"I asked an old man: Which is more important, to love or be loved?

The old man replied: Which is more important to a bird, the left wing or the right wing?"

-Unknown.

No sooner had Grissom pushed the heavy wooden door to their apartment building that Hank appeared. He was giving small, excited yelps. His tail was wagging manically as he pushed his way past his master directly headed to Sara standing behind him. Laughing, Sara bent down to pat him warmly while avoiding his overjoyed attempts at licking her face. Madame Louboutin came out of her apartment, her bright smile fading on catching sight of Sara who still wore the face mask.

Concerned eyes flicked to Grissom who explained about Sara's bout of food poisoning, or gastric flu, the local pharmacist couldn't be sure - Grissom had insisted on stopping by one on the way back from the airport - but whatever it was sounded either viral or bacterial so Grissom needed to take extra precaution. Nothing warranting a doctor's visit though.

Sara lifted the pharmacy bag she was holding for good measure. Madame Louboutin's expression saddened and she nodded her head sympathetically, assuring both of them warmly to just let her know if she could be of help. Thanks were said, and Madame Louboutin left them to it.

"I thought your mother would be minding him," Sara remarked, nodding toward Hank rushing past them as slowly they set off up the stairs.

"She would have normally." He gave her a smile. "She's at her hotel, packing."

Surprise registered on Sara's face. Betty had been adamant she would stay the course of Grissom's recovery. "Packing? She's going home? Something's happened?"

"No," Grissom laughed. "Nothing like that. She just thought we'd want a little time to ourselves."

Reaching the first landing, Sara stopped to catch her breath, and Grissom followed suit. Hank who was already on the next landing retraced his steps, watching them eagerly and clearly wondering at the delay. "You didn't say anything to her, did you?"

"No. She just saw this last minute four-day trip to see the chateaux in the Loire Valley. She found a tour operator online that specialises in trips for the disabled. They're based in Paris, and have found her a travel companion who can interpret. She's leaving tomorrow afternoon and coming back Friday."

Sara set off again, Grissom on her heels, Hank overshooting both of them. "Just in time for the opera."

"Indeed."

She glanced over her shoulder. "Can't have been cheap."

Grissom's shoulder lifted. "I think this cancer has given her a little perspective too."

Sara slowed down her pace a fraction, but carried on past the third floor. "She never said anything," she remarked, slightly bewildered.

"You two kept in touch?" he asked with surprise.

Sara pinched her lips at her lapse, then turned toward him. "Maybe?"

His head was shaking in disbelief. "I think she wanted to be sure you were on your way back before she booked the trip."

When they reached their front door Hank was already waiting. "And the two of you…"

Key in hand, he stepped past her and unlocked the door. "We talked. It was nice to be able to catch up with her, you know? Spend some unhurried time together."

Grissom opened the door, and let Sara and Hank into the apartment before going in with the carryon case, which he unceremoniously dumped into the lobby. "Are you hungry?" he asked, taking her purse and pharmacy bag from her, headed straight for the kitchen, Hank close on his heels.

Sara took her boots and jacket off, followed them into the kitchen and pulled a chair out from under the table, onto which she tiredly fell. The four flights of stairs had taken their toll on her, and she was beginning to appreciate how tough it must be for him on a daily basis. Hank alternated between noisily lapping at his water and crunching on his dry food, and smiling she turned toward him.

Grissom filled two glasses of water, one he set on the table in front of her before rummaging into the pharmacy bag he'd dumped on the worktop with her purse and pulling out a box of Efferalgan.

Then he popped one large tablet out of its protective packaging, dropped it in her glass, and entranced Sara watched it dissolve. He paused before slowly easing himself down on his haunches next to her. Slowly he eased a finger behind her left ear, and then the other, unhooking the mask from her face.

"You're not coughing," he said, when she turned questioning eyes to him, "Or sneezing. And you haven't been sick for what? Twelve, fifteen hours?"

"Gil―"

"And I promise to fight the urge to kiss you."

Sara's face softened with a tired smile, and she lifted her hand to stroke his clean-shaven cheek.

"It'll grow back," he said with a lift of his shoulder to her silent "You didn't have to do that for me", and sighed. "I'm glad you made it back safely."

"So am I."

Hank trotted over, nudging Grissom out of the way to place his head on her lap.

"Good job I'm not the jealous type," he said, laughing as he pushed up to his feet with a wince while Sara stroked her hand up and down Hank's snout.

