"Whether it's the best of times or the worst of times, it's the only time we've got."

-Art Buchwald, American humourist and columnist for the Washington Post.

"Le train entrera en gare d'Etaples-Le-Touquet dans deux minutes. Etaples, deux minutes d'arrêt."

Sara startled out of her trance at the announcement and prising her eyes away from the passing scenery automatically checked her watch. Slipping his glasses off, Grissom looked up from his crossword puzzle at her. "That's us," he said, folding the glasses into the breast pocket of his shirt.

Sara straightened up in her seat, then stretched out her shoulders and gave him a nod. The ride on the TGV was the smoothest train ride she'd ever been on, smoother even than a plane ride. They seemed to glide out of Paris-Nord and its suburbs and then through the flat countryside of the départements du Nord, arriving at Etaples station dead on time.

When purchasing their tickets Sara had been able to reserve seats on opposite sides of a table, affording the three of them a little extra space and comfort in the busy, but not packed, carriage. Grissom gathered their belongings scattered on the table then made to stand up. Before he could do so fully Sara reached across for his hand, keeping him in place. "I'm getting the bags," she said with authority, holding his gaze meaningfully. "You look after Hank."

Knowing it was futile to argue, Grissom simply smiled at her. The train began to slow down as it neared the station, its brakes gently scraping against the wheels. Slightly unsteady on her feet as she got up, Sara reached up on the overhead shelf for the carryon case which she carefully lowered onto the table between them. Hank stood up, moving from beneath the table into the aisle and shook himself briskly. His tail beat wildly. His gaze fixed on Grissom, then on Sara, unsure of the proceedings, worried he might be left behind.

They had a soft muzzle for him, but since nobody seemed to mind and Hank wasn't prone to barking they'd taken it off. Grissom clipped the lead on his collar, then picked up his empty water bowl which he wrapped in a plastic bag and tidied everything away in the side pocket of the carryon. Despite the train being air conditioned Grissom's shirt clung to his back and a sheen of perspiration covered his brow.

Sara stepped out into the aisle and went to retrieve their suitcase from the luggage rack at the end of the carriage near the exit. At a glance she noticed that few people were getting off with them, which would make disembarking a lot easier. Grissom soon joined her at the door, Hank pulling at the short leash, eager to get off.

The train was rolling into the station when it suddenly jerked and Sara lost her balance. Grissom's hand immediately shot out to her arm, steadying her. Their gazes met, their smiles complicit. His hand remained on her arm a tad longer than strictly necessary.

People waited on the platform, necks craned, keen eyes searching for loved ones and friends through the train's windows. The doors whooshed as they slid open, allowing stifling heat to enter the cab. Some people began to wave, wide smiles lighting their faces, others remained searching, worried scowls creasing their brows. The hands on the old SNCF clock showed 10.36.

Grissom got off first, Hank in tow, then quickly assisted Sara with the luggage before holding his hand out and helping her down onto the platform. Outside the station the sun shone brightly, but a refreshing breeze blew, cooling their faces and blowing Sara's hair about her face.

Grissom took a breath, pulled the shirt off his sweaty back. Ahead stood the station's small parking lot, a shuttle bus parked on the left of it, the sign in the windshield indicating that it was headed to Le Touquet. A few people were already queuing at the curb. There was no sign of the driver, but it didn't matter as Sara had other plans.

There was little traffic and Grissom unclipped Hank who swiftly went off to explore, needing to relieve himself. Sara watched his progress with a smile, automatically checking her back pocket for a doggy bag. Next to her, Grissom took another big breath through his nose and released it slowly. "Can you smell it?" he said in a hoarse whisper.

She turned toward him with a frown. His eyes were closed behind his sunglasses. He had a soft, wistful smile on his face. Lifting her nose, she took a small whiff of the air around her. All she could smell was hot sweaty tar, car fumes, and the dry smell of a distant bush fire. "What am I supposed to be smelling for?" she asked with growing confusion.

"The sea," he said, turning his head toward her. The corners of her mouth curved upward indulgently. "Feels good to be out and about, doesn't it?" He reached for her hand and squeezed it vehemently.

