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We'll Always Have Paris (1/1)

McGarrett Rollins Home

Living Room

"Have you decided where you're going on your honeymoon yet?" Grace asked hopefully as she tucked her tablet into her backpack.

"We have," Catherine grinned.

Grace inhaled excitedly but deflated when she heard her favorite aunt's next words.

"But we're not telling anyone yet."

"Tease," Carrie chuckled as she wrote a few final notes on the paper in front of her.

The three of them had spent the evening mapping out a plan for the following weekend's bridesmaids' dress shopping trip.

"Wherever they go it'll be romantic," Grace sighed dreamily.

"That's for sure," Carrie winked at her best friend as she dropped her arm around Grace. "Ready to head home, Gracieco?"

"Sure thing, Carrieco," Grace grinned. "Thanks for offering to drop me off so Danno didn't have to make a special trip."

"Any time," Carrie smiled sincerely.

Deck

Steve was sitting on the deck, nursing a beer in the fading sunlight, Cammie asleep at his feet, when Catherine emerged from the house.

"You guys get everything figured out?" he asked as she dropped down in the seat beside him.

"We did. Mary and Joan are arriving next Friday afternoon. We're gonna get to the first store early on Saturday and with any luck by the time dinner rolls around we'll have chosen dresses."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed."

"You and Danny are still planning to babysit Joanie, right?"

"That's the plan," Steve grinned. "I can't wait."

Catherine's phone buzzed and she smiled when she read the incoming text.

"Grace is still lobbying for Paris as a honeymoon destination."

Steve chuckled. "Did you tell her about our last trip there?"

"No. She has a very romantic idea of what it's like. I don't want to spoil that for her."

"I don't know … I remember our time there as being pretty romantic."

"You do not!"

"I do so! For one thing, I've never showered that many times in one weekend. Before or since."

Paris

Hotel Le Bellechasse

"Cath, are you sure you're ok?" Steve asked worriedly from outside the closed bathroom door.

"I'm not sure I'm ever gonna be ok again," she said plaintively from the other side.

Followed by sounds of vomiting.

"I'm coming in," he insisted as he reached for the doorknob.

"No! Don't!" she pleaded. "I'm fine."

A few seconds later he heard the sound of water running in the sink. When she finally opened the door she looked pale and drawn with darkening circles under her eyes.

"I'm not sure our relationship is ready for you to see me projectile vomiting," she moaned.

"Nothing you could do would ever drive me away," he responded with absolute conviction. "Not even that."

She gave him a weak but grateful smile.

"I think I should call a doctor," he suggested as he helped her to the bed and pulled back the covers.

She placed her phone on the nightstand. "I got a text from Jenkins. She's sick too. Same with Dutton and Forster. Must have been the shrimp salad we ate before we caught our flights."

As soon as she was settled Steve pulled the blankets up to her chin and grimaced.

"Food poisoning. Lousy way to spend a two-day liberty," he said.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I know some of your teammates are in town. If you want to go out with them I'll be ok." She closed her eyes against a fresh wave of nausea. "Just because I can't have fun doesn't mean you shouldn't."

"I'm not going out and leaving you here like this." His tone left no room for negotiation as he toed off his shoes and crawled into bed beside her.

"This can't be what you had in mind for this weekend," she said miserably. "I'm sorry the trip got ruined. After you had to jump through so many hoops to make it happen."

"Any time I get to spend with you is worth it." He kissed her gently on the temple. "I'm just sorry you're feeling so sick."

A minute later Catherine sat bolt upright, eyes wide, breathing deeply through her mouth.

"Do you feel like you have to throw up again?" Steve asked, ready to spring into action.

"I thought I did," Catherine replied breathily. "But it seems to have passed." She squeezed her eyes closed and took several deep breaths then opened them slowly. She looked around the room as if noticing it for the first time. "This room is pretty nice. It reminds me of the place we stayed in Bangkok."

Steve glanced around. "Really? I don't remember the place in Bangkok."

"You don't?" Catherine's eyes stung with tears. She knew the fact that she felt like death warmed over was making her more emotional than usual, still she couldn't help but be a little hurt Steve didn't remember Bangkok.

The place where they found each other again.

The place where with one smile he made all the pieces of her life fall back into place.

It would always be special to her.

She thought it was special to him as well.

She tried to hide the tears threatening her eyes but she was wasn't quick enough.

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly.

"Nothing," she sniffled.

"Catherine," he drew out her name. "You're not the kind of girl who says 'nothing' when she means 'something'."

He was right.

She wasn't that kind of girl.

She never wanted to be that kind of girl.

"I think all the vomiting has me off my game," she admitted.

"Understandable," he patted her arm sympathetically. "But please tell me what's wrong."

She began to pick at a piece of invisible lint on the comforter. "It's silly, I just … I can't believe you don't remember Bangkok."

Steve put his finger under her chin and raised in gently until her eyes met his. "I never said I don't remember Bangkok. I said I don't remember the room in Bangkok." He ran his hand down her arm and when he reached her hand he laced their fingers and squeezed lightly. "And would you like to know why?"

She pulled the covers around her with her free hand. "Why?"

"Because I was too busy looking at you."

