Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Okay, so sorry for the delay! This is the last chapter, and I rewrote it about twenty times, so I hope you like it. Epilogue will be up either tonight or tomorrow-if you end up reading this after the epilogue is posted, and choose to not leave two separate reviews, I would still appreciate it if you address both chapters in the one review you do leave. :) It's not that I'm greedy-I just want feedback!

Enjoy!

Chapter One Hundred and Two:

Ugh. I was never, never having sex again.

I mean, don't get me wrong, it had been…amazing… Really. …Last night.

This morning, it was just…well, painful, to be honest. My whole body hurt, and not in that gentle, easy to ignore kind of way. …And it wasn't the localized pain of having rough sex, which we certainly hadn't done. No, it was the all-over pain of little-used muscles being put to work, but it was deep and pervading and…awful.

Ayla started crying, and when I ignored her—Yes, that's right, blatantly ignored my crying child—Gil got out of bed to get her. I felt guilty, and tried to sit up… and then promptly decided there was no way I was managing that feat today.

We were never doing that, ever again. I stretched slowly and groaned, letting myself snuggle deeper into the warmth around me. The next time I opened my eyes, Gil and Ayla were both sitting on his side of the bed, the room was much brighter, and French cartoons were playing on the television, keeping Ayla's gaze fixed. I blinked blearily and Gil smiled at me, the precise curve of his lips a little smug. I closed my eyes to prevent myself from rolling them and wiped the sleep from them before sitting up slowly. "What time is it?"

"Mmm, going on noon. Coffee?" He offered me, and I noticed a tray sitting on his nightstand.

"Please. Breakfast?" He passed the entire tray over Ayla's head and into my lap. Most of the food was still warm, though not hot, and it looked like he and Ayla had already eaten. I glanced at the pair of them, Ayla sitting between Gil's pajama-clad legs, her wet head pressed back against his bare chest, and his own wet curls telling me they'd had a father-daughter shower this morning. I leaned over and kissed his bare shoulder. "I love you, husband."

The flash in his eyes, then… the way his smile turned from smug to watery and his eyes got just a little bit wider… it told me everything I ever needed to know, and more. I ate, snuggled Ayla a bit, and within the hour Gil put her to bed for me, and then gallantly attempted to carry me into the bathroom for a hot soak in the tub. I say attempted not because I doubted he could lift me normally, but it seemed like I wasn't the only sore one this morning. Instead, we walked in together, me limping a little, arms around each other. And this part was almost better than the sex… sitting in the Jacuzzi tub with him, laying back against his solid, strong, masculine chest, letting the hot water soothe and relax.

I'm pretty sure I slept, for at least a few minutes, but he didn't seem to mind. He put his knees up, underneath me, to keep me from sliding out of his lap, and his arms gently around me, keeping me in place and close to him. And I wasn't limping, when we finally got out, so that was a plus.

We had another week in Paris, and we both had a list of things we wanted to see… famous cathedrals and landmarks and museums. But everything was, of course, scheduled around Ayla's naps. Still, there was something serene in the simple pattern of living we'd slipped into. Wake up, take a family shower, dress for the day, go downstairs and eat breakfast… walk or take a taxi to the Louvre or the Musée d'Orsay or the Arc de Triomphe, and then come back to grab a quick lunch and put Ayla down. Then we'd have quiet time together, to plan our afternoon's adventure or to catch a nap ourselves or to simply sit together, close, and enjoy just being able to touch each other freely. …It was a luxury a long time in coming. When Ayla woke we'd make a trip to the Hôtel de Ville or the Sainte-Chapelle or the Dôme des Invalides. And at night, we'd eat, play with Ayla for a little down time after supper, and curl up in bed.

We didn't make love for days after that first night of marital bliss—I was seriously sore. And, to be perfectly candid, I think I enjoyed sex more with fewer orgasms. It was just too much—almost painful, near the end, despite how small they were. In fact, there was only one other occasion for the remainder of our honeymoon. It was on the day we went to Montmartre. Gil was the one excited to see it, and he purchased several souvenirs for his mother, explaining how the region had been home to any number of artists and composers—Matisse, Renoir, Pissarro, Toulouse-Lautrec, Picasso, Satie. But we did see other things in the area—Le Moulin Rouge, Le Chat Noir, and then ended the day at the Sacré-Couer Basilica.

