not.

Amalia took a deep breath. She knew how violated he would feel if she asked a question, but he needed to talk about it or it would eat him up inside. She waited one more moment in the silence, and then spoke.

"How far did it escalate?"

"Far enough."

"But not as far as she wanted?"

Grissom took a deep breath. "No. Not that far."

"That is good."

A sad sigh escaped Grissom. "It shouldn't have gotten as far as it did."

"Oui," Amalia agreed, approaching the bed and gesturing to Grissom to scoot over. "You do understand you were not yourself when you left the Sorbonne."

Grissom held back a sob and put his tired, shaky hand over his face. His shame made it impossible to look at the young woman, but his tone was full of remorse. "Amalia, I was rude to you. I truly am sorry. I hope you can forgive me." Amalia responded with a friendly hand on his back. As she rubbed his back he continued to speak. "I was so out of control. When I got here, the lights were off, she... that Martin woman, she smelled like my Sara, she smelled like home. It took so long for my mind to escape this fog so I could realize it wasn't Sara. God, I've ruined us. How could I have done that to Sara?"

"Professeur. I suspect things could have progressed much, much farther. But you realized it wasn't Sara before it was too late," Amalia insisted. "You cannot forget that."

Amalia continued to rub Grissom's back, but noticed he was fighting against the nausea again and she quickly and grabbed the wastebasket for him. He immediately vomited. While she had concern for Grissom, Amalia felt so much anger against Sylvie Martin. She knew the woman had played men before, but her tactics with Grissom have gone well what she had ever done before. And Amalia feared Sylvie might not be done with Grissom.

"Professeur, did she believe you called the police?"

"Yes. She was...," Grissom paused and smiled softly, "very upset with me when I told her to leave. She yelled, 'No man dares reject me.'"

While she was glad Grissom felt that moment as a victory, Amalia couldn't help think the nasty response Sylvie might give to that affront to her advances.

"Professeur, do you think you can drink something now?"

"I don't know..."

Amalia decided to clean the rather smelly and soiled trash can in the bathroom. "I will be back."

Grissom nodded his thanks to his assistant and as he sat, with his gaze transfixed on nothing in particular, he could hear as she emptied the container, then very thoroughly cleaned and disinfected it.

She came out of the bathroom with a very serious look upon her face. "If you will not see a doctor, I must insist you come home to with Denis and me," Amalia said, immediately expecting the look Grissom gave her. "There is no alternative for you. I suggest you take a shower here, where you are comfortable, and if you are sick, Denis can help you. Afterward, we can all leave for Maison Chauncey."

"Amalia, you should just go home and be with your family..."

"Did you not hear me?" Amalia said tersely. She did not enjoy talking to Grissom in this manner, but she knew he needed a firm hand. "There is no alternative, Professeur. Comprend?"

Grissom stood up without word, but with a long sigh went to the bathroom and closed the door. He undressed and caught his reflection in the mirror. If he'd had the strength he would have punched his own image, but instead he turned around in disgust and entered the shower.

Climbing into the shower without testing the water, the cold temperature temporarily shocked Grissom. But he kept the temperature cold as a punishment, and scrubbed his skin hard with his wife's loofah sponge. He knew there was no way to remove the filth he felt, but he needed to do something to try and erase those horrible minutes he'd spent nearly loving the wrong woman.

Minutes. That's all it was. Maybe five minutes, and he had now put an ugly mark upon his marriage. His marriage was something he treasured more than he ever believed possible.

He thought again of those few minutes and nausea reared its ugly head again. But instead of stopping, Grissom began to scrub himself harder. He nearly rubbed his penis raw, knowing the woman had used her hand there. He scoured his chest knowing she had her hands all over him. He washed his hair three times, because he knew her fingers curled themselves in his short locks.

Finally he felt he could cleanse himself against her violations no more. Physically spent, he turned the water to a warmer temperature and leaned against the tiled-shower wall. What had made him so vulnerable? He couldn't blame everything on what he had drank. No. There had to be more. He truly, truly believed Sara had sent those texts. That she was in the apartment. What would make him possibly throw all logic out the window for a situation that was more based in a fairy tale than in reality?

Something truly had broken in his marriage. Now, he had to figure out a way to fix this.

After hearing his wife banish Grissom to the bathroom, Denis reentered the bedroom to find Amalia removing the sheets off of Grissom's bed.

"I thought I heard you say he must come home with us," Denis said in French to his wife. "Why are you doing that?"

