Here we go again.
Sara stared at the ceiling, wide awake. Her head sunk into the freshly fluffed pillow, she threw one leg over the blankets then the other one. She sighed in exasperation as she rolled on her right side, then the left one, before settling on her back.
Shadows gathered above her head and she could make out shapes like a child might while staring at clouds, her imagination turning the abstract forms into floating faces.
She was reminded of the many sleepless nights of her childhood, looking up at the dark shapes, willing the monsters to transform themselves into fairies and butterflies. She blinked the memories away as she felt her eyes grow moist.
She might have been protecting herself from real monsters then but the boogey men were now buried deep under the foundation of an unbelievable life and she would have like nothing better but to be able to sleep.
She turned carefully back onto her right side, examining the sleeping form next to her. Grissom's chest rose up and down in a regular pattern, his right hand laying on his stomach while the other one stood inches from hers, palm up, offering his hand even in his sleep.
She traced the lines of his palm slowly; the deep creases visible even in the dark. She lingered on the one she knew to be the love line and wondered briefly what her role had been in shaping it. One day she would have to pick up a book on palmistry, it seemed too easy to think that you literally held the future in the palm of your hand but it was worth a look.
Regardless of what was outlined in her own palms, Gil Grissom, whose heart and soul she knew intimately, was the answer to her prayers. The stable home and unconditional love she'd been denied as a little girl lay within this man sleeping beside her.
She relinquished his hand when he stirred lightly, a small part of her wished that he would wake up--misery did really enjoy company--but she knew he needed his sleep.
So do you. You know you're tired so why can't you sleep?
A sigh escaped her as she sat up against the headboard; she should get up, get a glass of milk, read a book or watch an infomercial. Isn't that what insomniacs did?
Determined to try something, she got out of bed and tiptoed her way down the dark stairwell. She bumped a sore breast against the wall as she rounded the corner leading to the kitchen, catching the curse before it came out. Her whole body ached and she was sure a lack of sleep was somehow to blame.
She squinted and frowned under the light of the fridge, the smell of left over Chinese food overwhelming and she tossed it in the trash. She finally found the milk and poured herself a tall glass. Was she supposed to warm it or spike it with alcohol? She seriously considered the latter but a killer headache was sure to follow so she downed the cold milk.
And she waited, expecting sleepiness to overcome her at any moment. When it didn't, she leaned back against the kitchen counter, frustration creeping through her. She wasn't a chronic insomniac, not anymore, so there had to be a reason why sleep eluded her.
Was it work?
Work was certainly tough, ruthless and emotionally draining. She certainly had seen the faces of countless victims in her dreams and had awakened in cold sweats and tears more than once.
But that was before Grissom; before he had started sharing her bed. He'd been so patient when at first she'd wake up terrified, he'd listen to her describe the horrors of her dreams. He'd let her talk about how her own tragic past often collided with work cases to create images worthy of the scariest horror movie.
The nightmares hadn't completely disappeared, but for the most part her nights had been dreamless since she'd had him to cuddle up to at night, an arm to cradle her head every time she waited for sleep to claim her.
Besides it wasn't nightmares that kept her awake. It was something else, something she couldn't quite put her finger on, a lingering feeling that gnawed at her brain.
She plopped herself on the sofa, turning the TV on to find some washed up movie star venting the merit of an anti wrinkle cream. She used the arm of the couch as a pillow, tucking her feet underneath her as she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the monotone voices coming from the television.
Seconds turned into minutes and turned into half an hour and she opened her eyes to watch the start of a different infomercial, this one about an acne treatment lotion.
Arrrgggh! Damn it, go to sleep Sara. Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep.
She could feel tears of frustration tugging at her eyelids, as she turned the TV off. Blinded by the sudden darkness, she slowly made her way back up the stairs, determined to give her bed another try.
Maybe she should have bought those sleeping pills she'd seen at the pharmacy earlier. She'd thought about it but figured tonight would be different, she was so tired, she'd assumed she'd sleep like a baby.
She stopped abruptly when she reached the bedroom. She couldn't shake the impression that she was missing something important. She'd experience that feeling at crime scenes before when an obvious clue was right in front of her-
The pharmacy…Something about the pharmacy…Holy Shit!
She hurried as silently as possible to the adjacent washroom, grabbing the calendar off the wall on her way. She sad on the edge of the tub, her hands shaking as she turned the page to the previous month.
It can't be…
The blank page stared back at her, the usual red mark obviously missing. She located the last circled number and started counting. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9…
It could be…
"10 weeks." She jumped at the sound of her voice.
She went back through the previous pages as it all became clear in her mind
The night she had held that young girl's hand as she died; the same night she had held the hand of a real life monster. Later, as Grissom took her home, she'd asked him to make her feel alive. They'd vowed to never take life for granted again and as he made love to her she'd shed tears for the all the young girls who would never know love as she did.
She stood up brusquely, lifting her top as she examined her profile. She had a slight bump. But she always had a bump. She'd tried every Pilates exercise on the market but had given up when it'd been obvious that a chiseled stomach wasn't in the cards for her.
She pressed her hand on her stomach, trying to figure out if anything felt different. It didn't, it wouldn't yet, but she just knew. Suddenly her exhaustion made sense, the soreness in her breasts, the nausea…
I'm pregnant.
She made her way back to bed, careful not to disturb Grissom as she slipped beneath the covers. He had shifted in his sleep, and lay facing her. She studied his peaceful features, trying to figure out the best way to tell him that his life was going to be turned upside down. She was tempted to wake him but she needed time to think.
I'm going to be a mom… Oh my God, I'm going to be a mom!
She turned to the ceiling, seeking answers in the shadows of her childhood finding them distorted through her tears.
She had no idea how to be a parent. Would she be able to keep the monsters away from her child, would she be able to offer him a stable home and unconditional love? What would he see in the shadows above his bed? She would figure it out. They would figure it out, she had to believe that.
She closed her eyes on that wish, and as she felt Grissom's body snuggle up to her, his palm sliding over her stomach, she knew it would come true.