AN: Posting a day early because I know I won't have time tomorrow… last one of these little ficlets for now (I do have a few lines of one for The Two Mrs. Grissoms, we'll see when/if I get around to completing that) so next week, I'll be picking up my WIP Buddyflies if anyone's interested!

This has not been beta'd, so any mistakes are mine

Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to CSI

Ghost Town

Her phone starts ringing just as Sara closes the front door behind her and, seeing the name on the display, she quickly drops her bag to answer.

"Good afternoon, Gilbert."

"Good morning, dear."

She smiles at this little routine they've gotten into in the last couple of weeks, since her return to Vegas.

"How was your day?"

She goes into the kitchen and fills the kettle with water as she listens to his report of the day's classes and weird students – there are always a few.

"And yours? Any interesting cases?"

For someone claiming to be done with the world of crime scene investigating, he always sounds a little too curious when asking about work.

"Fine, nothing out of the ordinary." She grabs a mug from the cupboard, finds a teabag and leans against the counter to wait for the water to boil. "You'll never guess who was involved in the case Nick and I worked today."

"Who?"

"Craig Mason."

The line goes quiet for a moment.

"I can tell by the tone of your voice that the name's supposed to mean something to me," he then says, hesitant, "but I'm drawing a blank, sorry."

She supposes she can't blame him – it had taken finding the props for them to make the connection, after all.

"As in the son of judge Mason," she elaborates. "As in…"

"Paul Millander," Grissom finishes her sentence, his voice taking on a far-away tone, and she knows he must be thinking back to the frustrating case.

"Yeah."

He's quiet for a while, and she takes the opportunity to pour water into her mug. Pinching the phone between her shoulder and ear, she grabs her tea and the sandwich she picked up on the way home and takes everything with her to the couch in the living room.

"How old is he now?" he finally asks.

"Nineteen," Sara replies. "Going through a classic rebellious phase, by the looks of it."

"He wasn't…"

"The only thing he was guilty of was peeping on the girls in the house where the murder took place," she says, realizing what he wants to know even though he doesn't finish the sentence. "The victim was the owner, he was running some sort of cam girl operation out of the house. The killer was a disgruntled neighbor."

Another long silence. "Cam girl?"

She has to laugh at the confusion in his voice. "Apparently, they have web cameras and you can pay to watch them… well, you know. Basically live porn magazines, I guess. Apparently, Super-Dave was familiar with the concept, if you want to know more about it, you can talk to him."

"I think I'm good, thanks," he replies, and she can practically see him shake his head.

"I think it was just…" She sighs, her thoughts returning to the young man. "Like I said, teenage rebellion, but also, just… he seemed lost. And angry, but mostly lost."

Grissom hums over the line. "I suppose that's to be expected, considering the confusion surrounding his father and the man's double life. It can't have been easy growing up with that hanging over him."

"Probably not. His mom seemed a little… disconnected. She didn't show up when he was released, so I gave him a ride home, and we talked a little… I don't know if I got through to him, but he seemed… a little more at ease when I dropped him off."

"He was lucky you were there."

"I don't know about that…" she objects.

"I do," he says, voice firm, the statement not open for discussion. "You have no idea what kind of difference you make in the lives of the people you meet through work, do you?"

She's not sure how to respond to that, so she takes another sip of tea as she tries to figure something out. Before she's able to form anything coherent, though, he continues, voice softening.

"I miss you."

Sara closes her eyes against the wave of longing his words bring. "Me too. Why am I doing this again?"

"Because you need to," he reminds her gently.

And she does. She knows she does. It all made sense when they talked it through back in Paris – she wanted, needed, to go back, to make peace with the city, after the way she left not once but twice, to prove that she wasn't running away anymore, if only to herself. And with Grissom at the Sorbonne for the fall semester, it was the right time too – Paris might be a wonderful city, but there's only so much sightseeing she can do. When Ecklie readily agreed to her demand of one week off each month, so she could see her husband regularly, it seemed like the perfect solution. But after almost three weeks on her own, following months and months of not being apart for more than a few hours at a time, it's hard to remember why it seemed like a good idea.

"Maybe I need you more."

Grissom's low chuckle makes her smile. "As much of an ego boost as that is, dear," he starts, "you know I can't stand in the way of something you need to do."

She sighs. "I know."

"Just four more days," he reminds her. "When are you getting in again? I'll come meet you at the airport."

She opens her mouth to say that he doesn't have to do that, but closes it again, because she doesn't want to wait the forty-five minutes it'll take her to get into the city on the train to see him. "12:10 on Saturday, Orly. I'll send you the flight info in case there are any delays. How's next week looking for you?"

"I got my schedule set up so I only have office hours on Thursdays and Fridays, no classes," he replies, which is news to her since classes at the university hadn't actually started when she left Paris. "It means I have three classes on Mondays and Tuesdays, and two on Wednesdays, but I can cancel my office hours when you're here, so we'll always have four full days free if we want to get out of the city for a little while, assuming you get a late flight back."

"You didn't have to do that," she tells him, despite the fact that his words make a lump form in her throat.

"Honey," he says, sounding slightly amused. "I want to spend as much time with you as I can while you're here, OK?"

"I know," she assures him, suppressing a yawn. "I want that too."

"I should let you go to bed," he says reluctantly. "Are you sleeping any better yet?"

For a moment, Sara regrets telling him she's been having trouble sleeping since she got back. But that's what marriage is about, right? Not keeping secrets from each other. "A little," she tells him, truthfully. "I got almost five hours yesterday, so that's progress." It's more than she used to sleep, back before they got together, and he knows that.

He still sighs. "Then go to bed, honey. We can talk again later."

"I'm on my way, just need to finish my sandwich."

"OK. I'll call you tomorrow, around the same time?"

She doesn't want to hang up, but she knows she should. "OK. Love you."

"I love you too, honey. Sleep tight."

"You too… eventually."

Grissom chuckles. "I will. Goodnight."

"Night."

Sara hangs up, putting the phone down to be able to focus on the food, and fifteen minutes later, she's pulling the comforter back on the bed.

An hour later, she's no closer to sleep than she was when she put her head on the pillow. Glancing at the clock, she automatically calculates the time difference before grabbing her phone.

"I thought you were supposed to sleep," Grissom answers after the first ring, voice just a little chastising.

"I'm trying," she says with a sigh. "Can you just… talk to me until I fall asleep? It might help."

If he finds the request strange, he doesn't say so. "Can I read to you instead? I'm not very good at one-way conversation."

"Sure," she readily agrees, pulling the comforter a little higher and snuggling a little deeper into the pillow. "But nothing too exciting. I just want to hear your voice."

There's some rustling over the line, and then he starts reading. "Curiosity alone concerning the identities and lifestyles of the fellow inhabitants of our planet justifies the study of insects. Some of us have used insects as totems and symbols in spiritual life, and we portray them in art and music…"

Recognizing the first few sentences of one of the books he uses in his beginners' class, Sara smiles and closes her eyes.

She's asleep before he gets to the second page.

AN: The book Grissom is reading over the phone is "The Insects - An Outline of Entomology" if anyone's interested