A/N - I know, it's been a while. La la la, excuses. I wrote this at work today, mostly to get last night's episode of CSI out of my brain. Also, I'm participating in Nanowrimo this month and probably should have used these words for my word count of the day, but what can you do. This is chapter 2 of 3. Thanks for reading!


Sara sat straight up in bed, clutching her stomach with both hands. She was too early in her pregnancy to feel the baby kicking, but the baby was doing something in there. For a whole minute, Sara was exhaustingly happy. The baby was alive inside of her, making her feel for the first time in weeks that she wasn't completely and truly alone. But then the movements stopped, and that calm, familiar ache settled over her again.

The first few weeks after Gil died, she felt his presence everywhere. It had been equal parts frustrating and amazing. Amazing because she knew, knew in her heart it was him. It was his spirit, and it wouldn't leave her alone. She felt so lucky that he was still taking care of her, even in death.

But it was also frustrating because she wanted to grieve. It would seem like grieving would come easy to her when it came to Gil Grissom, because most of the time in between meeting him at the Forensics Academy Conference and his tragic death 10 years later was spent grieving his hesitation to be in a relationship with her. But back then, it was still possible, and then it ultimately happened. Now she'd never have that possibility again. He was gone. His spirit was gone. Her heart was gone.

Sighing deeply, she put her hands back on her stomach. When she felt no movement, she closed her eyes and willed herself back to sleep. She didn't dream about Gil.


There were ants in the cupboard. She found bees in the garage. Once, there was even a lightning bug that only appeared when she turned off all the lights. And now there were fruit flies in the refrigerator, buzzing around the strawberries she was looking forward to for breakfast.

"Damn it!" Melinda cried out for the third time that morning. "Why is this happening?!"

Melinda did not like bugs of any kind. She could deal with spirits and ghosts and any form of the dead from sun up to sundown, but she could not deal with fruit flies and ants and anything else that could buzz at any time of day. If Jim were here--really here, not just the ghost who hid in closets so he wouldn't make her mad--he would take care of this insect problem. Setting traps, spraying with bug spray, cursing at them as loudly as her voice could go, nothing was taking care of this awful problem. And for the millionth time in months, Melinda wondered why Jim had to be taken away from her.

There were other women in the world who suffered a loss like this; millions of them. Even her best friend and trusted employee Delia had gone through the same thing, and she even had a kid at the time. Delia's husband was murdered in cold blood, and Jim's death was accidental. Even knowing that it could have been worse, Melinda still felt like she was the only person in the world who could possibly know what it was like to lose her soul mate.

In some ways, maybe she was. Most people didn't have to deal with the fact that their dead husbands wouldn't stop (refused to stop, in fact) haunting them. Even though Jim tried to stay out of her way most of the time, she knew he was there. She knew he wanted to rid the refrigerator of the fruit flies and make sure they couldn't come back, but he wasn't able to. It was more frustrating than she was ready to deal with, and yet that was exactly what she had to do. There were still spirits to cross over, antiques to sell, and life to live.

Melinda was giving it all she had, but these bugs...these damn bugs were popping up everywhere these days, and she couldn't figure out why. Of course, she had the sinking suspicion that this was the work of a spirit, but usually these spirits wanted to talk to her; wanted her to see them, and this one, if it was in fact a spirit, was still in hiding. She hoped it would happen soon, because she was really getting tired of these damn bugs.

The last straw was when she was enjoying her last glass of wine for the night. She'd just settled down in front of the TV for another episode of "Let's Escape the Reality of Melinda's Life" when she saw it. The piercing scream she let out could probably wake the dead, much less her neighbors, but she couldn't help it--there was a roach on the loose. Much worse, a flying roach.

When it landed on her hand, she jumped up and found the telephone book that was just delivered to her doorstep earlier in the day. She aimed it at the evil roach, and heard a satisfying splat as both the roach and the book flew to the floor. When she was sure it was dead, she sighed deeply and did something she was trying to avoid with all her willpower.

"Jim? Jim, where are you? Are you in this house right now?"

A beat. 2 beats. Another bea--

"I'm here," came an almost imperceptible voice. It came from the guest bedroom...the empty guest bedroom that they'd been slowly making into a nursery when he died.

"Come out, please," she said. He did just that. God, he looked good, even as a spirit. Sure, he was pale and she could almost see right through him, but he still looked like her Jim.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hi, Mel. It looks like you're having some bug problems," he said. "But at least you got some use out of that phonebook, huh?"

