A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing! If you reviewed the first chapter, I promise that review replies are forthcoming…unfortunately, right now, progress reports for my students have to come first. I do appreciate that you took the time to review!

I don't own CSI.

Sara

I love my husband. I really, really do. And, I get that he loves Paris. I love Paris, too. What I don't love is sitting around playing housewife. I've held jobs since I was sixteen. I can't not work. It makes me crazy.

The thing is, when you live in another country, you need a work visa to work. And, you have to find a company that's willing to sponsor you to get that visa. In Grissom's case, this wasn't a problem. Visiting professors don't have any issues getting work visas. Their wives, on the other hand, don't have it so easy.

Grissom knew I was bored. The first month or so was great. I got to see the sights, eat amazing French foods, and even learn a little French. But, after awhile, all the novelty wore off, and …

Well, when Ecklie called looking for help, I hesitate to say I jumped at the chance, but I was pretty excited to rejoin my old team.

So, Griss and I are back where we started a hundred years ago – living in separate cities, keeping in touch as best we can. Granted, we put a lot more into it now than we did when he was in Las Vegas and I was in San Francisco. We're married now. There's a lot more at stake.

Emails have been replaced by phone calls. Chance visits during seminars and conferences have been replaced by scheduled trips at least twice a month. Since I'm the one with the "flexible" schedule, I'm the one who's constantly making nine hour flights to Paris.

And, let me tell you, the jet lag is a killer.

Jet lag is the only explanation for the fact that I can barely stay awake during Catherine's staff meeting. I know she can see me nodding off, but she's kind enough not to call me on the carpet in front of everyone. Thank goodness for Greg – he keeps poking me awake.

"What's up with you?" Greg asks after Catherine dismisses us.

"Jet lag," I reply with a jaw-splitting yawn. "You know what? I'm telling Grissom he needs to start flying here. This is killing me."

Greg frowns. "Sara, you haven't been to Paris in two weeks."

Now I'm frowning. "Two weeks?" It's never taken me that long to bounce back before. I shake my head. "I must be getting old."

"Just as long as you're not getting sick," Greg says. "I am so not working this triple alone."

"I'm not sick, I promise. Just tired."

"Well … get some sleep."

"Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks for the advice."

Greg grins at my sarcasm. "Anytime."

It's still bothering me when I get home that morning. Greg took pity on me and agreed to stay late so I could go home on time. Normally, I'd protest being babied, but, honestly, I can barely stay awake to drive myself home.

"I'm never this tired," I mumble as I stretch out on my bed. "Something isn't right."

Four hours later, I'm jolted awake. Somehow, in my sleep, I realized that jet lag isn't the only explanation for my lethargy.

My insides are churning. It can't be … Can it?

"Oh, God," I exclaim, sitting straight up in bed. "Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God."

I fumble across my nightstand for my cell phone, and press through the menus to my calendar feature.

"Oh, God, oh, God …"

I need to go to a drug store.

An hour later, I'm staring at a stick bearing a plus sign in shock.

"Oh, God," I whisper. "I'm going to be a mother."

I have never been so surprised.