THE FINAL CHAPTER . I'VE GONE IN A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT DIRECTION THAN I THOUGHT I WOULD WHEN I FIRST STARTED THIS FIC. I'D LIKE TO THANK EVERYONE WHO'S READ IT, AND WOULD LIKE TO THANK THE DIE-HARDS FOR DEFINITELY STICKING BY ME. THANK YOU TO THOSE WHO HAVE REVIEWED. THIS IS FOR YOU!

"What would you like to do?" Grissom lay in bed, Sara snuggled against his shoulder,

"Huh?" came her sleep- and shoulder-smothered voice.

"The two months are up. Catherine said she'd take care of Belle for the weekend so you and I could have some time to ourselves. What would you like to do?"

"Spend time with you, duh," came the sarcasm-laden reply.

"Okay, fine then. Choose one item of clothing, or an accessory you'd like me to wear." He couldn't quite grasp the fact she was looking at him like that. Like she didn't fully understand what was going on.

"Nothing, preferably," she laughed. "But if pushed, you glasses. You look sexy when you wear your glasses."

Grissom nodded, relieved that she was finally cottoning on to the process. "Good. In that case, I'd like you to leave your hair naturally curly." He turned his head awkwardly to look at her. "Deal?"

Sara looked back up at the face perched above her. "Anything for you. But wouldn't you prefer a thong? Or stockings?"

"That's up to you. I'd just like your hair to be curly."

Her eyes become suspicious. "Have you got something planned?"

"Aside from a hotel room, no. I just wanted to see if there's anything you specifically wanted to do, anything you had in mind. But if you're going to give me creative control, I can think of one or two things." He smiled and sat up slowly, taking care not to knock her jaw. "If you think of anything, let me know," he whispered in her ear, going to get showered.

In the limo on the way to a quiet restaurant off-Strip, Sara drank in her surroundings. "I still can't believe you ordered a limo," she breathed. "That is the most pretentious thing you've ever done," she carried on in disbelief.

Grissom shrugged, then frowned. "Do you not like it? I thought that if we were drinking, we wouldn't be safe to drive to the hotel, and I wasn't just going to book a cab."

Sara sipped her champagne that had been poured from a chilled bottle sitting in a bucket of ice on the back seat. Taking Grissom's champagne-glass-free hand, she smiled. "Honey, just because it's pretentious, doesn't mean it's not thoughtful or romantic. Just a little unexpected, that's all." She leaned over and gently touched her lips to his, tasting fermented, fizzy grapes, aware that he was probably experiencing the saem flavour.

"I suppose that's okay," he muttered, his breath passing across her lips. "You look beautiful tonight," he added. And indeed she did. On this rare occassion, she had chosen to wear a dress, something completely out of character for her. It was a knee-length backless black dress, selected especially for the effect it would have on her husband. Knowing Gil, he wouldn't be able to keep his hands from the small of her naked back, and it had worked. Her long legs were futher exaggerated by a pair of one-inch heel sandles, with a square toe, her toenails painted a delciate gold. She, at Grissom's request, had left her hair to dry naturally, and her curls danced about her face. She had put on little make-up, just some lip gloss, and a dab of perfume at her pulse-points. A plain gold necklace rested at her throat, turning her eyes more melted and chocolatey than normal.

Grissom was equally dashing. He was wearing a light-blue shirt that set off his eyes, and a light grey tie that did the same to his hair. The rest of the suit was black. His beard was neatly trimmed, and the steel rims of his glasses glinted, adding an extra twinkle to those cobalt irises.

"So," Sara muttered. She saw Gil's questioning glance. "What are we doing?"

"First, we are going to a Moroccan restaurant. Then, we are going to the opera to see Tosca. After that, we shall proceed to our hotel room, where, I hope, we shall participate in many activities not suitable for extraneous ears to hear." He smiled seductively, and then it softened, became less ... sinister? Threatening? Suggestive, more like. He leaned back, pursing his lips in thought. "You think Belle will be okay with Catherine?" he mumbled.

Another smile arose on Sara's lips. "I'm sure she'll be fine. I'll keep my phone on vibrate, Catherine said she'd call immediately if there was a problem." She saw the concern on Grissom's face, noting that it was probably a physical manifestation of the slight anxiety she was feeling. "Gil, honey, I know she's blown up a lab, but she managed to raise Lindsay properly," she added.

Gil winced at the mention of Catherine's misdemeanor. "Not exactly the sort of thing I need to reminded of when we've left our daughter with her," he moaned. "But I suppose Belle will be okay. Won't she?"

His concern warmed Sara's feart, endeared him to her as much as all of that night did. Knowing that he cared was a great comfort. Seeing him with Belle - Sara had always worried at her own reaction to having a child, but that had been multiplied ten-fold during pregnancy, constantly ruminating on how Gil would fare. She needn't have worried. He regularly changed her nappies (not really a surprise for a guy who frowned upon holding his breath at decomps), and was always the person to carry Belle over if she woke up in the night. He had even offered to shave his beard so that he didn't give the baby dermatitis - Sara had rapidly dismissed that notion. As for herself, she had gotten over the pain of afterbirth, the hemarrhoids, the sore breasts. It had been worth that discomfort, although she hadn't felt like it at first. But seeing that baby, knowing it would be totally dependent on her and Gil ... besides, she wanted to protect it, protect it and love it unlike she had been when she was a child.

