Sara and Grissom were spending a lazy afternoon home on the couch before Sara had to go to work. Half-sitting, half-lying against the armrest with her legs propped up on Grissom's lap Sara had her nose in her pregnancy book while he gently massaged her swollen ankles and feet. The television was on, its sound turned down low, tuned to a games show he wasn't paying much attention to.

Peace and tranquillity were the order of the day. Their silence was easy and comfortable, every so often punctuated by Sara's reading aloud passages that were of particular interest to her about the latter stages of pregnancy and which put fuel to his silent musings and growing worries about the forthcoming birth. As his eyes stared blindly at the flicking images on the screen he continued his soothing kneading and let his mind wander.

Sara had another week of shifts left before maternity leave and he couldn't wait to have her home full time so he could keep an eye on her and make sure she wasn't overdoing it. Her blood pressure was a little high and lately she'd been coming home from CSI dead on her feet, falling asleep at the drop of a hat. His pleas for her to take some time off and slow down were always met with a raised brow and a knowing smile.

"Quit fretting," she would invariably say but who would blame him?

The nursery was ready, the crib he'd painstakingly sanded down to bare wood, primed and then painted white – two coats – standing on a rug dead centre of the room. He'd fixed the lock on the mechanism and had watched entranced the cradle rock, the cuddly toy they'd purchased sitting proudly in the middle. All that was missing was their baby inside it. A matching chest of drawers stood against the wall next to a changing table. That first trip to USA Baby four weeks ago had been an eye-opening experience for both of them, and since then there had been many a return trip, some with and some sans Sara.

The baby wasn't born yet and already it was an intrinsic part of their life, a new sun around which their small world revolved. It was all they thought about, talked about, read about. They had bought the baby a plastic bathtub, bedding, more clothes – all in varying shades of gender-neutral colours – and books, and only now did he feel he was getting to grips with it all. They had still to buy a car seat and a pram. A smile formed on his face. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He glanced at the time on the DVD player and pursed his face thoughtfully. It was getting rather late in the day, and he should think about making a start on dinner.

Out of the blue, Sara's toes straightened out in his hand and he felt the muscles in her feet tense, then relax, and then tense again. Frowning he looked down at his lap and watch the tendons work. Her toenails had grown quite a bit since she'd last painted them, and idly he wondered how long it would be until she was able to do that again.

"Sara, what are you doing?" he asked with growing puzzlement.

"Kegel exercises," she replied absently, "Very good for maintaining the strength of my vaginal muscles."

Grissom turned a bewildered expression toward his wife who, straight-faced, glanced up at him over the top of her book before continuing with her reading and her pelvic-floor exercises. Watching her, he felt a surge of love and wonder; that she was his wife and that their baby, due in just a few weeks, would soon be born. What had he done to deserve such love, happiness and contentment in his life?

She looked up again when smiling he tucked the blanket up around her midriff. "You know," she said, "I've been wondering what it must be like in there." She put one hand on her stomach before easing down the blanket and lifting her top, revealing a belly as hard as a watermelon. "Before we're born, I mean."

His hand immediately crept to her stomach, feather light fingers delicately brushing against the warm skin. All was calm in there, the baby most probably asleep. "Well," he said, considering her words, "I suppose it must be like floating under water and hearing distorted speech and sounds."

Sara gave a thoughtful nod and returned to her reading while he pulled down her top. Absorbed, she licked her index finger and turned another page. Her lips were slightly parted as she read and again he found himself unable to take his eyes off her.

"Remind me to buy some maxi menstrual pads and disposable briefs to take to the hospital," she said, "For after the birth."

Grissom's feeling of bewilderment increased ten-folds. He opened his mouth, then shut it, at a loss how to respond.

With an amused smile Sara pretended to return to her reading. "Feeling a little squeamish?" she teased, looking up. Something in his expression alarmed her, for shuffling up into a more seated position, she pulled her feet off his lap and looked at him with concern. "You know it's going to get messy, right? I mean, the loss of bodily functions, however embarrassing, won't be the worst of it."

He puckered his lips at her. "You know I don't mind all that. It's just…"

"Gil?" she called softly when his words drifted off in a sigh, "Talk to me."

His shoulder lifted and he reached over to the coffee table for the remote control. Keeping his eyes averted he clicked the television off. "Maybe an elective C-section is the way forward," he said finally, turning toward her. "The risks of something going wrong during labour increase with age and—"

Her expression was solemn, her gaze clouded with concern. "I thought we talked about this. I thought we'd agreed on a natural birth."

"I'm just…not looking forward to seeing you in pain or in distress, that's all."