They both chuckled, and Melinda's heart hurt so bad she almost felt it rip from her body.

"Thank you for staying out of the way, it makes things so much easier. Have you, um, thought about the light?"

"I have," he said. "I'm not ready."

She knew the answer before she asked. It never hurt to try, though.

"Fair enough. Hey, I have a question. Have there been any ghosts hanging around here lately? Someone who might be trying to send me a message with these bugs? Because it's driving me crazy, and the sooner I can get them into the light, the better."

"Yes, actually. He doesn't talk much, but I've seen him around, just waiting to show himself to you. I've tried to tell him that you'll see him whenever he's ready, but...I think he's kind of an awkward guy, in life and in death."

Melinda sighed deeply.

"Well, if you see him again, tell him to stop with the bugs. If he was trying to make a point, whatever, I get it. Now put up or shut up, right?"

Jim laughed. "Ah, Mel, you could always make me laugh."

She wanted to touch him. She wanted to reach over and touch him and feel him and taste him one more time, but she knew if she tried, she'd only touch air. Still, that air was all she wanted at that moment. So she turned away, hoping he'd understand. When she turned around a second later, he was gone. Even in death, Jim knew how to please his wife.


It took one more week for Gil Grissom to finally appear to Melinda. In that time, there were more wasps, ladybugs and fireflies than she could count. It would make sense that she get used to these creatures, but she never did.

In grand Grissom tradition, he saved the best for last. It was in the basement at Same As It Never Was, where she was used to getting visits from her spirits. Ghosts liked basements, she found.

So it came to no surprise that she saw a spider crawl across the trunk she was hauling to a corner of the basement. She tried to stay calm because, after all, it was just one spider. But then there was another one, and then dozens more, and they were all crawling in her direction. So she did what came naturally--screamed bloody murder. Melinda was never so glad Delia was across the street getting coffee; she didn't want to deal with having to explain the bugs to her always-skeptical friend.

"Okay, seriously, whoever you are, get out here now! No more bugs! They're gross and ugly and serve no purpose--"

"Now, that's just not true," came a disembodied voice. Ah, finally, Melinda thought.

"Bees pollinate flowers, flies help speed up decomposition, spiders act as a food source to other animals as well as help control the population of other insects. In fact, even the cicadas that come out once every 17 years--"

"I don't mean to interrupt, but what is it with you and insects? Did you have an ant farm growing up?"

Finally, Gil Grissom came out of the shadows. Melinda stared at this man who'd been causing her so much frustration lately. He was an older man with a graying beard, dark hair, and tired eyes. He looked like he needed a hug. Melinda wished she could offer that kind of support, but her gifts didn't extend to embracing the dead.

"I am--was--an entomologist," he said. Finally Melinda understood, and gave him a little chuckle for his efforts. "And yes, I did have an ant farm."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense," she said. "Now can you tell me why you're here?"

He looked down at his feet, and she waited patiently.

"I'm not sure how I ended up here. I died in Las Vegas. For a while I was with Sara even though she couldn't see me. And then...I don't know. It's just a blur."

"Okay, well, let me introduce myself. I'm Melinda Gordon, and I help spirits cross over. So I'm guessing that you're here because you have something you still need to talk about with this Sara. Is that right?"

He nodded sadly.

"She was my wife. We were married for a week before I died. I can't go, Mrs. Gordon." She cringed at the "Mrs."

"It's Ms. now, I guess," she said. "My husband died recently."

"Well, maybe that's why I ended up here," he said wisely. "Maybe you were meant to help me...and Sara."

"Wait, does Sara live in Vegas, too?"

Grissom nodded.

"Oh, I don't know. I don't really do this thing long distance..."

He frowned.

"Okay, all right. Give me the information, I'll go tomorrow."

Of course she'd do it. She would never turn down anyone just because they didn't live in Grandview. And he was right, this Sara probably did need her help if she was anything like Melinda, which she obviously was.

Grissom looked relieved, but she could tell there was still something else on his mind. So she waited. And waited. And waited. And finally he said, "There's something else you should know."

"Okay?"

"Sara is pregnant," he said. "She's pregnant, and she needs to know how proud I am of her right now. I can't go until she knows that, Ms. Gordon. Do you think you can help me?"

Melinda's face softened. This Sara was pregnant and lost her husband, and suddenly Melinda didn't feel like the only widow in the world anymore.

"Of course," she said. "We'll do it tomorrow."

24 hours later, Melinda and Grissom were in Las Vegas, ready to talk to the grieving Sara Sidle.