A/N: I may have taken things slightly over the story's 'T' rating again. Sorry about that. ;-)

If you have a moment and like Grissom in peril stories, then check out my friend's JellybeanChiChi's In The Dark, and if you do, leave her a review!

"A clock ticks for all of us, silently, somewhere."

-Mitch Albom, The Time Keeper.

It sounded cliché, she knew, but each minute he was gone really felt like an hour. Sara tried to keep herself and her mind busy, but her dark thoughts and what ifs were hard to keep at bay and she found herself distractedly flitting from one task to another without getting much done. Every so often she would cover the distance to one of the windows overlooking the street below, checking for signs of his return, only to be staring at passing traffic or an empty street with disappointment.

The tightness in her chest simply wouldn't ease. What if the news were bad, she couldn't help thinking? What if for whatever reason they had to postpone the surgery? Or worse cancel it? What if the cancer had returned? What if he already showed signs of having picked up this damn bug of hers despite all their precautions? Her own health issues paled into insignificance compared to his, and now she wondered whether it had been a selfish mistake coming back when she had been so ill.

So it wasn't altogether that surprising that when, some two and a half hour later, the taxi carrying Grissom finally pulled up in front of their apartment building Sara was at the window looking out for it. Trepidation quickened her heartbeat. The rear car door opened and Grissom stepped out. Immediately he looked up at the fourth floor windows, scanning his eyes over all three, a smile forming when he saw her behind the glass. He was looking bright, and she knew the news were good.

She closed her eyes at the rush of relief that spread through her body, relief so intense and all-consuming that for a moment she thought she might faint. Distantly she heard the downstairs front door clang shut. Quickly she rushed out of the apartment and waited for him at the top of the stairs. Hank ambled over, his ears pricked up in a silent question Sara ignored.

Grissom's approaching footfalls echoed as he finished climbing up the stairs, two at a time it would seem, for he was panting breathlessly when he got to the top. His blue eyes shone brighter. His grin, wide and excited, brought tears to her eyes. Before she could stop him, he had taken her face in his hands and was kissing her hard on the lips before pulling back and staring at her in wonder in the dim stairwell light.

"I feel like superman!" he said, grinning again, and lifted her off her feet, twirling her around once before setting her down.

Laughing, Sara wiped the tears from her eyes. She was so happy, so relieved, that she had no words.

"August tenth. 8.30 am. I'm first on the list," he announced brightly. "I never thought I'd be so excited at the prospect of being cut!" He blew a deep breath and shook his head. "They'll need to admit me the day before, of course, but God, Sara, they said providing everything stayed the same they're good to go. They should get pathology on today's tests back by the end of the week, but this is by far the best shape they've seen me in."

His enthusiasm was contagious, and Sara found herself grinning from ear to ear and nodding her head, enraptured as he took her hand and led her back inside their apartment while he continued recounting every detail of the appointment. The last time he had been so positive and animated was when they had been told surgery was an option and he had taken her to the river and placed her ring back on her finger.

"Let's go out to dinner," she said, finding her voice at last when he had finished with his account, "Tonight. Let's celebrate." Her eyes widened as a thought struck her. "Let's go to the Moulin Rouge, courtesy of the lab."

"Oh, I don't know," he replied, suddenly reluctant.

"Gil!"

"You're still not a hundred percent recovered."

"I'm fine," she laughed. "I feel fine. Great!"

"It's probably all sold-out anyway. These things usually are, days, weeks in advance."

"We could try," she insisted.

"All right," he conceded reluctantly, "But only if it means relaxing sleeping arrangements afterwards."

Sara's smile was very tender. "We'll see."

Betty arrived just after twelve. Grissom had texted her the news, and she was overjoyed, tears of happiness shining in her eyes as she hugged her son warmly. While Sara finished preparing lunch, Grissom gave his mother a second detailed account of his appointment. It had been decided that Sara's illness wouldn't be mentioned lest Betty decided to cancel her trip, so Sara forced herself to eat a little and found that actually it wasn't that bad.

Betty left soon after lunch, the taxi that would take her to the coach station due to pick her up from her hotel at two. As Sara set about clearing away the kitchen Grissom conveniently disappeared, only to return ten minutes later, iPad in hand. Gloved hands in soapy water as she washed up, Sara glanced over her shoulder at him.