Sara gave him a quiet nod. It did feet good to be out of Paris. She'd felt the weight lift off her shoulders as soon as the train had left the platform for pastures new. She'd felt lighter, freer, as if their worries and troubles had stayed behind, waiting for their return.

And she wished it was true. Please, let them have a few days without fear and illness. A momentary reprieve when they could forget, just be the two of them without the cancer overshadowing every thought, every word and gesture toward each other.

"Thank you for humouring me," he said quietly, drawing her out of her musings.

A grin broke across her face. Humouring him? He was in for a surprise, she thought slyly. "Our taxi's over there," she said, jerking her head toward the lone taxi waiting on their right.

"Pre-booked?" he asked with surprise.

"Pre-booked."

He turned toward her. "I'm impressed." He sounded it.

Her heart filled with pride. She beamed at him. "I aim to please."

"They spoke English," he said, deadpan.

"They did not," she exclaimed, feigning affront as she elbowed him lightly in the ribs, and they laughed.

Hank returned, putting an end to their bantering, and they stepped off the curb, crossing over to the taxi. Sara introduced herself to the driver in faultless French before giving him the address of their hotel. Their luggage stowed away in the trunk, they climbed into the backseat, Hank taking pride of place between them. The taxi drove off, taking a left out of the station following road signs to Le Touquet.

Le Touquet was located three kilometres away on the other side of the Canche River and after buckling up Sara leaned back against the seat. She couldn't wait to get there, just to see the look on Grissom's face. Just at that moment he looked over at her and smiled. He was holding Hank's collar with a firm hand, keeping him well-anchored on the seat. Less than fifteen minutes later they were pulling up outside the hotel.

"Jesus, Sara," Grissom said under his breath, his head whipping round in astonishment. A satisfied smile formed on her lips at his reaction. Even she was impressed, reality for once matching the bright pictures she'd seen online. His head turned back to the modern, glass-fronted four-star spa hotel. "A room in this place must have cost a ton of money."

"It's a little above our usual budget―"

"And then some," he interrupted in a scoff.

"―but in the time constraint I didn't have much choice."

Truth be told, once she'd started looking the possibilities had been endless but not cheap as Le Touquet was the type of resort that catered to a traditionally wealthy clientele. A two-night stay at the Centre de thalassothérapie du Touquet did indeed cost a lot of money, but Sara figured it was worth it. She had the money, had worked hard for it. What was the point of working and working and working all the hours God sent, if she couldn't splash out when it truly mattered?

Money couldn't buy them health or happiness, but it could pay for a good time, comfort and top-end facilities – saltwater spa, hot stone treatments, reflexology and massage therapy. She'd read about the health benefits of massages for cancer patients, how it enhanced their wellbeing.

The little voice in the back of her mind was right; this might be their last time at being happy and they needed to make every moment count while they still could. Make some new memories together, some they would cherish when the going got tough. And it would.

Her shoulder lifted, as if it was no big deal. "Call it an early birthday present."

Refocusing suddenly on her, he gave a nod. His expression was pained and she knew he remembered the similar plans they'd made for her birthday back in February. "Thank you," he said, choked up.

She gave a brisk nod, his emotion inevitably triggering her own. The driver turned in his seat, and unbuckling her seatbelt she leaned forward to pay the fare and instructed the driver to keep the change. Silently they got out of the car. Hank jumped off, immediately wandering off toward some shrubbery. Idly, Sara wondered whether she should stop him from watering the plants. The driver hauled their cases out of the trunk and wordlessly carried them inside.

Grissom lingered outside, turning his back to the hotel, his gaze sweeping left then right over the horizon. The view was magnificent. The hotel looked out onto a long, white sandy beach equipped with sun beds and parasols. The North Sea stretched beyond as far as the eye could see toward the shores of England, the rhythmic sound of its crashing waves just about audible from their vantage point. A few wispy white clouds hung in the otherwise brilliant blue sky. The temperatures were in the mid-twenties, hot for this part of France, but bearable compared to the dry Nevada heat she was accustomed to.