There was a pause where Sara remained silent. "Gil," she said after a moment, "I'm healthy. The baby's healthy, facing the right way. He – or she – is of average size and weight, neither too big nor too small. I've been doing everything Dr Baldwin said I should do to get my body ready for the day. Taking all the supplements and vitamins. There's no reason to think the birth won't be as textbook as the pregnancy's been so far. Childbirth is painful, but I'm prepared." She held his gaze and smiled. "Besides us women have a much higher pain threshold than you men do."

His lips pulled in a small grudging smile. "And if you don't there's always the drugs, right?"

Sara's smile broadened, and she acknowledged his words with a nod. And then without skipping a beat, "Did you know Jacob was last year's most popular boys' name?"

How could she flit from one subject to another so swiftly? "Jacob?" he repeated without much enthusiasm.

She nodded, then read from her pregnancy guide. "And then Mason, William, Jayden, and Noah."

"I don't like any of them," he said a little grumpily, and then because he was interested, "What about the most popular girl's name?"

"Sophia."

Sophia, he mused. He didn't like that name either; not for his child anyway. Just as he didn't any of the names Sara had suggested so far. Sara resumed her silent reading and gently pulling her legs back out onto his lap he resumed his massaging. They'd discussed names before, many times, they'd even compiled a list but they hadn't been able to agree on any one in particular.

He stopped in his ministrations and turned toward her. "Sara?" he called musingly.

Her answer was an absent, muffled sound. Her eyes remained fixed on her reading.

"What do you think of Ava for a girl?"

Sara's eyes flicked up off the page before she lowered her book and looked up to him with surprise.

He stared at her expectantly and when she said nothing lifted his shoulder, suddenly unsure. "I mean…I like Ava. So, what do you think?"

He let his question hang with another tentative shrug of his shoulders. Ava, he mused, a soft smile forming on his lips. Oh, how he loved the way the name rolled off his tongue. Ava Grissom. She would be beautiful and smart, he decided, just like her mother and she needed a name accordingly.

"You don't like it," he said when Sara remained speechless. "That's okay. Just an idea. We'll find something we both agree on, I'm sure."

Sara sat herself up, lifting her hand to him, cutting his words short. "No. I―I like it," she said, and smiled, then tried out the name for herself. "Ava." She closed the book and lowered her hand to her stomach, giving it a gentle stroke. "Ava." Her smile grew and she swung her legs off his lap onto the floor, shuffling over next to him. "What changed your mind?"

"About what?"

"Well, until now you were adamant we were expecting a boy."

That was true. A boy would keep the family name going, he'd thought, a fact his mother had been quick to support. "And you a girl," he replied. "And I read in my book that mothers generally know best. All to do with maternal instinct."

Sara's expression became thoughtful and she sighed. "I hope you're right, because sometimes I wonder if we've taken on too much."

He burst out laughing. "And you're telling me this now?" When her gaze averted he sobered up and placed his fingers under her chin, coaxing it round toward him. He gave her a smile. "What happened to winging it, huh?" Sara's returning smile was small and unconvinced and he sighed. His tone became earnest. "You're going to be a great mom, Sara, I know you are. So quit worrying all right? It's not good for your blood pressure."

He picked up her book and idly flicked through it, then carelessly tossed it onto the coffee table. "There is a point where one can be too prepared and know too much. And I think…that you've reached that point." He placed his hand on her knee and gave it a gentle pat. "You're going to be a great mom, Sara," he reiterated firmly, and winked when finally he noticed the hint of a smile on her lips. He searched her gaze for a few seconds more and then content to see that her unfounded, but no less understandable, fears were appeased pushed up to his feet. "I'm going to go and make a start on dinner."

"I'll come give you a hand." She made to stand but he put his hand on her shoulder, keeping her down.

"You stay put," he said, "rest up before shift. Take a nap or something, while you still can." She was about to argue when he added, "I mean it, Sara, I don't want you anywhere near my kitchen."

The sparkle in her eyes when she laughed made him pause. His gaze flickered from her face to her stomach and then back up again, and he stared at her with all the love and tenderness he possessed. If he could bottle this moment and keep it for ever, he would. He felt his throat constrict with emotion, and when her hand lifted to his face in understanding he shook his head, trying to rid himself of his melancholy, and smiled at her.

"Rest," he bid quietly, and pecked her on the lips to stop her from arguing.

Once in the kitchen, he turned the oven on to warm up the pizza he'd made earlier. As he looked through the cupboards gathering ingredients to make a salad he began to hear the very distinctive sound of heavy breathing and panting coming from up the stairs. He smiled to himself, glancing over his shoulder in that direction, but couldn't see her. It was far too regular and measured for him to worry and think it was early labour or Braxton-Hicks. She was practising her Lamaze breathing as they'd been shown in the weekly prenatal classes they attended.