"The Moulin Rouge is all sold-out, Sara, until the middle of next week," he said from the door, lifting said-iPad. With a pout of regret, Sara turned back to her dishes while Grissom carried on talking enthusiastically. "And anyway we're already going to the opera on Sunday, so…I was thinking that we could keep the tickets until afterwards, you know, after the op, as a final…farewell to Paris before we go home."

Sara knew he didn't mean his words to be upsetting and insensitive, that he was merely stating a reality, but they pierced right through her nevertheless. Her eyes lowering, she kept her face turned away and silently nodded her head at him while she made herself rinse a plate. "What if you're not well enough for an afterwards?" she wanted to ask. "Shouldn't we be doing these things while we still can?"

She heard Grissom move about in the kitchen and briefly she turned to look, before refocusing her attention on scooping out cutlery from the water and running them under the tap. She couldn't let him see he'd upset her, not today when he'd been given such wonderful news. Moving next to her, Grissom sighed, then gently coaxed her chin up and her face round until their eyes met. His were full of regret and apology, and he licked his lips before he spoke.

"I'm sorry," he said, with a sheepish half-smile, "I didn't mean to sound callous just then. The words were out before I could think." His smile widened slightly. "But the guys intended for the gift to be something to look forward to, so I thought…" His words drifted as his eyes averted from her face and he sighed. "I'm sorry," he repeated, looking up at her, "you know I'm not very good at this."

"At what?" she asked with puzzlement.

His shoulder lifted. The smile playing round the edges of his mouth caused her frown to deepen. "Asking you out."

Head shaking in bafflement, Sara pulled the plug in the sink and removed her plastic gloves. "What are you talking about?" she asked, turning toward him. "I thought you just said the show was fully booked."

"It is, but I was thinking that maybe we could go out anyway." He smiled and shrugged his shoulder, "On a date, I mean. To celebrate." His expression turned pleading. "So, what do you say? Do you want to go to dinner with me?"

Sara's face lit up with a grudging smile. "I'd love to go out to dinner with you."

"Good," he said, "Because I've already booked us a table at Chez Emile." He paused. "For tomorrow night."

Her face fell. "Tomorrow night?"

"I thought you could do with another day to recover fully."

Sara pursed her lips in a pout of discontent. But he was right. She felt better, but not fully. Booking a table at Chez Emile was a nice thought. They had shared many a happy meal there over the years, and yet her recollections were tarred by what had happened there the last time.

"You're not going to stand me up, are you?" she asked with a dancing and very teasing smile.

"Last time I had extenuating circumstances," he replied, his expression darkening briefly before it brightened up again. "Will you wear your hair up?"

The request made her heart flutter. Without thinking, she raised her hand to his face and lightly brushed her lips to his. "Only if you wear a tie."

Grissom touched the spot she had kissed on his lips. "Does that mean you're moving back in?"

They spent a leisurely afternoon together, strolling up to the Ile de la Cité and around Notre Dame, Hank eagerly tugging them forward whenever they showed signs of lingering for too long. On the way back, they stopped at the bouquinistes stands along the Quais des Tournelles and Voltaire and browsed old and new books, postcards and advertising posters. The sun mildly beat down on them through the shaded tree-lined streets. Nothing could dampen their high spirits and good mood.

Afterwards, Sara made a simple vegetarian risotto for dinner which they ate in front of the television. Slowly, her appetite was returning, as was her strength and stamina. Before long Grissom nodded off, and she watched his contented face for a long moment before she decided to snuggle up against him. This self-imposed ban on physical contact was extreme and hard to keep up. If he had caught her bug, he would be showing signs by now.

Grissom's eyes opened, and giving her a dreamy smile he pulled his arm out from under her and draped it around her shoulders, pulling her closer than she already was. Content and at peace, Sara tucked her legs up under her and closing her eyes leaned her head against him. She would not be sleeping on the couch that night.

