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Gil Grissom's Romance Part 2
Chapter 13
Even in Paris, it was an extraordinary day, clear and light-filled. The sky dazzled a perfect blue, unmarred by clouds with a brilliant sun shining on gardens, sidewalks, bridges, and the thousands of people who were outside.
Grissom and Sara walked through narrow streets and along wide boulevards for several hours, holding hands, comfortable in their own companionship. They walked into the heart of Paris over the Pont Neuf, the 'new bridge' built in 1607 and the oldest bridge in the city, pausing to look at their surroundings just as thousands of others had done for centuries.
They turned toward Sainte-Chapelle, the chapel Sara considered the most beautiful building in Paris because of its stained glass windows. Eighty-five beautiful panels—she had counted them one day. Edging around the square in front of Notre-Dame which was filled shoulder-to-shoulder with tourists, they entered the flower market. Only on Sundays it was filled with birds which Sara did not appreciate as much as she did the flowers, but found it interesting. So many old men selling brightly colored birds was odd, she thought.
Eventually, the couple made their way to the second island in the Seine across the pedestrian footbridge. Fewer tourists made it easy to stroll on narrow streets, past the elegant facades of century's old palaces; occasionally they could glimpse inner courtyards. They found one palace open for tours and purchased tickets.
The building, now state owned, officially named Hotel Lauzun and built as a townhouse, took their breath as they walked through rooms with gold-painted walls, cherubs carved of marble, ceilings painted with frescos by gifted, unknown artists and intricate inlaid-wood floors. The tour guide spoke French as she described the history of the palace, the various owners, and the state of restoration.
Leaving the island, they wandered streets filled with students and the cafes and bookstalls catering to them. When they got to the church of Saint-Severin, Sara urged Grissom to enter it.
"In any other city, this would be a top attraction," Sara whispered as they walked into the cool church and stood quietly, adjusting eyes to the soft light and the silence. They move forward, walking toward the altar, their eyes taking in the modern and ancient windows.
The late afternoon sun shining through the high stained-glass windows amplified and brightened the beautiful interior. They had the place almost to themselves and, as if their entrance had given a magical signal, someone began playing the organ. Grissom tugged Sara into a row of chairs.
Sara was surprised that Grissom was mesmerized by the music. She glanced at him several times, saying nothing, understanding that he was enjoying the private recital. After thirty minutes, the playing stopped as suddenly as it had begun and a serene quiet descended on the church.
Grissom's eyes met Sara's; he said "When I hear something like this, and see all the beauty in this city—when I think about man's incredible talent, I can't help wondering how man can also be the perpetrator of such stupendous evil. It boggles my mind."
Sara was surprised; he rarely spoke of evil or crime or his previous work in Vegas. He had turned the last page of that 'book' and placed his past experience in a bookcase that he rarely brought out.
Turning to her, he took her hand in his, smiled, and stood, leading her back to the front door of the church.
Before stepping into the sunlight, he blinked several times before saying, "The beauty of music—and buildings like this—make life bearable." He squeezed her hand. "We're going to see a lot of beautiful things."
Surprised at his words, Sara said, "I think so."
When they found a small coffee shop on a side street, they went in and found an empty table barely large enough to hold two cups. They ordered coffee and a plate of cream filled pastries.
Sara took a bite of pastry and immediately giggled as the cream-filling covered her upper lip. As she dabbed her mouth, Grissom's phone dinged with an incoming message.
Surprise registered on both faces. He rarely used the phone but kept it with him for messages from his mother which usually came on a weekly basis—and not usually on Sundays.
His expression went from surprise to one of bemused puzzlement when he looked at the small screen. Only a few people had this number—Jim Brass was one and the message was not from Brass. It was from Conrad Ecklie. Not wanting to say Ecklie's name before reading the message, Grissom punched the screen and brought his eyeglasses out of his pocket.
"Let's see what this is all about," he muttered.
He was silent for several long minutes before Sara asked, "Has something happened to your mom?"
Shaking his head, he passed the phone to her, saying "Ecklie."
A quick reader, a few seconds later, Sara wiped her mouth of non-existent crumbs, and softly chuckle. "Are things so bad that he really wants your help?" Her mouth twisted in thought. "Or in his way, is Ecklie asking you to return?"
Again, shaking his head, Grissom said, "Ecklie knows I'm not returning." He shrugged as Sara handed the phone back. "I'll try to think of someone he can call to help out."
Late that night, Grissom and Sara had the discussion they had been, for some time, avoiding. The night was cool, breezy, given radiance by street lights, and a promise of another beautiful day tomorrow.
Grissom pulled two chairs to the open windows and, once they had settled in, he said, "We haven't talked about this but I think the time has come." He took Sara's hand in his. "We—I have six weeks until the end of the term. We know we will return to Vegas until—while we are waiting for a research grant to come through."
He sighed, gathering thoughts into words before continuing, "Ecklie is looking for help—you could do it, you know—for a while. You—you could talk to your physician—you know—about…" His hands came together in a familiar motion of anxious thought.
Leaning forward, Sara wrapped her hands around his. She said, "Once you got that message, I started thinking along the same way." A soft laugh. "I do want to stay—who wouldn't? But this feels right—I have the chance to redeem myself—in my eyes. If I go back, if only for a few months, I know I'll think better of myself. Ecklie will find someone before we return unless I—you suggest I'd be the perfect short-timer." She laughed, adding, "Ecklie has never been my best friend."
Grissom nodded. "Six weeks will pass quickly—not even six weeks. And—and you can set up those appointments we need—for—well—to have checkups done."
Sara smiled, nodding her head in agreement. They had not talked about babies or pregnancy since arriving in Paris but she'd seen her husband's glances—more than glances—at babies and small children. It had surprised her; he had rarely mentioned a desire for parenthood in the years they had been together. But she liked—loved—this recently discovered facet of life.
He said, "You're sure you want to go back? If you have any reservations…"
A slight smile lifted her lips. "It was a bad time for me—everything that happened—I—I just couldn't pull out." She paused, adding, "Not even with the help of the best person in my life."
Within a few hours, their future—at least for several months—had been decided.
As Sara packed and Grissom made flight arrangements for her and for Hank, they both felt the need for closure on this honeymooning aspect of their life. They spoke quietly with an unvoiced use of "we" and "us" in conversations as they walked their last time across bridges, around crowded museums, ending in Montmarte, not for entertainment, but to see once again the white domes of Sacre Coeur. On this visit, Sara ventured into the gift shop and purchased several small silver crosses to add to her expanding gift bag.
Explaining her purchases to Grissom, she said, "For my mother and her friends," and he picked up one more, saying, "Both of our mothers—you'll see her when you pick up the car."
On her last day in Paris, with two tightly packed bags at the door, Hank in a state of uncertainty, they had stayed awake nearly all night. They had talked more of the past than their future and had made love in the fierce and passionate ways of parting lovers.
Grissom thought of her as though she was waves in the sea, rising and falling, sliding through his hands. He dosed and woke to feel dampness on his chest, knew she was crying. His arm circled her as he brought her face to his.
"Only for a few weeks, dear."
His arms went around her, holding her tightly. He knew she was the only woman he'd ever love, the only woman he wanted.
Kissing the top of her head, feeling her dark hair tickle his nose, he whispered, "It's only a few weeks—I'll be back home."
A/N: We don't think Grissom and Sara were apart as much as it appeared during the time Sara returned to Vegas-so there are more happy chapters ahead. Now-your part-review! Comment! Let us know you are reading! Help keep GSR alive!