We were outside the famous scarlet windmill and, unbeknownst to me, Gil and Ayla had trailed behind me, Gil looking at the restaurant right beside the Moulin Rouge, looking to see if it offered vegetarian options despite the large advertisement, in English, that it was a burger restaurant. I still hadn't concretely given up all meat, but burgers were beyond what I could stomach. …He must have been hungry, I guess. I didn't notice immediately, as I was looking for some information about shows. Logically, I knew we didn't have a babysitter for Ayla and that it was probably entirely inappropriate to take her to anyway… but maybe they did more family-friendly afternoon shows?

I never found out—a man, very clearly a tourist, was all of a sudden very, very close to me, smiling… strangely. It wasn't quite salacious, but it wasn't just friendly indifference, either. He was sporting a lime green fanny pack and had a large, expensive digital camera hanging on a strap around his neck, and his baseball cap told me that he was American—which made sense. We weren't exactly the most polite people in the world.

Shifting my large purse, which doubled as a diaper bag, I glanced at him uncertainly. "…Hello." I hoped I said it in an offhanded way, the way you greet someone you unintentionally make eye contact with in the line at the bank. I hoped that it would jar him back to his senses and he would realize he was making me uncomfortable.

Instead, he took a step forward. "Hi. I, uh… I was wondering if I could take a picture…" I blinked uncertainly, frowning.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you, uh… you're… I know that you're not…working…right now, but…" My eyes widened. What exactly was he implying that I did? …What else could he mean, asking about me working… I watched his eyes flicker between me and the slowly rotating arms above us, and it clicked.

"Oh! No, sir, you're mistaken. I… I don't work here. I'm not… a dancer." I offered an uncomfortable smile. "I hate fishnets." God, I was overtalking. I was just… so out of my element. So awkward. I wanted him away. I didn't care where… just far, far away.

I shouldn't have mentioned fishnets though—his eyes flickered down my body then, as if this had been an invitation to eye my legs and imagine me in fishnets. I flushed and took a step back, finding myself pressed against the building and feeling very trapped, despite the fact that he did not move any closer to me when I moved. "…Are you sure?" His voice was skeptical, and growing in confidence. "I… I saw the show last night. I recognize you." He accused.

I floundered. "I… No. No, I-I-I'm sure. I'm not… I'm a terrible dancer!" I implored, and glanced over to Gil anxiously. He seemed engrossed in the signage, still, but must have felt the weight of my gaze on him—he turned at just that moment, saw my distress, and moved in my direction. However, at the same time, I felt movement in front of me—the man had taken a step closer to me.

"I doubt that… Listen, really, I… if you don't want people, you know, around here, to know… I understand. Let me buy you dinner before you show tonight. I… I can't tell you how much I enjoyed it… it was amazing."

"No, really. I'm not—"

He scoffed. "At least let me take a picture then, if you're going to lie to me and turn me down." His voice had changed rather quickly, and this time when he looked me up and down, the intent in his eyes was less guarded. I stiffened.

"No. I think you need to leave me alone, now."

He snapped a picture anyway, just as Gil arrived. "…Honey, what's going on here?" He asked me, but he was facing the man, Ayla up on one of his hips. "…Is there a problem, sir?"

He took a step back, glancing at me with the lust in his gaze obscured once again. "No. No problem. I was just leaving."

To my surprise, Gil reached out the hand that wasn't beneath Ayla and caught the camera around the man's neck, stopping his retreat. Without letting go, he passed Ayla over to me and stepped closer to the man. "Sure, no problem. As soon as you delete that picture of my wife, you can be on your way."

The man clutched the camera, trying with both hands to pull it out of Gil's one-handed grasp, and failing. "I'm sorry, but it's not illegal to take pictures… she was standing in front of a landmark. Let go."

