"What do you mean the plane doesn't leave for two more days?" Grissom tersely asked the attendant at the airline counter.
"Mr. Grissom, your reservation, as well as Ms. Sidle's, are both for the Vegas flight on Sunday night, not tonight," the woman said with little interest in the predicament of her customers. She had the grace to barely conceal a yawn before once punching keys on her computer. "We might be able to get you on tonight's flight, but there's already a long list of standbys."
"Fine. Put us both on the standby list." He could feel the dull ache beginning at the back of his head.
"I'll need to see both your and Ms. Sidle's itineraries." After an interminable period of keystrokes and paper shuffling, in which Grissom spent the time wondering if he would ever get out of this city, the attendant spoke up again. "There you go. Proceed to gate A-4. The flight will begin boarding in about 30 minutes."
Grissom wearily gathered his bag and paperwork, muttered "Thank you," and went in search of Sara. He found her at the edge of terminal, trying to hear a conversation on her cell phone over the varied noises of an airport terminal. He slumped down in the nearest chair. The ache in his head and begun to spread to his temples, and he knew it was going to be a long night.
Sara flipped her cell phone closed and said, "That was Catherine. Apparently there's no need for us to return to Vegas since they have single handedly solved all the crimes that have occurred over the three days we've been gone." When her weak attempt at humor did not elicit even the slightest response, Sara sat down in the chair next to Grissom. "You okay?"
"Yes. Fine. Apparently the travel department in Vegas put us on the wrong flight. We're on standby for the flight leaving in about a half hour."
"Oh. Okay. I guess we better get moving through security then." Sara stood and grabbed her bags, and waited for Grissom to do the same. She noticed that he seemed to be moving a bit more slowly than usual, and that he was starting to get that pinched look around his mouth that indicated the start of a migraine. She wanted to reach out, try and lighten his mood through a flirty one-liner, but she wasn't very good at that sort of thing. So she stood there, awkwardly pretending to be interested in the paint scheme of the walls while Grissom collected his belongings.
They trudged down the terminal to security, knowing that the process would be a hassle. Trying to explain all the vials of powders, bottles of liquids, and strange tools always became an ordeal, one seldom relieved by explaining who they were. Once outside their own jurisdiction, local law enforcement, even the airport security personnel, never quite believed they weren't involved in some sort of nefarious business. Luckily, a flash of a badge helped expedite matters, and Sara and Grissom were through security without any major problems.
At the gate, too may people were milling about for a plane that was to leave in less than fifteen minutes. Grissom started to head towards the counter, but Sara stopped him. "Nope, my turn," she said with a crooked grin. "You sit and I'll find out what's going on." Grissom did as he was told, and watched her wade into the crowd.
After only a few minutes, Sara returned. "Bad news. The airplane is stuck in Atlanta due to bad weather. Sounds like the flight has been cancelled. But I managed to get our old reservations for Sunday's flight. Looks like were stuck in the Big Easy for a few more days."
Grissom just looked at her. The New Orleans police had asked him to come down for a consult, which had proved to be a disaster between the cross-contamination, jurisdictional chest-pounding, and his inability to remember that down here they were parishes, not counties. He was not in the mood for a few more days of this godforsaken city. He groaned, and closed his eyes. The ache had spread to behind his eyes. Maybe when he opened them, he would be back in his townhouse in Vegas. One could only hope…
Sara moved away from Grissom, opened her cell phone, and made a few phone calls. After a while, she nudged Grissom. "C'mon. Let's get out of here."
"Where? We're stuck." Grissom had yet to re-open his eyes, and Sara knew that did not bode well.
"On the contrary. We have reservations at a hotel in the French Quarter, which Nick assures me is quite picturesque, complete with peace and quiet, as well as a car service coming to pick us up and deliver us to said hotel. And the airline will have our bags delivered there ASAP." Grissom opened his eyes to find Sara standing in front of him with a self-satisfied grin on her face. This time she grabbed his hand when she said, "C'mon. Let's get out of here."
************
Grissom awoke the next morning to the sound of pounding on his door. The bright sun streaming through his window momentarily confused him. These trips always managed to throw his body clock out of whack. Once used to the graveyard shift, then several days working like the rest of the world, it always took him a moment to orient himself as to which end was up. Grissom stumbled out of bed, still dressed in the clothes from yesterday, and opened the door to find Sara standing there with breakfast.