They met a mixed bunch at those classes, and when they'd gone to the first session a few weeks previously he'd fully expected for them to be the older couple there. He was by far the older man but Sara wasn't the older woman, not by a few years. That honour went to a forty-five-year-old Hispanic woman who was expecting her fourth child. He'd feared a few snide remarks maybe, blatant stares and murmured talk in regards to how old he was, but he needed have worried. If anything, his advancing years worked to his advantage, giving him a calmness, serenity and confidence that the younger folk lacked. Or so he liked to believe.

"Do we have any sardines?" Sara called down to him out of the blue.

Sardines, he mused, his brow rising, that was a new one. "I'll check," he called back, and put down his paring knife to check the cupboards. "You're in luck," he then said, pulling out a dusty can of Calmex sardines in tomato sauce and checking the best by date.

He was opening the can and making a meal out of it – literally and figuratively – when the door bell rang. He looked down at his tomato sauce covered fingers. "Sara, can you get it?" he called.

"Oh, can't you?" she said, "I'm doing my breathing exercises."

The doorbell chimed again, impatiently this time. Grissom frowned, then paused and turned toward the door. His face lit up suddenly as he realised his surprise had finally arrived. "I'm a little busy here," he insisted, trying to keep the smile of anticipation out of his voice.

"All right," Sara muttered grudgingly causing his smile to broaden. He glanced over to her at the top of the stairs as she pulled herself up from the couch with some difficulty and made her way over to the door. "All right, all right," she grumbled, "I'm coming as quick as I can."

Keeping an eye on the front door, Grissom moved over to the sink to wash his hands. Sara looked through the peephole and he could well imagine her frown of puzzlement on recognising the uniformed deliveryman behind the door. Slowly, she unbolted the door and opened it a crack.

"Delivery…Grissom," he heard, "…2205 Beach Front Drive?"

Grissom craned his neck to see the expression on Sara's face but she had her back well and truly to him.

"It's a little late in the day for a delivery, isn't it?" he heard her say, and then, opening the door wider, "Gil? It's a delivery. We're not expecting anything, are we?"

Grissom picked up a dish cloth and wiped his hand, the smile of anticipation growing on his face as he padded up the stairs to the door. "Well, I'm expecting a couple more books," he said lightly.

"I don't think that's it," she said, and jerked her head to the street.

Grissom looked at the white truck parked at the curb with its rear doors thrown open and grinned.

"Gil?"

The delivery guy stepped out of the back of the truck onto the hydraulic tail lift pulling a cart, three large white cardboard boxes piled high on it. The tail lift was lowered and the boxes wheeled to their door. The picture and wide lettering on the side of the bigger box was a dead giveaway as to its content. If he could have had it gift-wrapped, he would have done, but their local store was out of stock and he'd had to order it online. He turned his attention to Sara and watched her frown slowly fade until it morphed into the biggest, most incredulous grin.

"Where do you want me to leave the boxes?" the delivery guy asked.

"Just by the door is fine," Grissom replied, "Thank you." Clearly lost for words, Sara turned a still most flummoxed, wide-eyed expression toward him. "You any good with flat-pack?" he asked with a lift of his shoulder.

After he'd unloaded the boxes the delivery guy held out his plastic pen and electronic pad to Sara. When she made no move toward them Grissom quickly signed his name, and the guy went on his way.

"I don't know what to say," Sara gasped.

His smile was tentative. "Say that you like it."

She flicked her eyes back to him and laughed. Irrepressible joy and giddiness shone on her face. "Oh, Gil, how can you doubt this? I love it!" She closed the distance over to him and looped her hands behind his neck. "And I love you." His smile widening he leaned in for a kiss. "Thank you," she said when they broke apart. "From both of us, thank you."

Grissom was grinning with delight that his gift had had the desired effect. "So, shall we take a peek, or eat first?"

Sara turned away from him toward the boxes. Her expression became contemplative, almost melancholy. "Did you know my mother had a pram just like this? I mean…I don't remember it, but there was this picture of me in it. It was old and tatty―"

He draped his arm over her shoulders. "Well, this one is brand new."

She paused. The edges of her mouth curled up in a smile and she glanced over at him. "I still can't believe you did this." The last word faded in a wince. Her face pinched, her hand moved to her stomach, rubbing heavily over its right side.

"Sara, you okay?"

Her expression softened. "Just the baby telling me she's awake."

Grissom stared at her with concern, then affection, and smiled. "You know that…if this baby's a boy, we've scarred him for life, right?"

Sara's face lit up. "Oh, it's a girl," she intoned firmly.