Amalia threw the dirty sheets and comforter in a pile on the floor, and searched in a closet for new sheets. "He is coming with us, but when he comes back here, there should be few reminders of this ... catastrophe." Amalia came back to the bed with new sheets, which Denis took from her and immediately started dressing the stripped bed.

"It will take more than new sheets, my dear."

"That is true," Amalia agreed, as she looked in a chest for a new comforter. When she didn't find one, she went with a blanket. "I am so angry about all this. With him, and so much with her." She gestured to her husband to pick the sheets off the floor. "Take these to the car. I will wash them tonight."

Denis picked up the sheets and made his way to the door. Amalia followed him and closed the bedroom door behind her. While she went to sit on the sofa, Denis retrieved his keys but stopped before exiting. "Where will Grissom sleep?"

"Aloisio will have a roommate tonight," Amalia replied. "Which might be good for him. Aloi might be the only person who would not judge the Professeur's actions."

Grissom peeked out the bathroom door to see if anyone was in his room. Seeing the room empty and door closed, he stepped out of his bathroom with a towel around his waist and another around his neck.

He went to this closet and retrieved an overnight bag. Throwing it upon his bed, he noticed the blanket that replaced the comforter. He spied under it to see the new sheets. He knew Amalia must have removed the previous set of sheets. A wave of embarrassment and shame overcame him. He sat on the bed and this time allowed himself to silently sob.

But he only allowed himself a moment of grief. He banged his fist on the bed. He rose quickly and filled his bag. "I can't believe I was so foolish." He grabbed a pair of socks and underwear. "You were an investigator, for God's sake. You couldn't figure out what was happening?" He threw in a pair of pants and shirt. "And staying here without Sara? For what? The integrity of a book written by a goddamned, old fool."

Grissom zipped up the bag and quickly dressed. He tossed the towels back in the bathroom and strode out of the room. When he opened the door he saw Denis and Amalia quickly end a hushed conversation and look at him.

Denis approached him with a smile and took his overnight bag. "I'll be downstairs with the car."

Amalia watched her husband leave then watched as Grissom gather his briefcase. "You are ready, Professeur?"

"Amalia, have you eaten? I might have something here..."

Amalia shook her head at the absurd question. "I will eat later, at home. I think it is best if I go home."

Grissom nodded his head and Amalia turned her back to him and headed for the door.

"I need to go home, too.

Amalia turned around to see Grissom rooted in his spot. Although his skin was pale, his resolve seemed strong. "Professeur, I'm sure in a few days..."

"No," Grissom interrupted. "Tomorrow. I need to leave tomorrow. I need to go back to Las Vegas. To Sara."

"Professeur, it is already late..."

He interrupted again and took a step toward Amalia. "I know you are upset with me, and I don't deserve to ask of you a favor, but could you please help me get in touch with Rene? Maybe he could help me secure a flight back to the states?"

It was true that Rene could be of a big help. As an executive of the Directorate General for Civil Aviation, or DGAC, Rene could be a big help in getting Grissom on a flight overseas. But Amalia agreed with her husband that Grissom had to report Sylvie Martin's abuses to the provost.

Grissom took another step closer. "Please, Amalia. I need to get back with my wife."

After hearing the quiet urgency of his voice, Amalia could feel her firm hand slipping. She wanted to be no-nonsense, tough-as-nails with Grissom, but she empathized with the man. He just fought with someone using underhanded tactics, and he wanted to save his marriage despite losing dignity. And dammit if that didn't cause her to tear up. "Merde," she mumbled under her breath. "Hormones."

Grissom smiled, which broke Amalia's resolve. Her boss screwed up, but he didn't need to be in France fighting off Sylvie Martin. He needed to be with Sara. "Oui. You are doing this for Sara, so we will try."

"Merci," Grissom said softly, as he opened the door for Amalia and closed it behind him.

Gilbert Grissom forced his eyes open. He had been nodding off for the past few minutes even though he sat on a hard, uncomfortable plastic chair. He was currently at the Dallas/Fort Worth airport on the last leg of his journey home to Las Vegas. He wasn't entirely sure what he would do when he got home, or how he could tell Sara what had happened to him. He wondered if she would allow him to go to Central America with her or if they just needed to stay at home in Las Vegas, together.

He silently thanked Amalia for her hard work in securing a flight back to the United States. His journey had included criss-crossing Europe on several short flights, then from London's Heathrow Airport, he had flown to JFK in New York. He trudged quickly through customs with two carry-on bags, then he was pinballed from JFK to Reagan International in Washington, D.C., to O'Hare in Chicago. Now he waited out the two-hour layover for his flight to Vegas.