"Morning," she said, as she breezed in the room with something that smelled delicious. "I've brought the local breakfast delicacies from the Café du Monde: beignets and café au lait." After setting breakfast on the small table in the room, she turned to Grissom, and momentarily lost her train of thought. Grissom first thing out of bed was definitely something she could get used to seeing. He still had that fuzzy from sleep expression, aided by the mussed hair and rumpled clothing. He looked positively adorable.
And he was also looking at her expectantly. Flushing with embarrassment, she asked him to repeat whatever he had said.
"Our bags. Are they here?"
"Yes," she stammered. "They're in my room at the moment. I'll go get yours." She fled the room as quickly as she decently could. As she walked back with the bag, she tried to rid her mind of the images of Grissom tangled up in the sheets of a hotel bed.
She re-entered the hotel room and wordlessly handed him his suitcase, then became inordinately interested in the proper arrangement of the paper napkins. Grissom disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared shortly, regrettably back to the Grissom she already knew. Sara had wanted to spend more time with fresh-from-bed Grissom. He joined her at the table, where they sat and silently ate breakfast. At one point, Sara awkwardly gestured towards Grissom's face.
"You've got…powdered sugar from the beignets…" she brushed her own cheek.
"What?" Grissom said, rubbing the back of his hand against his face.
"No you missed it," Sara said, as she leaned across the table and wiped the stray powdered sugar from his face. Her hand lingered a moment longer than necessary, enjoying the feel of his warm skin beneath her hand.
"Oh," Grissom said, as their eyes locked. Sara quickly withdrew her hand, and looked down to concentrate on the wood grain of the table.
Finally, Sara looked back up and asked, "So, we've got a free day in the city of New Orleans. Any ideas of how we should spend it?"
"Well," Grissom replied. "I was thinking about catching up on some of the journals I brought with me. Or working on that article about the fleshflies. "
Sara just looked at him. Normally that appeal to her as well, but something about this city tugged at her heart. She wanted to wander the streets of the Quarter, take the streetcar down St. Charles to see the mansions behind oak trees festooned with Spanish moss and last year's Mardi Gras beads, and sit and watch the Mississippi river lazily flow by. She wanted to taste jambalaya, drink a Sazerac, and listen to a street musician play a saxophone. And she wanted to do all this with Grissom.
Grissom peered over his glasses at her while drinking his café au lait. "I take it you have other ideas?"
"Yes, Grissom, I do. We actually have two whole days off. And we're not in Vegas. We're in a town known as the Big Easy, and you want to spend it in a hotel room." At that, Grissom raised his eyebrows. He could think of several ways to pleasurably spend two days in a hotel room with Sara Sidle, but he demurred from bringing that to light.
"Well, now that you mention it, I've always been curious about their cemeteries here in New Orleans. They're all above ground tombs."
"Great," Sara said. "Cemeteries it is."
**********
"I can't believe you did that," Sara grinned at Grissom. "That guy could have hurt himself, backing up into that tomb."
"What? All I did was reach for that beetle. I don't have one of that size in the collection." Grissom grinned right back at her.
"Yah that beetle that was in the tomb." Sara started laughing infectiously, and Grissom couldn't help but join her. The laughter flowed between them, each enjoying the other's easy company, but they were interrupted by the waiter bearing entrees.
"So, how did you know about this place?" Sara asked.
"Nick's not the only one who knows New Orleans," Grissom answered, with a slight twist of his lips. Sara desperately wanted to ask about details, but was loathe to ruin the comfortable mood that had settled around them. Besides, her growling stomach would not let her ignore the steaming plate of pasta before her.
They had spent the morning wandering the city, including several hours admiring and investigating the tombs of the old St. Louis cemetery right outside the French Quarter. After a lunch of gumbo from a restaurant tucked behind the cathedral, Grissom begged off from an afternoon of window shopping, claiming paperwork and phone calls. Sara continued to stroll along the banquettes, poking around both the antique and tacky tourist shops. At one point, she stopped in a clothing store and impulsively bought a dress that hugged her curves in all the right ways. Maybe she could find a way for Grissom to see her in it.
As it turned out, she had an opportunity to wear the dress that night, as Grissom had suggested going to a rather upscale restaurant. After all, he explained, they were in a city that was known for its culinary pedigree. Whatever apprehensions Sara had about the dress were instantly banished the moment Grissom saw her. A moment of naked lust flashed across his eyes before being quickly shuttered away, and that didn't hurt Sara's feminine pride one bit.