"Fancy taking a dip?" she asked, joining his side.

He looked over at her and draped his arm around her shoulders. "I didn't pack my shorts."

Her smile broadened. "I did."

He looked over his shoulder. "What about Hank?"

"You were right. Dogs are welcomed in the hotel, provided they are on a leash in communal area. They even have a doggy park at the back―dog sitter facilities. Dogs are indeed treated like kings in France."

"That's because they did away with their royal family," he deadpanned, making a cutting motion across his throat.

She laughed. "And we're allowed guests. We can get them a day's pass and they're able to enjoy all the facilities – just like a full paying guest. So I thought…" Her smile faded as her shoulder lifted, suddenly unsure of her plans.

"That we could ask Francine to join us," he finished for her. She nodded her head and he leaned in for a kiss. "I love you so much," he said, taking a fraught breath. A lump formed in her throat and all she could manage was another, wordless nod. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Come on," he said, "Let's check in. I need the bathroom, and unlike Hank I can't just go behind a bush."

The room was everything Sara had hoped for, except for the view which gave onto the town rather than on the sea front. But it was bright and airy, decorated in soft relaxing tones, with a large bed that took up most of the space. Directly in front of the window stood a low table and two low armchairs and Sara could already imagine the two of them sharing an intimate breakfast there.

Quickly she unpacked their clothes, filling hangers and drawers, before swapping her pants and blouse for a strappy sun dress. She applied sunblock on her skin, then moved to the bathroom to run a quick brush through her hair. The hairdresser had done a good job, she thought again. Grissom stood shirtless at the sink, splashing water on his face.

"Are you tired?" she asked, watching him through the mirror. "Do you want to rest a little before we go out to eat?"

He looked over at her and smiled. "I'm fine, actually," he replied. "I wouldn't mind stretching my legs a little, do a little exploring."

He paused and stared at her, a wistful expression clouding his eyes. She reached up to him and brushed her hand to the rough stubble on his cheek. He was growing his beard again, at her insistence.

"Don't say anything," she bid quietly. "I've as much to be thankful for as you have." He leaned his face into her hand and nodded his head before meeting her lips for a kiss.

Hand in hand and Hank in toe, they headed out of the hotel, taking the first turn on the right toward the town centre. The traffic was light, but the streets were busy with pedestrians; couples and families strolling about, like them discovering the town, and older local women hurrying back home with bulging bags of fresh produce.

Hoof beats sounded suddenly, echoing distantly at first and then more closely until a horse-drawn carriage carrying tourists came around the bend toward them. Hank tensed, then began growling and straining on the lead. Sara reeled him back while Grissom stopped, his eyes following the progress of the horses as they walked past. His grip on her hand slackened as his expression became distant and melancholy.

"Would you like to go for a ride?" Sara asked brightly.

Refocusing on her he smiled, then resumed walking. "It would be nice, wouldn't it?" he said. "But I can't. The rocking would cause havoc inside."

Averting her eyes, Sara nodded her head. Of course, she thought, chastising herself for her faux-pas. What was she thinking? Their wander soon took them to the famous indoor market, half-moon shaped and teeming with people. They bought postcards and souvenirs – a bag of Berlingots de Berck for the Louboutins, a local specialty hard candies; a brown leather bracelet with an intricate weave for Greg and a bright Le Touquet Paris-Plage T-shirt for her mother. Grissom shook his head when she suggested getting a matching one for his mother.

Lunch was light and eaten at the terrace of a small brasserie nearby. They bought ice cream cones that they ate on the way back to the hotel. Sara went for a swim in the outdoor pool while Grissom lounged in the shade on one of the sun beds, reading his book, Hank lazily stretched out on the grass by his side. Every few minutes she would glance in his direction and smile when invariably he would look up from Allan Karlsson's adventures and wave at her.

He looked content and relaxed, and pain- and worry-free. There were other patrons about, but they were few and she couldn't help noticing that she was by far the youngest person there. Maybe this had something to do with the fact that pets were welcomed while children weren't. The cancer was there, ever-present in their life, but it didn't dominate it any more. Ever since he'd come out of hospital a week ago to the day they'd grown close again, like they used to be. Gone was the awkwardness and guardedness of the first few days.