The loud rumbling of her stomach woke Sara up the next day at the crack of dawn. It had been good falling asleep next to him again; the gentle rhythm of his breathing in the back of her neck, the weight of his arm around her midriff at once soothing and familiar, and sorely missed while she had been away. Gently disengaging herself from under him, she got out of the bed and out of the room, happy to leave him in the land of nod a little longer.

After a trip to the bathroom, she shut herself and Hank in the kitchen. She pushed the shutters wide and watched the first rays of sunlight glint over the rooftops, slowly awakening the sleeping neighbourhood. She felt good and rested, better than she had done in days and she knew that her bout with food poisoning – or whatever – was truly behind her. Turning the radio on low, she set about making pancake batter.

At around six, Hank's whining got so incessant that she slipped Grissom's jacket on over her pyjamas and flip-flops on her feet, and took him downstairs for the longest pee against the nearest lamppost. When they returned, Grissom was up. His brow lifted in a silent question on seeing her attire, but wisely he chose not to comment. Together they made breakfast, Sara eating pancake after pancake after pancake, much to Grissom's amusement. She was definitely better and making up for lost time.

They took it easy for the rest of the day, pottering around the apartment, both of them catching up with their mail and bill paying, grocery shopping and housework. They even started a game of Scrabble they took a break from and never returned to. At five Sara had a bath and lay in the tub thinking of their impending date and what she would wear. How long had it been since they'd been out together like that? Chez Emile wasn't cheap, and she wanted the evening to be special – another memory to be treasured to add to the collection, just in case.

Dressed only in her strapless bra and panties Sara was putting the finishing touches to her hair when she caught Grissom's reflection in the mirror. He stood transfixed, leaning against the doorway in his robe, a hand towel in his hand, watching her. His hair was wet and ruffled, as if he'd stopped drying it abruptly, thicker too now that the chemo had stopped. Their eyes met in the mirror, the breath catching in Sara's throat at the emotion she saw in his.

"You like it?" she asked, turning toward him and gently patting the back of her head.

He gave his head a shake and smiled at her. "It looks―" He cleared his throat. "You look…gorgeous."

A chill ran down her spine. Her smile widening at the compliment, she turned back to her reflection and began applying makeup. Not much, just enough mascara to lengthen her lashes and emphasise her eyes, a dusting of blush to bring out her cheekbones and a touch of rouge to define her lips. She could feel his eyes on her all the while.

When she finished, Grissom tossed the towel on his side of the bed before slowly walking round over to her. Smiling as he bent down he caught her eye in the mirror and gently brushed his lips to her throat.

Revelling in the sensation, Sara closed her eyes and leaned her head to the side to expose more of her neck. His hand moved to her bare shoulder while his lips sought more of her skin. Deep in her core, Sara felt the old fluttering, the sexual reawakening his touch always triggered.

"Thank you," he said in a whisper, pulling back.

Sara's eyes snapped open. "Whatever for?" she asked, bewildered as she turned her face toward him.

His gaze slid down to her chest, then back up to her face. A smug smile played round the edges of his mouth. "For a lovely evening."

Laughing in disbelief, she turned back to the mirror and picked up her perfume bottle, and watched from the corner of her eye as he opened his underwear drawer and took out the first pair of boxers on the pile. They were old and comfortable and slightly tatty, and after a moment's pause he eased a glance over his shoulder at her before returning the bowers and selecting another, newer pair.

"Which dress are you going to wear?" he asked, his brow pinched in a frown as he stared at the content of his wardrobe.

A newly-plucked brow rose. "Who said I was wearing a dress?"

Grissom whipped his head round, and squirting a little perfume over herself she gave him a devilish smile.

Sara did wear a dress that night, a black over the knee number with open shoulders she had worn a couple of times before at some of his work does. On her feet, she had buckled matching strappy heeled sandals. Since the night was warm, she left her jacket behind and wore the silk scarf Francine had gifted her knotted around her neck.

Grissom wasn't looking bad himself, in his pale blue short-sleeve shirt, dark blue tie and dress pants, jacket carefully folded over his arm. He radiated happiness and confidence, a kind of insouciance Sara seldom saw in him. The proud smile never left his lips, or hers for that matter, as, hand in hand and to the rhythmic sound of her echoing heels, they walked the few streets over to Chez Emile. Hank had been dropped off at the Louboutin's and wouldn't need to be fetched until the morning.