Amalia's only request was that Grissom contact her by phone or email to let her knew he arrived safely. Grissom hope he wouldn't forget to do that. He was exhausted, but as he forced his eyes open again, he looked around the crowded terminal.

With his bags at his feet, Grissom stood up and stretched as he glanced around. To his left, he saw a young family - a couple in their early 30s with two kids, no more than 7 or 8. The kids had their own carry-on bags, one with Disney princesses and the other with fishy cast of Finding Nemo. He wondered if they were on their way to Orlando for a vacation to the Magic Kingdom.

To his right he spied a group of teens and some businessmen. Each group was dressed dramatically differently from the other. High-priced suits versus ripped up jeans and t-shirts. But both members of the groups were doing the same thing - tapping on their phones, scrolling through messages.

Grissom stretched on more time, rubbed his face and returned to sit on the hard, plastic seat. His gaze landed several yards in front of him where a woman wearing a backpack was browsing through a newsstand.

And dammit if the woman didn't look just like Sara.

Grissom's apparition made him chuckle, yet, he leaned closer toward the direction the woman stood. Her long legs. The single strand of hair she absently brushed from her face. The way she pursed her lips and she looked through the articles of a magazine.

The woman moved inside the airport store behind the newsstand kiosk. Grissom shot up, gathered his two bags and went there as well. The woman moved from the magazines to a quiet corner in the back of the store.

She wasn't just a woman who looked like Sara. It was Sara.

He came behind her and without a word, touched her on the shoulder. She didn't turn around but responded. "Just a sec. I know we have to get to the international terminal, but..."

Then she faced him. Her fairly pleasant look quickly morphed to disgust. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Her tone, while somewhat surprised, definitely held a weight of anger. Even in his sleep-deprived state Grissom could tell something was very wrong. While he found her beautiful, he noticed how tired she seemed. Almost exhausted. "Sara. I can't believe it's you... I'm on my way back home... back home to you."

Her reaction still smoldering, Sara brushed past her husband quickly and without a word. She bolted out of the store, and Grissom practically jogged to catch up to her. He reached her and grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop. "Sara. Honey. Where are you going?"

Sara jerked her arm out of his hand. "I'm leaving. Get the hell away from me."

"Please," Grissom tried to hide his frustration as they stood in the waiting area of an unused gate. "What's wrong?"

"Your bitch called."

Grissom stopped talking and stood with his mouth agape.

"Gloating. About the two of you." Sara shook her head in disgust. "You fucking bastard."

Her venomous tone pierced Grissom's heart like a coal-fired spear. "Sara, please, let me try to explain. That's why I came back to the states...It's not what you... "

The slap to his face surprised Grissom, almost as much as it surprised Sara. With tears misting his eyes, Grissom spoke. "I deserve that... for so many reasons... but, please Sara, I need to explain. I don't know what she told you, but please give me a chance to explain."

"Don't give me any horseshit, Gil. You fucked her. I can't forgive that."

"No. Honey, please. That didn't happen."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man hesitantly watching them. Sara noticed the man too, and forced herself not to shed a tear. "Leave me alone. I have a flight to catch."

Grissom reached for her again. "Wait? A flight?" He recalled her mentioning the international terminal when he found her in the shop.

"Just get out of my way," Sara said.

"Are you going to Central America? Today? But you weren't supposed to leave for a couple of days. I was hoping I could go too..."

"No," Sara said adamantly. "Go back to your French whore for all I care. I'm leaving."

"Sara, please. Why didn't you tell me?"

Her frustration at a breaking point, she pushed him forward. "Why didn't I tell you? GOD! I'M SO SICK OF THIS SHIT! JUST... GET OUT! ... GET OUT OF MY LIFE!"

Slapped emotionally, Grissom took a step aside. He watched Sara join the man who had been watching them. She strode two full steps in front of the man, who tried to match her quick pace.

For a moment, Grissom thought about following Sara. But all he could hear were those final words she said to him. Even as he thought about buying a ticket to her destination and meeting her at the international terminal, he knew she would push herself further away from him.

So he let her go to do as she wished.

It was a decision they would both later regret.

tbc

A/N: Many, many thanks to MSCSIFANGSR (Chauncey) for her help with this chapter. It did not sound right and now it does.
I apologize for the delay in posting. I'm trying to get my act together. I hope to have more soon. Comments, reviews are most appreciated.