When she'd had enough, Sara climbed the steps out of the pool, dripping water all the way to her sun bed. There she wrapped herself in the towel and dried her face and chest. Tail wagging, Hank stood up to greet her. Sliding his glasses off, Grissom put his book down.

"You should go in," she told him with a bright smile, "The water's lovely. And very clean."

"Later maybe," he said, non-committal.

She knew a brushoff when she heard one. Laughing, she laid the towel on the lounger, stretched out over the top of it and closed her eyes. When was the last time she had done that, she wondered?

Their day at the spa was booked for the next day, and she couldn't wait. Francine was supposed to meet them at the hotel for breakfast. She had sounded frail and tired on the phone when Sara had called earlier, and Sara hoped she wouldn't cry off at the last minute.

A day a the spa would hopefully lift her spirits, if nothing else. Sara began to relax as her thoughts wandered. She must have fallen asleep because when she next woke Grissom was crouching by her side, softly calling her name. His hand was on her shoulder, his touch gentle and familiar.

"I'm going in," he said when she opened her eyes.

She nodded her head at him, swung her legs over the edge of her lounger. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," he said firmly. "I just want to grab a shower, cool down a little." Pausing, he stood up with a wince, dragged his sunbed closer to hers and sat down on the edge of it. "I was thinking…maybe we could take a walk out to the beach after dinner. It wouldn't be so hot then and…the sun would be setting…" His shoulder lifted as his voice trailed off uncertainly.

Sara smiled at his awkwardness. He was trying to be romantic. "I'd like that very much."

They did have their romantic walk along the beach, Hank running and leaping and circling around their legs. The tide was in, the water cool as it lapped at their bare feet and covered the parallel tracks their footprints moulded in the wet sand. Nothing could wipe the wide smile off her face.

Later, when she woke in the still of the night, she found Grissom propped up on an elbow watching her in the moonlight. His fingers caressed her hair. His face was solemn, but his eyes were full of desire and promise. All was quiet around them, but for Hank's soft snoring coming from the basket at the foot of the bed. The night was warm, the window open to the gentle sea breeze billowing the muslin curtains. They'd done away with the covers, except for the linen sheet loosely draped over their lower halves.

Sitting up, Sara slowly turned toward him and wordlessly lowered one négligé strap over her shoulder and down her arm, and then the other, exposing her breasts. Her nipples hardened immediately. His eyes slid to her chest, then back up to her face, and he swallowed. Tentative fingertips moved to the hollow in her throat, down to her sternum, along the curve of one breast and up around again to the other breast.

Her eyes closed. She took in a breath, held it, and lay back down. The mattress dipped as he brushed his lips over hers, over her chin, travelling down the path his fingers had just taken. Her back arched up, welcoming, seeking more of his gentle touch. Her body writhed, her legs opened. His hand lifted off her, moved to her face, pushed hair away from her eyes and then withdrew. All she heard were ragged breaths through parted lips, two hearts beating as one. Her eyes reopened, meeting his darkened ones.

Her hand moved to his chest, threaded through the grey hairs there, skimming over his heart to the ink markings on his stomach before sliding underneath the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. The breath caught in his throat at the touch and he closed his eyes. He felt big in her hand.

They made slow, careful love that night, each one of his strokes and kisses, each thrust, groan and moan fervently reciprocated. It felt just like their first time all over again, but better, their unhurried, gentle and deliberate discovery of each other made more symbolic by the circumstances.

Grissom fell asleep first, the crumpled bed sheet barely covering his sweaty body. Sara's head lay in the crook of his shoulder, her leg lightly draped over his, her hand on his heart. Her eyes were closed, her tears flowing, quietly, slowly, unbidden, as listening to his strong and steady heartbeat she prayed. Prayed for his life, prayed for more time with the man she loved above everything else.

They would beat this damn cancer. They had to, the alternative would simply destroy her.