It was barely seven when Grissom pushed the restaurant door for Sara. Being so early in the night and in the week the place was quiet, which suited Grissom and Sara just fine. They were shown to a table at the back, where the light was softer, more intimate. Music played in the background. After seating them and placing leather-bounds menus in front of them the waiter lit a single tall candle before enquiring as to whether they would take an apéritif. Grissom looked a question over at Sara who stared back at him hesitantly.

"It's okay," he said, "I don't mind if you have something to drink. We are celebrating after all."

Knowing he wouldn't indulge, that the possible side effects weren't worth finding out about, Sara gave him a smile before turning to the waiter. "What non-alcoholic cocktails do you do?" she asked in French.

The waiter reeled off the choices, and two cocktails Écarlate were ordered and promptly brought over, as well as a small dish of assorted olives.

Sara waited until the server had left to pick up her glass. Smiling, she raised it to Grissom. "To you," she said.

Returning the smile Grissom lifted his glass to hers and they clinked. "To us," he said. "And to the here and now."

Sara's smile faltered as she brought the glass to her lips. His gaze lowered uncertainly before coming back up. It felt like he had something to tell her, something important he wasn't sure he should share. At the last moment, he flashed a smile and took a sip of his drink.

"Do you remember the last time we were here?" he then asked, chuckling as he put his glass down. There was a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

Sara almost choked on her drink. "I'd rather not," she said, giggling.

"No, I meant the time before that. Last year, well almost―"

"Your birthday!" she exclaimed. Her lips pinched, stifling her embarrassment. "We…hum…had rather a lot to drink, as I recall."

His brow rose. "Well, one of us did, as I recall. The other one had to stop the other from singing the Marseillaise at the top of their voice. And badly."

Her smile was wide and happy. "Why, at the time I didn't speak French as well as I do now."

His expression sobered, turning solemn. "Say something."

"What, now?" she asked with a frown.

He gave her a soft nod.

"I can't. Not if you put me on the spot like that." He made a pout, and laughing she dropped her voice an octave lower. "Play your cards right, big boy, and later I will."

Grissom did indeed play his cards right. By nine thirty they were home, laughing and kissing outside their apartment front door while Grissom fumbled his keys from his jacket pocket to the lock. Once inside, they kept the lights off, but there was enough daylight left to see what they were doing and where they were headed.

There was an urgency, a fervour in his actions she hadn't seen or felt in him in months – not since before, a long time before – and it was a real turn-on. Francine's scarf was removed first, then the pins in her hair. Eyes locked to his, Sara shook her hair loose and it fell in cascades over her bare shoulders. The zipper on her dress came down next, the silky fabric unceremoniously left to pool down at her feet.

Her breathing was coming in quick, heavy pants, as was his. In her bra and panties and high heels she stepped out of the dress and stood in front of him. She saw the breath catch in his throat as his eyes roamed all over her body. With a lick of his lips, he brought his gaze back up to her face and staring in her eyes slipped off his jacket while toeing off his dress shoes.

She took a step toward him and pulled at the knot on his tie, loosening it until she could slip it off altogether. The buttons of his shirt were next while he pulled at his belt buckle and undid the clasp on his pants. His hands came up to her face and he took her mouth in a searing kiss while quickly she divested him of his shirt, pants and new boxers.

He was ready, and so was she. All evening they had played and teased each other with looks and smiles and words, and now she couldn't wait for him to be on top of her and moving inside her, for his hands and mouth to kiss and caress and take her to ecstasy. He took time removing her bra, her panties and heels while helpless she writhed and gasped, seeking more of his touch. They moved as one to the bed, and on the bed, their lips, their skins, their souls never breaking contact.

When later – much later – spent and smiling, Grissom slept in her arms, her mind whirled with the fact that once again they hadn't taken any precautions, with the possibility that Greg might be right and she could be pregnant. Oh, it wasn't Grissom's fault, for he probably thought she was still taking the pill. How was he to know that when she had angrily removed her wedding band she had also tossed her contraceptive pills in the trash?

Sleep didn't come for a very long time, and when it did it was plagued with uncertainty and fear.