Feeling Grissom's eyes on her she looked up.

"I don't know which one of us missed you the most," he said musingly, and gave her a soft smile. "So, you hungry? You want to eat something? I could make you some dry toast, or plain pasta. It would help you get some of your strength back."

The thought of eating made her nauseous. "No," she said, pulling a face, and motioned to her glass. "I'll stick to my liquid food. Seems to be doing the trick." Picking up the glass, she brought it to her lips, wincing at the bitter taste as she took a small sip and then another. "But what about you?" she said, putting down the glass. "You must be hungry." Weakly she tried to stand but Hank made it hard to.

"Madame Louboutin made the lentil dish you like so much. I can have some of that later. The rest'll keep until tomorrow when you feel better."

Sara nodded her head. Her eyes slowly drifted shut of their own accord before she forced them open.

"Honey, you're done in. You want me to run you a bath before you go to bed?"

"I'd love a bath," she said, a wistful smile forming on her face at the thought of just lying there soaking in hot water.

Pushing off the counter, he finished his water and placed his glass in the sink. "Leave it with me," he said, turning back to her. He made to go, then thought better of it. "Why don't you go sit on the couch?" he said, picking up her glass, "you'll be more comfortable there. The tub's going to take a while filling anyway."

Sara gave him a grateful nod, then let him help her to her feet and over to the couch, with Hank following closely behind. Once seated, Sara leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Hank circled the spot at her feet before lying down on top of them. His weight and warmth felt good and comforting.

"Maybe you'd be more comfortable lying down," Grissom said.

"I'm good," she said, keeping her eyes shut. She could feel Grissom's concerned gaze on her, and just as she was giving him what she hoped was an appeasing smile she felt his lips brush against her forehead. Her eyes reopened.

"You stay put," he said, pulling back and thrusting her glass into her hand, "And keep sipping that. I won't be long."

Later in the bathroom, Grissom helped Sara undress, piling her clothes in a corner of the room ready for washing before helping her into the tub. The hot water was soothing, and her eyes closed as she sank down into it and leaned her head on a hand towel Grissom had folded against the edge of the tub.

"I'm going to make myself some dinner and then I'll come back and put you to bed." She heard the bathroom door open. "Don't fall asleep," he bid quietly as he left.

"Gil!" Sara called, and the door reopened. She smiled at him. "Thank you. I'll be back to normal tomorrow."

"It's okay. I don't mind. I'm rather enjoying it, actually," he said, and she threw him a puzzled look, "Looking after you, as opposed to you looking after me all the time."

When he returned some twenty minutes later, Sara hadn't moved one iota. "You ready to come out," he asked, "The water's must have gone cold."

Reopening her eyes Sara nodded at him and sat up. He was holding a folded pair of pyjamas and a clean bath towel. Her dirty clothes had gone from the floor and she knew he'd already put them in the washing machine. She used a little shower gel to wash with, quickly rinsed herself before stepping out of the tub into the awaiting towel.

Grissom closed the towel around her and gently rubbed her dry. "I was thinking that I should text Greg and tell him I made it in one piece," she said, as she slipped into her comfy pyjamas. "I meant to do it earlier but I forgot."

"Why don't you finish getting ready here while I do it?" Grissom said, a suggestion she accepted with a grateful smile.

Sara let the tub water out, then thoroughly brushed her teeth and combed her hair. It could have done with washing, but right now she couldn't be bothered. In the bedroom, she looked through the closet for a spare blanket and grabbed her pillow, taking everything to the lounge. When she got there Grissom was putting her cell away in her purse.

"All done," he said, turning toward her, his brow pinching suddenly. "Honey, what are you doing?"

She looked at the bundle in her arms. "I'm going to sleep on the couch."

"Sara, no," he argued.

She dumped her armload onto said couch. "I can't―we can't run the risk of you getting sick."

"And we're not."

"You've been doing so well, and…I don't want to…jeopardise things for you. You got your check-up tomorrow, and―"

He stared at her with disbelief. "I don't think I'm going to catch food poisoning – or the gastric flu – from simply lying next to you in our bed."

Her smile was wide and amused. "Gil, this isn't up for negotiation."

"We can draw a line if you want," he added in a sigh, "clearly delineate both halves of the bed and I promise not to stray over to your side. No touching, or kissing, or hugging, or anything that could compromise―"

"Gil," she cut in, "I'm sorry, but we can't. I'll be breathing all over you. And what if I get sick again?"