At the restaurant, the duo shared a bottle of good wine and great food. As they ate, the pair talked, sharing anecdotes from their respective careers, yet keeping the conversation light and entertaining. It was as if, by mutual agreement, they had decided to shed the oppressive desert weight of Las Vegas for the humid southern allure of New Orleans. The grins and laughs came easily, as did the sidelong glances and flirty smiles. Neither could remember when a simple dinner and conversation had been so effortless.
After a shared dessert of praline cheesecake, Sara and Grissom departed the restaurant and took to amiably wandering through the streets of the Quarter, her hand safely tucked in the crook of his elbow. It was one of those nights that only happens in New Orleans; one of those true "moonlight and magnolias" evenings, where the night air is colored by the sweetness of the midnight jasmine, the pungent odors of Bourbon Street, and the fresh air from off the river. Even the humidity participated in the glorious communion, and dropped to only semi-tropical levels.
They reached Jackson Square, and admired the white spires of the Cathedral and the ornate ironwork of the Pontalba buildings. They passed the various fortune tellers and tarot card readers and a young man playing a mournful song on a beat-up trumpet. They eventually crossed Decatur Street, and climbed the concrete steps that led to the top of the levee and the Mississippi River. They found an unoccupied bench, and proceeded to sit down and look at the lights of Algiers, on the opposite bank.
Well, at least Sara was looking at Algiers. Grissom was looking at Sara. He reached out and wrapped a strand of her hair around his finger. "You know," he said. "I never told you how beautiful you looked tonight."
"Oh…um…thanks," she stammered out as she turned to look at him. Her brown eyes met his blue ones, as his hand let go of her hair and cupped her cheek. His thumb grazed across her smooth skin, brushing across her lower lip. Her lips parted, and a sigh escaped. "Grissom, I…"
"What?" he softly asked, as he inclined his head towards hers. She could feel his warm breath against her face as he repeated his question before he lowered his lips to hers.
While the kiss may have started out soft and gentle, passion soon swept over Sara and Grissom. Their tongues snaked and rubbed against one another. She moved her hands up to his head and clutched at his hair. He slid his other hand up her thigh and under the skirt she was wearing. His mouth slanted over hers again and again, as the passion that had been cooped up for years reached new heights between them.
Finally, the two wrenched themselves apart, both gasping for air, but unwilling to let go of one another. Grissom's eyes were ablaze with love and lust, equally matched by the fervor readily apparent in Sara's.
"Let's continue this back at the hotel," Sara said in a throaty whisper.
Wordlessly, Grissom stood from the bench, pulling Sara up against him. She could feel the heat of his arousal coming off of him in waves. He turned, keeping her hand firmly held in his, he lead her back down the steps and into the streets of the French Quarter.
They hurried back to the hotel, as quickly as the uneven brick sidewalks, Sara's heels, and decorum would allow them. Still hand in hand, the pair crossed the courtyard to Grissom's room. At the door, Grissom stopped and turned to Sara, a question looming in his eyes.
"Yes," Sara's eyes answered, as they moved into the room and locked the door.
**********
Sara yawned and stretched, pulling the sheet up around her shoulders and squeezing her eyes shut against the bright morning sunlight streaming into the room. She was sore in places she hasn't been sore in a long time, and she luxuriated in the feeling. She felt the bed shift next to her, then a warm hand on her hip. "Morning," he said, as he lowered his head and began to nuzzle her neck.
"Mmm," Sara moaned, moving her hands to Grissom's back. She opened her eyes to find Grissom looking down at her. She smiled up at him, and received a grin in return. "So…" she said. "Um, I've never been good at this sort of thing…"
"Oh, I would have to disagree, Miss Sidle. At least with the evidence you've presented me." Grissom said, with a wolfish grin.
Sara laughed, and playfully pushed him away from her. She sat up, clutching the sheet around her as a bout of modesty suddenly struck her. Grissom leaned over and kissed her shoulder. "Unfortunately, we do have a plane to catch," he said.
"What's going to happen," Sara asked, casting a sidelong glance at Grissom. "You know, when we're back in Vegas."
"I don't know," Grissom answered, running the back of his hand up and down her bare arm. He just could not keep himself from touching her silky skin. "I do know that I do not want this to be a one time occurrence."
"So you're saying that as good scientists, we need to conduct more experiments," she said, throwing him a smirk over her shoulder.
"Exactly," Grissom said, as he moved to wrap his arms around her, pressing her back against his chest. "But whatever happens, I just want to make sure you know that I would never regret what happened last night."
Sara smiled, and twisted in his embrace so she could face him. "Me neither," she whispered, as she leaned in to kiss him. The kiss was full of passion and promise and hope.