Chapter 10

Sara laid in her bed, holding a tissue to her nose. (Dammit! I've been using up boxes and boxes of tissues since I got knocked up! I should've bought stock in Puffs! God! What if all this crying causes the baby to come out and all it does is cry? Or—what if it causes it to be an extremely depressed baby? What if it comes out and it absolutely hates me? What if after carrying this baby for nine months, after crying for eight of those nine months, after puking for four of those nine months and waddling for three of those nine months—what if—what if it loves its father and his new "horse-face-troll" girlfriend, and hates me—it's own mother?)

She listened to Grissom moving around in the apartment. (That's right, buster! You just stay out there where you belong! You want to go and spend the entire day with Ms. Terri-bleached-blonde-Miller then you can spend the entire night in your own bed! I wish I didn't "have" an extra bed—then you'd have to sleep on the sofa! I wish I didn't "have a sofa"—and you could just sleep on the damned floor! Anywhere but in here!)

She turned onto her back and blew her nose again. (That's it—go to the bathroom! I hear ya! How would you like me to walk in on "you?" You're a man—you probably wouldn't care. Dammit! Fine—then stay in the bathroom all damned night. See what I care. You want to get yourself all cleaned up and pretty for your sallow-faced girlfriend! And just what in the hell's the story with her damned eyebrows? Does she even "have" eyebrows? Doesn't the witch know a person's "supposed to have eyebrows? Wait a minute—what if I have to pee. Scratch the staying in the bathroom all night idea.)

She turned toward the windows and wiped her eyes. (Finished in the bathroom? Good! Well, that was certainly fast! What's the matter? You already have your shower tonight? Did you take a shower with your "girl-friend?" Did you scrub her back like you did mine? Did you let her scrub your back like I did—horny bastard! I hope your prick shrivels up and falls off!)

She flipped over to face the door again. (You just go right to bed, Dr. Two-timer! And not MY bed! I hope your bed frame breaks and you have to sleep on box springs and a mattress that's crooked and lopsided! I hope you roll out onto the goddamned floor! That's it, walk past my door again! Don't you dare even think of stopping. "WHY" didn't you stop? Wait—no—just go eat the damned pizza! Stuff yourself with it until you get so damned fat "Terrr-rriii" won't want you! Eat the whole damned thing! Wait—why didn't I get a slice to bring in here with me? I shouldn't have told him about the pizza! I'm really hungry and God, it's tomato and onion deep dish night! Well, fine! I hope you eat it and you're allergic to tomatoes, or onions, or pizza crust—it can happen! Why didn't "I" bring the damned pizza in here? They make the best damned deep dish pizza in the city! God, I'm hungry!)

"Sara?" Grissom's voice came from outside her door.

"What?" She asked with a sniffle.

"The pizza's getting cold. Don't you want some?"

"No!" She lied. "Why would I want any damned pizza?"

"Come on, honey. You must be hungry."

"I'm not hungry! "I" just ate! I ate at a fancy restaurant, too! And—and—and I didn't eat alone! "I" ate with—with—(great, now who in the hell can I tell him I ate with? Already used the name Jesse Cassidy. . .um—rock stars—quick—pick a damned name!) I ate with—(think dufus! How hard is it to think of two rock stars? Mic Jagger—and—Freddie Mercury! That's it!) with Mic Mercury!" She cringed on that one.

"Are you going to open the door?"

"No. Go away," she tried to order but it came out as a plea and her tears sounded clearly through her voice. "I'm quite tired from sitting with (she cringed again) Mic Mercury—and—and dancing. He took me dancing, too!"

"Ah, sweetheart," Grissom said tenderly as he opened the door and walked inside with the box of pizza. "What's wrong?"

"I didn't say you could come in!" Sara said as she attempted to sit up in a hurry but didn't quite make it as gracefully as she had hoped as she flopped back down into a lying position. She rolled out of bed and quickly tried to compose herself as she sat on the mattress's edge. "Did I say you could come in? HOW did you get in? Did you pick my lock again? You're rather good at picking locks—aren't you? Now I don't know if my baby's going to grow up to be a forensic scientist or simply a burglar!"

"It wasn't locked, honey."

"Oh," she said indignantly as she tried to push her hair out of her face and look as dignified as Ms. "Albino" but not realizing that her nose and eyes were bright red from her crying. "I knew that. Of course I knew that. I "am" a CSI—I think I can tell whether a door's locked or not!"

"Of course you can," he said gently as he sat down next to her and placed the box on the other side of him.

He opened the box and took out a slice. The smell hit her and she grabbed onto the mattress as she damn near fell off her perch from inhaling the heavenly scent. Her eyes grew large as he waved the slice in front of her nose.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, I know you said you already ate with. . .who was it? Tyler Bon Jovi, but. . ."

"Mic Mercury!" She corrected with irritation.

"Oh, okay—Mic Mercury, then. But I thought maybe the baby might be a little hungry. I mean, you "are" eating for two now—right?"

"Y—yeah," she said hesitantly as she cautiously looked at him holding the pizza no more than two inches from her lips.