The truth she saw in his eyes would have made her stomach flip-flop if it wasn't already doing that on its own.

"Steve … "

"I was so grateful to have you back in my life. So thankful you forgave me. I was afraid to take my eyes off you for fear I'd wake up and realize it was all a dream."

She laid her head on his shoulder and leaned into his side. "It was one of the happiest weekends of my life."

"I may not remember the room," he said softly as he laid them down, pulled her against his chest and began to rub her back slowly. "But I remember the important things."

"Like what?"

He could tell by her voice she was about to drift off for some much needed sleep.

"I remember your nails were painted. You said you never got to paint them on duty so you went a little wild on the plane. Candy apple red." His voice dropped. "It was one of the most erotic things I've ever seen."

"I'm glad you liked it," she said through the haze of sleep as he continued to rub her back.

"I liked everything about that weekend." He kissed the top of her head as her breathing evened out and she finally gave in to sleep. "Because you were there."

"I'm sorry," she said again as Steve stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist.

"It's not your fault," he said consolingly.

"I was dreaming I was throwing up and then next thing I knew … "

She looked so miserable leaning against the sink all he could do was wrap her in a hug.

"At least it all went on me and none got on the sheets."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he repeated with a soft smile. "Now let's get you back to bed." As they headed across the room he asked, "Do you think maybe you might feel better if you eat a little something?"

Catherine stopped in her tracks. Her eyes widened and she clamped her hands over her mouth.

She turned quickly and made it to the threshold of the bathroom before she couldn't hold it in any longer.

She angled her head towards the sink at the last second but it was a little too late and Steve's feet took a direct hit.

"I'm sorry," she said, tears on her cheeks.

"Look at the bright side," he chuckled as he wiped up the bathroom floor with his towel, "At least I hadn't gotten dressed yet."

Fifteen minutes and another shower later Catherine crawled into bed wearing one of Steve's t-shirts. After putting the dirty laundry outside the door and calling for a pickup he joined her.

"Tell me what else you remember about Bangkok," she sighed as she settled against his side once again.

His hand began soft, rhythmic motions on her back. "I remember how when you stepped out of the bathroom wearing my shirt after you showered you were so beautiful it took my breath away."

"I remember how good it felt to be wearing your shirt again," she smiled.

"I remember you had a little bruise on your left thigh. You said you got it from running into a desk." He slid his free hand under the covers and began to trace small circles against her skin. "It was right here."

"Steve," she said breathily.

"I remember the band you put your ponytail up with was purple. And your shirt was purple. And so were your underwear the first night."

She pulled back and was blown away by his shy smile. "Did you … is that when you started liking me in purple?"

He nodded.

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

No words seemed able to capture what she was feeling.

She'd always believed actions speak louder than words. But the one action she craved felt out of reach.

When he raised his eyes and met hers she found her voice.

"If my breath wasn't so bad right now I'd kiss you."

He leaned in and touched his lips to hers. "I'll kiss you any time, Rollins."

She ran her hand down his cheek. "You're amazing."

"Right back at ya."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"Your toothbrush was bright pink," he said as he continued slowly stroking her back again. "And the lotion was apple scented."

As he felt her breathing once again even out he kissed her head and whispered, "I remember everything that mattered about Bangkok. Everything that had to do with you."

When she awoke mid-morning the next day she was feeling a bit better. Still weak and definitely not back to her old self, but better.

After a refreshing shower, this time blissfully vomit free, Steve called room service and ordered a light lunch.

"I don't really think I want to try to eat anything," Catherine winced.

"Just a little something. Please? I want to make sure you're feeling better before I have to catch my plane."

"I'm feeling better," she assured him. "You don't need to worry about me."

"I do worry about you. And I want to make sure you're keeping food down."

"I might be better off not eating before I get on the plane," she reasoned.

"I disagree." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You need to try to put something in your stomach. Because if you're too sick to fly you should report in and get permission to postpone your trip back until tomorrow."

His earnest look melted her heart.

"I'm not promising anything," she said, "but I'll try."

McGarrett Rollins Home

Deck

"That was quite a weekend," he grinned.

She cocked her eyebrow. "Was it as memorable as Bangkok?"

"Absolutely."

"Oh really," she snorted. "What do you remember … aside from all the throwing up?"

He took her hand in his and turned in his chair to face her.

"I remember that even with all the vomiting you were still the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen." His expression was playful but his tone was completely sincere.

"Even after I vomited right on you?" she asked. "Twice."

"Even then." He nodded adamantly before continuing. "And I remember how when I rubbed your back, even as sick as you were feeling, it helped you relax and get to sleep."

"It still does," she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"And I remember that when I finally convinced you to eat some soup and dry toast, and you said it really did make you feel better, I felt like a hero."

"You are my hero. Always ... but that weekend especially. I needed you and you stepped up. Just like you always do."

"And I always will."

She leaned over and kissed him passionately. "I love you."

"And I love you," he said sincerely. "Hey, do you remember what movie we watched that last night in Bangkok?"

"I do," she smiled. "Casablanca."

"Yep," he grinned. "And just like Bogart said, 'We'll always have Paris.'"

THE END

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