A/N Yeah Yeah. I don't want to study the implications of my turning thirty cough a few months ago and eggs dying and this story. Cause I'm trying not to turn into one of those "Sara is just like me." people but she is kind of like me. We are cute and tall (good self esteem is positive) and I had a gap until I got braces...

Just read.

Oh yeah. I wrote this before I knew about eggs dying and such.

Okay just read.

Much love to Cybrokat and Danese. They make me look good.

My husband, the steel-nerved, ever inscrutable Gil Grissom, feels much better. Our friends know and they are happy for him-us. As the group digested breakfast meats and pastries, they digested the fact that Grissom and Sara were more than just together. She was his wife. They were happy and scared like when you are going downhill roller coaster style. They were filled with joy but frightened of the unexpected. One of us is going to have to go and my husband insists that he will be the sacrificial lamb. I understand what he means. He feels like he's accomplished all he can at the lab. He will be leaving it in good hands with Cath and then maybe Greg, Warrick or Nick years later. He never will be and never wanted to be the director. He likes spending time with Jonathan. Thandie will still need the help and he likes teaching and doing his seminars. I know it's what he wants to do but something feels wrong. Not for him-for me.

Maybe it's not working professionally with Grissom? I don't know but something feels off. I want to tell Grissom but I don't' know how to do that because I don't' know what I'm feeling.

As if he's reading his mind he lets out a little snort as he begins to unbutton his shirt.

"I can't wait to tell Ecklie. I might call him right now. He's going to die. Twice divorced bald and bitter. Me with a full head of hair and a new wife. Him with only a master's-"

"Hey!" I poke him playfully.

"Sorry dear. Only a master's from a second rate school." He kisses my brow.

"Better," I murmur.

"Are you going to tell him why?"

"Are you kidding me? I might have our marriage license plastered to my head. Might buy a bigger ring. This is going to be sweet." The shirt is gone now. So are his pants.

"Do you want an engagement ring?" he asks.

Where did that come from? "What?"

"To have a set. To make it complete."

"We weren't ever engaged."

"Yes we were. We were engaged for a few hours."

"Do you want me to have an engagement ring?" He's serious but I am more interested in the thick bulge pressing in my thigh.

No shirt now. Only white contain boxers with tiny black bugs all over them. "I want you to have whatever you want."

"Let me think about it?"

"Sure." He slides into bed next to me and pulls me close.

xxxxx

Dr. Raven Black is as her name suggests - sleek and dark. She rarely smiles but when she does it's with an impish gap that rivals my own and turns her face into dark sunlight. She worked her way through medical school as a show girl. One of her old costumes, a red and gold number, hangs on the wall. The matching gold shoes sit on a battered antique table competing with a pair of silver sequined shoes that look to small for such a tall woman.

She waves me to a soft leather chair across for hers in the small sitting area. Her lithe body slids into place easily. "I forgot to say congratulations Mrs. Grissom."

"Thank you." She knows Grissom from seminars. Dr. Black does pinch hits for the county's forensic gynecologist when she needs goes on vacation of just needs a break. She's been my OBGYN for since I came to Vegas. I like her a great deal and always wished things were different and we could actually be friends. As it stands the doctor and patient relationship make it difficult to carve out a friend niche.

"You have the last good man in town Sidle-er Grissom or will it be Sidle-Grissom."

To be honest I hadn't thought about it. We've been hiding so the name thing hasn't exactly come into play. "I really don't know. I'll have to talk to Grissom."

"Already sound like a married woman." She says flipping open a pale pink folder with all my personal information for the last six years.

"So you're going with the NuvaRing. Right?"

"Right. Um, will my husband be able to feel it?"

Dark eyes brighten a little as she clicks a pen. "My husband can but he's a urologist. Most men can't but from what I hear if they do they like it."

"So there's nothing else you want to talk about right? You don't plan on having children so I don't have to give my standard you are about to turn 35 lecture."

Something foreboding prickles my tummy. "Yeah I did say that."

Seriousness fills her face and she closes the folder and pushes it aside, clicks her pen and pulls the prescription pad she had been working on towards her. "Sara. Do you want to have children?"

Well there it is. Someone has finally said it out loud. That's the thing that's been needling me for weeks when I kiss Johnathan goodnight and good morning. When I clean up small muddy footprints. When I seize up the idea that Jonathan and Thandie might move out.

"I don't know." It's all I can think to say. For years I've sung the same song over and over again. I don't want kids. I am not a kid person. I don't get kids and they don't get me. That was my constant refrain. Now with Jonathan in my life the possibility doesn't seem so daunting. I say truthfully, "My husband doesn't want kids."

She flips open the chart read the family in residence section. "Any more kids you mean."

I explain about Thandie and Jonathan. "So you both thought you didn't want kids but then he found a grandson and a daughter and his whole life changed?"

"Our lives changed."

"Still having your own kids is different. You don't have to sit up with them when they are sick. You don't make sure they eat their veggies. Don't have to deal with their temper tantrums."

"Jonathan likes his veggies. He had a cold the other week and his mom got called out on an emergency. We played some game that I don't understand the rules to but I kept winning and then we snuggled in bed and drinking orange juice and watching Dora the Explorer. Lately the temper tantrums have been about bare feet."

She smiles encouragingly. "His or yours?"

"Both. He insists that everyone must wear shoes." I don't want my boy to sound like a neurotic. "He's really a great kid. He just has a few eccentricities."

"Like his grandfather," she's still smiling and my eyes float to the prescription pad that she's now turned over. "Sara, you know I don't pull any punches. I don't do the standoffish doctor thing well. In my business I can't afford to. Fertility is fluid and has limitations. You are 35. You smoked for five years. Your husband is-how old is Gil?"

"50." The gravity of the number is unfamiliar.

"The only thing you two have going for you is that we know he is or was fertile. If you don't want to have kids then I'll write this prescription and we can call it a day. But if you don't know, my advice would for you and your husband to at least talk about it. He can use condoms for another month. It won't kill him."

TBC