"Well, one dinner with Freddie Jagger isn't enough to sustain you, even if you did go dancing backstage afterward." He gave her the sexiest damned smile she had ever seen which only made the realization that the gig was up all the worse and she burst into another surge of tears and she moved away from him as she tipped over and hugged her pillow.

"Shut up," she practically wailed.

"Ahh, honey, come on. Sit up now. You need to eat. Don't you? Even if you do think I'm nothing but a jerk right now—you still need to eat."

She tried to push herself up, again having a bit of trouble until he took her hand and assisted her. She blew her nose again, gave a big sniff and then moved to the head of the bed where she turned and drew her feet up as she leaned back against the headboard. She held herself with as much dignity as she could muster then extended her hand and said coolly, "Yes. I agree. You "are" nothing but a big jerk! And I "shouldn't" take it out on your child—so I guess I should eat."

"Are you sure?" He asked as he gave her a questioningly look. "I mean, if you're too full from your night of. . ."

"Just give me the damned pizza!" She jerked it out of his hands but in the process flung a giant glob of tomatoes, onions, cheese and sauce onto her chest which only succeeded in bringing on more tears before she looked at his gentle smile. "I hate you! I only spill my food when I'm around you! And don't you lay one finger on me to try to wipe it off just so "you can touch me!"

"I wasn't going to," he said calmly.

"Good!" She took a big bite of the saucy delight and talked around her words. "Because I didn't want you to and. . .wait. . . "why" weren't you going to?" She started to sniffle again as she tried to swallow. "You already wiped food off of "her" and ate it, didn't you? Now you're full because you ate your meal off of her."

This comment brought a quick chuckle from him. "Of course not! I didn't eat any food off of Terri."

"Don't you say her name while you're sitting on my bed! And I'm sure you didn't have to! She'd never drop her food! That's because the bitch is a robot and she's got a food magnet in her mouth and it just draws it in and never falls anywhere but in that big mouth with those big horse teeth! I mean—how can you miss when you've got teeth as big at those?" Rushed out of her mouth all at once before she realized she had said it out loud and quickly covered her mouth then decided to hell with it—she was hungry after all, and she removed her hand and took another bite of the glorious pizza.

"Sara—be nice," he scolded gently.

This made her look at him through big eyes and slap her pizza into his hand—top side down—as she felt another surge of tears. "I "AM" nice. I'm a "very" nice person!"

"I can see that," he said absently as he turned and carefully flipped the pizza over, replaced it into the box and got another slice. "Here, eat this one instead."

She looked at the mess she made in his hand as he picked up a napkin and started to wipe it off. "You're right. I'm horrible. Look what I did. No "nice" person would do that."

He gave her a sideward glance. "Come on, eat up. I want a big, fat, baby—not a scrawny one."

He must've realized the mistake of his chosen phrasing immediately because when she dropped the pizza on his hand again and covered her face, he quickly deposited it back in the box and moved closer where he pulled her into his arms and she cried against his shoulder.

"I'm fat! And now you want to make me even fatter!"

He wasn't quite sure he could stop the laughter from his eyes so he avoided looking at her. "No, of course you're not fat. You're beautiful and healthy and you're giving life to another beautiful and healthy human being. You're creating a miracle, Sara."

"If I'm creating a miracle, then why do I feel so lousy—and fat?"

This time he couldn't stop the little chuckle that came from him and she leaned back to look at him. "Sorry. I coughed."

"No—you didn't. You laughed." Her deep sadness was quickly turning back to irritation. "You think this is funny! You think "I'm" funny because I can't sit up as regally as your girlfriend! Well—go stick a kid in her gut and see how fast "she" sits up!" She swiped his arm with a quick slap. "Ya know what? If that's what you want—then go back to her damned hotel room and spend your life there! Because I'm not going to have my child treated like this! "MY" child is going to grow up to be somebody! Go on! Go!"

He sighed heavily then before she realized it, he was lying on her, pushing her onto the mattress as his lips met hers. (Why that son-of-a-bitch! If he thinks he can just come in here and push me around—oooh, that feels nice! But still! If he believes he can. . .mmmm, he does that sooooo well. I don't care! He's not going to think he can just. . .oh wow—what was I saying? The hell with it—he's soooo good at this.)

When she was completely past her anger and eagerly returning his kisses, he pulled back and looked into her eyes. "Feeling better now?"

"Y—yes." She nodded her head as she clutched at his shoulders.

"You don't want to throw me out now?"

"N—no." She shook her head negatively.

"Are you going to eat something?"

She nodded her head in agreement and when he sat up and got the pizza again she looked at him in confusion then realized what he was talking about. "Oh—you meant the pizza."

"Sara Sidle, you have an amazingly dirty little mind. Come on, sit up." He pulled her back into her sitting position and moved until he was on the other side of the bed and imitating her position as he leaned back against the headboard. "Go on, now. Get some of that into your stomach."

She took another bite as she watched him toe off his shoes then unbutton his shirt. She silently worked on the pizza as she kept her eyes on the way his legs sprawled down across the bed. He leaned forward when he pulled the shirt off, leaving on only his tee-shirt. She ate some more as her eyes wandered down over the muscles of his arms and on to his chest and stomach.