Gil smiled. "You know, I'm pretty sure backing a woman against a wall and assaulting her with your eyes qualifies as sexual harassment. …And even if it doesn't, the time it would take to sort all of this out with the police would most definitely take up the rest of your otherwise enjoyable day—let's be civil, and you can erase the picture."

I thought for certain the man would back down—Gil was a rather intimidating presence when he wanted to be—but instead he narrowed his eyes. "We're at an impasse—your only means to keep me here is threat of police action, but if I don't let go, you can't force anything. Wrestling my camera off its strap or over my neck will most definitely qualify as assault—in which case, the police would side with me. I guarantee you have more places to be, today, than I do… what with your adorable little girl waiting…" He glanced at Ayla and I together, and the way he said that word… I turned Ayla's face over my shoulder and glared at the man, fighting the impulse to just walk up and kick him in the balls.

Despite deserving it, he was right—that would be of more interest to the police than his snapshot. Gil's face turned up in a tight-lipped smile that told me exactly how much he wanted to do exactly the same to the man, but he was the picture of control. Not releasing the device, he used his free hand to quickly unhook camera from strap and remove it from the man's hands. One-handed, he passed it to me, keeping his body between me and the man. There was a loud protest as the man tried to get around him, but I didn't hear most of it—I was focused on deleting the picture that was still up on the tiny screen. I passed the camera back and Gil took it, without turning to me.

"Go back to the car with Ayla. I'll be along in a minute…"

"Gil—"

"I'm not going to do anything." He reassured me. "…Just preventing another picture from being taken, as we leave."

I hesitated, but decided that this creeper having a picture of Ayla in my arms would be much worse than the original picture had been… and I set off. The car was close by and we reached it within ten minutes—Gil came back in twenty, looking no worse for the wear, and at my gaze, he quickly filled in the blanks.

"I just wanted to make sure he didn't follow me or anything. …He wanted that picture of you way too much."

I nodded, shivering, and we drove back to our hotel, in relative silence, choosing to spend the rest of the day in, having been moderately shaken by the event. And that night, despite still having aches in muscles I didn't know I had, I sought him out, wanting him to erase the dirty feeling of the man's eyes on me.

Thankfully, most of the rest of the trip was uneventful. Although, on the last day we were there, several big things did happen. We'd spent the morning seeing the Jardin de Luxembourg. Though this was something both of us had wanted to see, it also had a lot of activities for Ayla, and we felt like she deserved that—a day to run and be silly, after how many long, tedious days of sightseeing with Gil and I. It was nice to have a leisurely day. We took her to watch a puppet theatre and to look at fountains and she even got a pony ride—Gil walked beside her, holding her on the horse, which only took a few steps anyway, but she squealed when he did and giggled her little heart out. Gil grinned at her and tried to teach her 'pony' as well as that a pony says 'neigh,' but ended up counting himself a success when she lurched herself forward in the saddle to hug the brown pony's neck, saying "Nee! Nee!"

The pony, for his part, grunted a little and seemed to roll his eyes. The entire time I took pictures from the sidelines, tears brimming in my ears and laughter bubbling up through my lips. When he came back over, setting her between us and each of us taking one of her hands to walk, slowly, away, he leaned in and murmured, "Did you hear that? She said 'Pony, neigh.' She's s a genius."

I snorted softly and let go of Ayla's palm to put the camera back into my purse. "Gil, she may have been trying to say 'pony'… but she might have just been babbling too."

"She said 'pony, neigh' Sara, and you know it." He said, and then looked down abruptly. "Ayla!" She had let go of his hand and was running in a toddle towards a duck that was waddling along the pond nearby. Gil looked positively alarmed, both at her proximity to the water and to the duck, but I just smirked and giggled while he hurried after her. …They were just so cute together.