"Honey, I thought tonight was supposed to be about us. Yes, it's natural to be concerned. But don't let it spoil our evening. Okay?"

Grissom nodded weakly, slightly overwhelmed at the upsurge of paternal instinct. And to think, he had never figured himself for a father.

"So, what did you think?" Grissom asked, leading Sara along the thickly-carpeted floor of the hotel.

"Of what? The food? The music? Of you trying out certain things in the back of the limo? Shit, I thought I was going to start moaning when you put your hand on my thigh in the second act of Tosca.

Grissom smiled, stopping at a door. "It has been quite a while," he conceded. "But all that will soon be behind us," he added. "Oh, and I was a little disappointed you didn't wear stockings," he added, pouting slightly.

Sara simply returned his smile. "So, what room's it this time?" she inquired, leaning against the opposite wall, her arms folded. The scene made Gil's groin stir.

"Honeymoon suite," he growled, unlocking the door and holding it open for Sara.

Before she even had a chance to observe the decor, Grissom had closed the door behind her, and pinned up her against it, kissing her roughly. She ran her fingers through his hair and groaned against his mouth. "Oh, that was good," she applauded him emphatically. "But how about before you commence seduction, you allow me to go and change?"

Grissom became visibly disappointed, and stood back, freeing her body. "How am I supposed to strip you?" he complained.

"Wait and see," she purred, her voice sending definite vibrations through his body. He nodded imperceptably, and watched her carry her small purse into the bathroom. Checking the bed, it was covered in rose petals, just as he'd requested. He smiled to himself, then turned precipitously when he heard Sara 'ahem.'

"Oh," he whispered, suddenly glad he hadn't carried her over to the bed straight away. Relieving his chagrin, she had taken her shoes off, leaving her dress on. The difference was that she was sporting a pair of stockings. He felt his dick strain against the fly on his trousers. "You look maginificent," he praised, voice catching in his throat. He stood to the side, allowing her to see the bed.

"Rose petals," she said. "How decadent." She appraoched Gil, and a battle of mouths, tongues and hands ensued. Grissom managed to get her to slip out of her dress, and was immedately concerned that his dick was going to tear staright through his trousers, having gained a mind of its own. All because Sara was wearing grey and black lingerie - La Perla, to be precise. Grey-and-black silk and lace bra, same-coloured thong with garter belt, and the black stockings. She took his hand and pushed it between her legs, groaning at the contact. "Go on," she urged, dragging him slowly back to the bed.

Grissom pushed her back on to it, kissing her hard. He straddled her legs and removed his tie and shirt, throwing it on the floor. Then he ran each hand slowly up each of her legs, amused and aroused at the contracting flesh between his thick fingers. He smiled and lay on top of her, bracing his forearms on either side. This time the kiss was drawn out and languid. His hands easily relieved her of her bra and panties, until all she was wearing was the garter belt and attached stockings. Kneeling back up, he reached down and torturously ran his hands along the stocking fabric, unclipping it and dragging it down her leg, repeating the process with the other. Then he made to unzip himself.

Sara caught his hand. "Allow me," she said, sitting up. Her fingers worked like a charm, and he lay back down on her, both sets of hands manipulating in ways they had neglected for a long time.

"Do we need protection?" Grissom inquired before he entered her.

Sara thought for a second, brushing damp curls from her forehead. God, the foreplay was sweatier than ever. She watched Gil's smiling face. "No. I'm using a patch." She felt his fingers seek out the spot on her, and he nodded. She grabbed him and guided him slowly into her, wincing as he breached her.

He frowned in concern and leaned back. "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?" Hands caressed her cheek and he waited for a reply.

"No, I'm fine. It's a bit ... you know ... tender?" She smiled in embarrassment. "Maybe just take it a little slower?"

He shrugged in agreement, and began a protracted entrance. Finally he was in, and she urged him on, told him not be so considerate and gentle now.

"It's been too long," she growled. So he went harder. To his credit, she never had to direct him, he knew instinctively what she needed and what she liked, and how she needed and liked it. And she was rubbing just as hard.

Their eyes locked as they both dropped over the edge, giving in to that momentary plunge over the abyss, holding on to each other for dear life. Then gently, tenderly, Grissom pulled out. "Oomf," was all he could say as he lay on his back, chest heaving and wet with sweat and ...

"I ... agree," Sara gasped, heart beat gradually slowing. "God, you don't know how good that felt," she moaned happily.

"Yeah I do," Gil disagreed, turning on his side and pulling her into his arms. "Damn, I love you so much, honey," he enthused.

"After that," Sara started, "I'll love you forever."

"I know. It's in the contract." They shared one last kiss, and drifted off into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Belle Grissom grew up to be a fine girl, curly hair from both genetic sides, the dimpled chin of her father, the brown eyes of her mother, inheriting the intelligence of both of them. She went on to study English Literature at Yale. Despite having some years on them, Gil and Sara still enjoy a passionate night every once in a while.