"Aren't you going to eat some?" She asked quietly.

"I'll eat some when you're finished. I want to make sure you eat." He smiled at her again. "Even if you did have a banquet with Freddie Jagger."

"Be quiet," she moped, "and it wasn't Freddie Jagger—it was Mic Mercury. And I haven't had anything to eat since lunch time. Did you eat today?"

"Yes. I had lunch today—I had stuffed chicken breast—and it was with Terri. I also gave her the keys to my apartment—because I had no intentions of using it. I helped take her things there, explained that I was staying with you, and then left."

She had a little trouble swallowing the next bite of pizza but tried very hard to remain calm even though she could feel her eyes starting to burn again. She moved her gaze back to her feet as she couldn't seem to meet his eyes at the moment then when she felt his hand on her thigh she quickly jerked her head back in his direction.

"Ouch!" Sara banged her face off Grissom's nose, causing him to slowly lean back and touch his injured appendage.

"Ow," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry. What were you doing?"

"I was going to kiss your cheek. See what I get for trying to be nice."

"You can always try again," she gave him a small smile.

"Come here," he told her and took her hand, maneuvering her until she was leaning back against his chest.

This time he placed a gentle kiss on her lips and when he leaned back again, he was licking the sauce off he had collected there. She moved her slice over to his mouth and he took a bite. They continued sharing the food until they had the box emptied of its contents. Finally, Grissom was leaning back against the headboard and Sara was leaning against him, both feeling full and content.

"Now, I'm stuffed," Sara said as she put her hands on her stomach.

"Not yet," he sighed as he put his hands over hers.

She slowly turned until she was looking into his mischievous smile. "Now, who's the one with a dirty little mind?"

"My dear, you couldn't even begin to fathom what's been on my mind as far as you're concerned."

He chuckled and shuffled down on the bed until he was lying with his head on the pillow and she moved with him. He turned toward her and pushed her onto her back then raised himself up onto his elbow and looked at her face. His eyes travel down over her throat to the top of her nightshirt. She watched as he leaned down and placed his lips over the gob of pizza still on the top of her chest. She moaned as his tongue came out and he bathed her skin.

"I thought you said you weren't going to clean that off of me," she said as her fingers went into his brown curls.

"I never said that. I said I wasn't going to "lay a finger on you" to clean it off. This isn't my finger." He bent down and started kissing her chest again, then slid his hand down over her thighs and up between them where he applied pressure to her panties. "This is."

She gave a throaty chuckle and tugged on his hair until he moved back up with his head on the pillow next to hers. He gazed into her eyes and made her stomach do flip flops—then she realized it wasn't only his doing, but his child's also. She smiled at him and moved his hand to her abdomen.

"Feel this," she whispered as the baby started kicking with a vengeance.

"Does this always happen after you eat?" He smiled at her.

"Pizza. It loves pizza—and spaghetti—and lasagna—and eggplant parm."

"Oh, loves Italian, huh?"

"Mmm-hmm," she said as she watched him watching her belly. "And oriental and Mexican. But I think it's actually you. It's never kicked this hard or this much before. It's almost reacting to your voice."

"Really?" He looked up at her then down at her stomach again before pressing her nightshirt apart and bending down and pressing a kiss against the moving area. "Should I wait for it to fall back to sleep?"

"Why?" She laughed as she ran her hand over his tee-shirt-clad back.

"Because. It's like having sex in front of your children. I mean—I guess it "is" having sex in front of your child." He looked at her again. "If we wait, we can get down and get really kinky."

She slapped his back. "Just what do you consider kinky? You—who can't even say "bra." What would you consider kinky?"

"We could. . .do it on. . the sofa." He wiggled his brows at her, making her laugh again. "What? You've got a better idea?"

"I don't know—you're the experienced one here." She started stroking his hair as he lay down next to her again, then she sobered as she dropped her gaze from him. "I'm sorry I behaved like that tonight. I think my hormones are going out through my eyeballs or something. One minute I'm ready to go break your bed so you have to sleep on the floor, and the next I want to stuff you inside my comforter so you can never get out of "my" bed."

"You've got this all planned out, huh?"

"I thought about it some, yes."

"Well," he said thoughtfully as he started to move over until he was crawling over top of her, then nudging her legs apart with his knees. "How about if I get stuffed in-right—here?"

She smiled up at him as he pressed himself against her core. "You've already stuffed this Butterball, Dr. Grissom."

He chuckled as he bent down to kiss her lips. "Now are you talking about junior, or the pizza?"

She simply giggled as his kiss moved to her neck and when he went straight to her "spot" there, she bucked so strongly in response that he started to fall off the side of the bed. She shrieked as she grabbed onto him and kept him on the edge of the mattress. "Can I blame that on the baby kicking you off of me?"

"I think we need to start correcting this child's manners—especially where "daddy " is concerned." He lay down again and put his arms around her then kissed her forehead as she yawned deeply. "In the meantime, we'll let him get his way and I'll let you get some rest."