"What if I turn my back on you, then you won't be breathing all over me."

Sara's face softened tenderly. "It's just too risky. It's already risky as it is. I wish I wasn't sick but…" her words drifted in a powerless shrug.

"Then you take the bed," he said, firmly.

"Don't be silly. This couch is far too small for you, and uncomfortable."

A look of puzzlement crossed his face. "As it is for you."

"I'm more…bendy than you."

His lips twisted, grudgingly granting her the point.

"It's only for two nights, three at the most," she insisted.

"It's already been two weeks."

She sighed. Her hand lifted to his face but she didn't make contact. "I know."

In the end, Sara won the argument. Grissom helped her get settled onto the couch and tucked her in under the blanket. Then he switched on the TV with the sound on low and closed all the shutters, shutting out the last of the sunlight. Hank resumed his spot on the carpet next to her and she lowered her hand to him, idly patting his side while her eyes tiredly followed the action on the screen.

"You need anything?" Grissom asked, and she shook her head in reply before tapping her free hand to the back of the couch invitingly.

Grissom didn't need to be asked twice. Gently, he raised her lower legs under the blanket and sat down. Smiling, he lowered her feet onto his lap and kept his hands on them. They were warm and soft and strong and familiar. Sara could already feel herself drift off and this time she didn't fight off the feeling. She was cosy and relaxed and pain-free, if tired and lethargic, but home at last.

When she next woke, the television was off, the apartment in total darkness except for a small shaft of streetlight coming in through the shutters. Hank's soft snoring drifted up to her from the floor. The digital clock on the DVD player told her it was 4.30 am. She was thirsty, and gently raising herself up to a sitting position she reached for the fresh glass of water Grissom had left for her and drank from it. She felt remarkably rested. As quietly as she could she got up and padded in the dark to the bathroom. Hank didn't wake.

Grissom had left the bedroom door ajar, and noiselessly Sara pushed it open wider and went in. He lay on his side facing toward the door, and as she stared at him she had a clear recollection of the first time she had watched him sleep when she suspected, but didn't know yet, he had cancer. The top of his shoulders were bare, which surprised her, and idly she wondered whether he'd gone to sleep in the nude.

Instinctively she moved closer to the bed, but resisted the temptation to lift the bed sheet and check. The empty space beside him beckoned to her, warm and enticing. Hers. She longed to slip in under the covers next to him, wrap her arms around his sleeping body and nestle herself against his beating heart. But she knew she couldn't, and so she just reached out her hand to him, a freshly washed hand, and watched him sleep for a moment.

Whatever ailment, whatever bug, she'd picked up she would recover from whereas his recovery was still so fraught and uncertain. She hadn't told him yet, but she knew she wouldn't be able to go with him for his pre-op check-up. He had enough on his plate without worrying about her on top of everything else. She'd take it easy for a day or two, stay in and rest and start to eat again so she got her strength back quicker.

Grissom let out a breath, and drawn out of her musings she took a step back, ready to make her retreat. He stirred a little, scratching at some invisible dust on the side of his nose before turning over onto his back and then onto his other side. His arm moved toward the empty space, toward where she should be lying, as though instinctively seeking her body, and it warmed her heart to see him to that.

Noiselessly she padded backward to the door and returned to her makeshift bed on the couch. Hank looked up, then stood up and shook himself. The medal on his collar rattled and Sara shushed him quietly, telling him to go back to sleep, that it wasn't time for walkies yet. She knew sleep wouldn't come again, not for a while, and she just lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling and thinking things over.

After a moment, Hank's head lifted off the floor, ears pricked up and twitching, turning toward the doorway. She too looked over, expectantly waiting to see what had caught his attention. Her face softened with a smile on hearing the wooden floor softly creak as though someone went to great pains to walk without making a sound. Hank stood up, tail wagging animatedly.

"Gil?" she called in a loud whisper.

The floor creaking intensified and Grissom popped his head round the door. He looked bleary-eyed and adorable clad only in pyjama bottoms, an empty glass of water in his hand. She smiled. "Not as stealth-like as I would have liked," he quipped, scratching at his chest.

"I was awake."

"You're not feeling well?"