And when the inevitable occurred and little miss speed demon lunged for the duck, chaos broke out. The duck quacked indignantly and flew up and away from her, landing in the water, and Ayla hit the ground, smearing mud over the chubby palms that tried to brace her fall and scraping up her knees. Thankfully, there was a moment of surprised shock before she started screaming—enough time for me to assess that she was just fine. Nothing some soap and water and a band-aid wouldn't fix. And the pause gave Gil a chance to catch up to her. I followed behind, listening to her wails as Gil slowly stood her up, hugging her tightly and trying to calm her down.

"Gla! Gla! Dadaaaaa! Owwwieee! Owwwieee! Dadadada! Glaaaa!"

I smiled sheepishly at the dramatics—my little girl had a set of lungs on her—and wondered sadly if that was hurting Gil's feelings. …She was calling out for him and Jace simultaneously. I mean, logically, I knew that Gil knew it had only been a few months since Jace had died. It was too early to expect her to understand that Jace was gone, much less understand that Gil was a 'daddy' too. But emotionally, it had to be hard to press her to his chest and want to be the one she cried for, and only being half of that equation.

I watched as he soothed her with soft words and gentle pats on her back, and then gently eased her away from his body so he could survey the damage. He wiped off her hands as best as he could, despite his shirt already being covered in muddy handprints, and looked down at her knees. Both had broken the skin, although while one merely had little pinprick points of blood, the other was already running down her leg, ruining her frilly white socks. Gil frowned a pulled a wet nap from his pocket—he was always prepared, and I wondered if that was a result of being a CSI for so many years, or if it was just the man he was, CSI or no—tore it open, and gently wiped the blood off her leg to see the scrape. It wasn't bad, and he pressed the wet nap to it gently, still speaking softly to her, trying to stop the bleeding until we could get somewhere to clean her up.

A moment later, he pulled it away and glanced at the knee, which seemed to be doing much better. "There." He said softly, his deep blue eyes meeting her dark brown. "All better. …That was rough, huh? Did you get a big owie?"

She sniffled dramatically and her voice quavered when she nodded and said, "Owwieee…"

I could see the quirk at Gil's lips, but he didn't laugh at her. He nodded very seriously. "I know. Owies hurt. They're not fun. …That's why you have to stay close to us, okay? You scared us."

She blinked at that, and I had to stifle my laugh. Between Ayla's dramatics and Gil's serious, adult-like talks with her, I was struggling. Gil chuckled himself, apparently realizing that she didn't know what he meant. It didn't stop him though. He laid a kiss on her forehead. "Okay, are we all better now or do you need one more hug? We should say buh-bye to the ducky and go show Mommy your owies…"

She didn't answer him, but her little arms wrapped tightly around his neck and she sniffled, murmuring, "Gla Dada" for good measure. He blinked in surprise, his eyes turning to mine frantically, seeking reassurance that he had not misheard. I smiled uncertainly, wanting him to have that moment, but not knowing if it was really what she'd meant… She turned her head and puckered up, laying a loud kiss on his bearded cheek the way he had spent at least an hour the previous night doing to her. "Dada Gla."

Clear as day. It was my turn to meet his eyes in nervous excitement, and found them filled with as much emotion as I'd seen the day in the tree, when I became Sara Grissom. He blinked rapidly and, ignoring his aching knees and back, picked her up from the position he was in rather than separating, standing, and then pulling her up, which was easier for him. He squeezed her to his chest tightly. I stepped up, eager to prove, once and for all, what she'd said.

"Ayla…" She looked at me. "Who is this?" I pointed to myself.

"Mama!"

I grinned. "Who is that?" I pointed to the offending duck who had started all of this.

"'ucky!"

With a nervous flutter, I pointed to Gil. "Who is this?"

"Dada Gla!" and with that, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug again. Gil met my eyes, swallowing hard, and pressed her against him with a quiet earnestness.

"…D-daddy loves you, Ayla." He murmured softly, and I knew in a moment how many times he'd wanted to say that and stopped himself. How many hugs and kisses, meals and baths and bedtimes they'd shared in which Gil had not used that phrase because he didn't want to feed her words. …How many times I had unthinkingly told her 'Mommy loves you,' without realizing what it must do to him that he couldn't say the same for himself.

