A/N: Another one in our "A Few Days Series"--only we go back in time to a few weeks after Gil Grissom marries Sara Sidle. Enjoy! Remember, we own nothing but a little sand and a Pat OBrian's glass filled with cheap beads!

Putting Senses to Order Chapter 1

"I go to nature to be soothed and healed and to have my senses put to order." Sara twisted the narrow gold bracelet as she read the John Burroughs quote. She thought it ideal in its simplicity; its message appropriate for her and the perfect gift from the man she loved.

She leaned forward, slowly, to slide the window shade up enough to see sunlight in the east. She pressed her head against the window and looked below—snow covered mountains in miniature. She tried to remember world geography; the Alps, perhaps. A coastline came into her view. This must be Italy, she thought.

Grissom had insisted on this trip. His father had taken his mother to Venice on their honeymoon and he remembered a hundred references to that trip made during breakfast, or while looking at black and white photographs, or when watching certain movies.

"And, since we are already half-way around the globe, let's see the pyramids—up close and in person!"

She had already lost what sensibilities she had weeks ago when she turned to find him standing in the Costa Rican rainforest. Along with a dozen other happenings, she agreed. She was happy; her life was a whirlwind, but in its center was her husband, her lover, her best friend and companion and he was beside her.

Her seatmate groaned and rubbed his nose. She smiled as she gently placed his pillow underneath his head.

"I'm awake," he said. He took her hand and held it against his cheek. "Are we there yet?"

"Not quite."

Sara had been in a dream world for weeks—a perpetual state of disbelief from the moment she turned to see him—sweaty, holding his breath, momentary uncertainty on his face. They had seldom been apart since that day. Weeks in Costa Rica as volunteers had ended when she realized she was pregnant. They were married among their friends. She smiled as she felt his thumb against the palm of her hand. How many times had the touch of his hand soothed her troubled thoughts?

Today, she was not troubled. If anything, her excitement kept her from sleep. The business class seats had stretched to a comfortable recliner and she did sleep, just not as quickly nor as soundly as her husband. She leaned against his shoulder.

"Did you sleep?" He asked as he shifted an arm to wrap around her shoulders.

"I did. I really need the bathroom now."

With his eyes closed, he found her seatbelt and said, "Would you bring me a coffee, Mrs. Grissom?"

Mrs. Grissom. Would she ever become accustomed to that name? Last night the flight attendant had said her name as she confirmed the vegetarian meal. Grissom had laughed at the look on her face. She patted the bulge at her waistline as she checked her face in the small bathroom mirror. Grissom insisted she carry identification and insurance cards on her person "at all times" on this trip. She tucked the pouch behind her belt.

Within the hour, breakfast was served and passengers were preparing for landing. Sara kept her face against the window.

"There it is," she said just as the plane banked for landing giving passengers their first view of the city built on water. The Dolomite Mountains framed the distant horizon. She felt his hand on her back. "It's already beautiful. Thank you." She kissed him as the announcement came to "straighten seat backs" followed by the flurry of activities set in motion by those words.

They walked off the plane with their bags and breezed through customs, guarded by solemn officials in immaculate uniforms. They found the airport boat and, after showing the agent the name of their hotel, Grissom quoted Henry James.

"Venice is best approached by sea."

The passenger boat, much like a bus, moved quickly, and just as millions before, the two gazed at the world's truly unique city. The absolute absence of cars and trucks, the streets of water, the magnificent buildings—Sara pointed at a familiar delivery logo painted on a brown boat. At the second stop, the boat's driver pointed to them, and placed luggage on the dock, he left as quickly as they had arrived.

"Left, our hotel is left."

Sara grabbed her bag, unquestioning Grissom's directions. The boat ride, the long flight, the lack of sleep made her dizzy and completely willing to do as he said. He sensed her discomfort and reached for her bag, leaving her with a rolling suitcase.

"I got this one."

His directions were dead-on. "Thanks to Google and GPS," he said as a door was opened by a hotel employee who immediately took their bags, their names, and walked with them to the desk. In minutes, they were given key cards and directions, and the same man placed their suitcases on a cart, and in an Italian English mix of words, they knew to follow him.

The smallest of elevators took them up three floors in this palazzo turned hotel to a long narrow hall. When the room door was opened, the two men stood to one side for Sara to enter. She saw pale yellow walls and shuttered windows before a sudden lightheadedness overcame her normal composure. She stumbled and pitched forward as darkness closed around her.