She shook her head. "Bathroom call, and then I couldn't go back to sleep." Smiling wider, she shuffled up into a sitting position against the armrest and beckoned him in. "What are you doing up?"

"Same," he said with a lift of his shoulder before bending down to ruffle Hank's coat. "I was just going to check on you too, you know, see if you needed anything." He looked up at her and smiled. "Need anything?"

"Got everything I need here," she said, watching him intently as a thought occurred. They were both awake so why not? "Actually, can you get my purse? It's in the kitchen, I think."

Nodding, Grissom disappeared out of the door, Hank leisurely following behind, only for them to return seconds later with her purse. Grissom was about to turn to light on in the lounge when he thought better of it and reached back around the corner to switch on the lobby light instead. Diffused light entered the room, casting everything in soft shadows.

"There's an envelope inside," she said, "From the lab. They said to open it together."

Lips pursed in surprise, Grissom looked through her purse for the envelope. Once he'd found it, he handed it to her. "Let me get my glasses," he said, once again leaving the room.

When he returned, he'd put on his pyjama top. She lifted her legs up under the blanket, and just as he had done earlier he sat down and gently laid her legs over his lap.

"You open it," she said, holding the envelope back to him.

Reaching over to turn the side light on, Grissom slipped his glasses on. Then using his finger as a knife he cleanly tore the envelope open, and pulled out a card. Smiling, he read the message embossed at the front before lifting it in her eye line – A Bouquet of Good Wishes. A smaller envelope fell out from inside the card's fold when Grissom opened it. He picked it up and passed it to her, then chuckling to himself proceeded to read all the messages.

"God, Sara," he said, turning toward her, "everybody's signed it." He refocused on the card. "Hodges, Henry, Doc, even David Phillips. Brass!"

"I think they all know," she said, "even if I didn't tell them."

"It's okay," he said, giving her a smile. "Some of these people I don't even know, never even met."

She smiled. "They all know you, through me."

He looked over at her and gave a grave nod. "What's in the second envelope?"

Sara carefully tore into the envelope and pulled out a colour printout of an e-gift voucher - dinner and latest cabaret show Féerie for two at the Moulin Rouge for a date of their choice. Pinching her lips to stifle her amusement, she read out the handwritten message inside the card, "From all your friends in Vegas, something to look forward to," before passing him the printout. Grissom scanned his eyes over it before bursting into a disbelieving chuckle and turning toward her with a question in his eyes.

"I didn't know anything about it," she defended vehemently. "But it is something to look forward to, isn't it?"

Reaching over, he brushed hair away from her eyes. "It is," he said, before his gaze lowered and he fell into a contemplative silence.

"You okay?" she asked, dipping her head to catch his eye.

Still looking somewhat distracted, he smiled and nodded his head. Then, he put down the printout and card and took off his glasses. Something was weighing on his mind, she could tell. "Sara," he said, and lifted her legs to reposition himself so he faced her. There was uncertainty in his gaze now, and it worried her. "About the check-up at the hospital this morning. I think―well, I was thinking that maybe…it'd be better if…"

"If I stayed here," she finished for him, and reached out her hand for his. "I was thinking the same."

He took her hand and squeezed it. "They just want to make sure I'm well enough for the op. They'll take more blood, a urine sample, check my heart and put me through a short physical – confirm the date. Talk about anaesthesia, that kind of things. But I've done everything they asked – taken all the meds, eaten the right food, exercised." He paused and squeezed her hand again. "It'll all be terribly routine. A formality."

Nodding, Sara gave him a shaky smile. "I hope so," she thought, but didn't say.

At eight-thirty sharp, the taxi Grissom had booked sounded its horn. Grissom was ready, and after checking one last time that Sara had everything she needed he left. He'd tried to hide his own worry and apprehension, but she'd seen it clearly reflected in his eyes. Standing at the kitchen window, she watched as he came out of the building and looking up toward her with a smile climbed into the rear of the cab. The Mercedes sped off and Sara followed its progress until it disappeared out of sight.

With a heavy heart and ready for the wait, she turned her attention to the vast expanse of grey slate roofs and cloudless blue sky ahead. The day promised to be hot and bright, and after lunch, if she felt up to it, they had planned to take a slow walk up to the Seine and back. Hank nuzzled the side of her leg and she reached down to stroke behind his ears.

"He's going to be all right, isn't he?" she asked, looking down. Panting, Hank stared back at her expectantly. "Isn't he?"