I slid an arm around Gil's waist. "…Should we take her back… get her cleaned up for nap?" He nodded, and the three of us walked back to catch another cab.

After lunch, I let Gil put Ayla down for her nap, listening to his voice coming through the open doorway as he leaned over the crib sides to pat her back gently. He told her how much Daddy loved her, and how happy he was, and how beautiful she was… and then, he started singing. I don't know that I'd never heard him sing to her before, but it was usually half-humming, under his breath, and you were never sure what the song was or which words went along with it. …This was clear, soft, and sweet, and it was clearly a lullaby the man knew well. I let my eyes close as I listened to him, and found myself sad when Ayla had clearly fallen asleep, because he had stopped.

A moment later, he was curling up in bed with me, tugging me close. For a minute we just basked in the glow of what had just happened, Gil's happiness a tangible brightness in the room, and then he laid a kiss to my temple and cleared his throat. "…I've been thinking."

I smirked. "…Always dangerous."

He nudged me playfully. "No, I mean… Have you given any thought to… where we're going after this?"

I frowned. "…I thought we decided on the Opéra de Paris Garnier?" Of course, I absolutely butchered the pronunciation.

He snuffed a laugh into my hair. "No, honey, not… not after Ayla's nap. I mean… it's our last night in Paris. We'll fly back to Vegas but… then what?"

I smirked. "Then we tackle your guest bedroom. I was convinced your pets were going to eat Ayla alive…"

He laughed again, shaking his head. "I would never put Ayla in danger… but again, you're missing my real question. …Do you want to stay in Vegas long-term?"

I frowned. "…Well, we sold the house in Boston. I mean, it only makes sense to—"

His fingers fell over my lips. "I'm not asking what makes sense. …What do you want, honey?"

I blinked a few times. "I… don't know. I… want… to do something meaningful." At his raised eyebrow I hurried to explain. "When I was teaching in Boston, it was… a means to an end. I wanted to feel useful and have a job so I could save up money, just in case… and after you… after we…stopped talking… I had been trying to save money to take Ayla and run away from him. …But it's not since I've been a CSI that I've really felt like I was excited to go to work or that… that what I was doing directly helped make the world a better place. …I want that feeling again."

He smiled and kissed me. "When we get to Vegas, we'll start looking. …Can I… can I ask what you'd planned when you were going to… run away? When we… when I wasn't…" He trails off uncertainly, and I kiss him deeply.

"It's in the past." I tell him, snuggling closer. "I really… really wasn't sure, exactly, what I would do. I think my most realistic idea was flying to Europe and losing myself here. It's so easy to travel between countries, and I just thought…" I sighed, and then shook my head. "But really, I spent most of my time dreaming of ways I would find you again… coming to Vegas… or, going to the research center or working in Costa Rica and… you coming upon me one day, out of the blue, in the middle of a bug hunt…"

He squeezed me tighter to him and sighed softly. "…I dreamed a hundred different ways in which we would find each other again… I just never let myself believe they could be real…"

I sighed softly too. "…They were so nice. The tropical ones. Warm and sun-kissed and dreamy…"

"…So let's do it."

I turned to him in surprise and the giddy look on his face sent a flutter through me as well. …This impulsiveness, I knew, was a trait that hadn't really existed in the man until he met me—and even then, it only emerged in rare instances. I smiled uncertainly. "…How… What do you…What?"

He grinned. "There's lots of research programs in the rainforest… heck, there are lots just taking place at the research center in Puerto Ayora. …Let's find one."

I blinked several times. "Just… like that?"

He grinned. "Sara, on our own, most projects would jump at a chance to get either of us working with them… Look at our credentials. Look at yours, honey. …Together, I have no doubt that we'll find one that interests us that has room or is willing to make room for us. …Let's take Ayla somewhere where she can see things she won't see anywhere else in the world. …Let's start over, somewhere warm and sun-kissed and dreamy…"

I shivered at the thought, but I felt so… excited. Could we really do this? …Just like that? "…Okay." I said, and he kissed me again.