A/N: Two oneshots prompted this epic tale: Married Love, written from Grissom's point of view and outlining his finding out he had pancreatic cancer and his reasons for wanting to separate from Sara, and A Love Worth Fighting For, featuring Heather as the catalyst to Sara going to Paris to get some answers.

This epilogue hopefully brings the three stories together, and adds a little more. I'm feeling sad this story had ended. :-( Sigh.


Epilogue.


"In a word, I was too cowardly to do what I knew to be right, as I had been too cowardly to avoid doing what I knew to be wrong."

-Charles Dickens, Great Expectations.


Grissom parked the car alongside the silver Mercedes on the driveway, killed the engine and releasing his seatbelt turned toward his wife. This visit had been a while coming, and he couldn't put it off any longer. Unlike him who was tense and slightly apprehensive at the prospect of seeing Heather again, though he had no reason to be, Sara looked calm and serene.

Her expression was more curious than daunted, certainly impressed, as she stared at the house through the windshield, her eyes darting all over the imposing façade. Over the last year and a half she and Heather had grown close, becoming friends, and he still couldn't get used to the idea. Well, maybe friends was too strong a term, but the two of them had certainly grown friendly, keeping in touch through email.

Grissom hadn't known about this correspondence, not for a long time. When he'd found out and asked Sara about it, about what they could possibly find to talk about, Sara had looked at him, smiled and shaken her head in disbelief. "You," she'd simply answered, "We talk about you." For one reason or other the trio hadn't been able to meet face to face since their return to Vegas; they'd spoken on the phone a couple of times wanting to arrange a meeting and exchanged emails, but up until then life had conspired against it.

Life was good for Grissom at the moment. The cancer had changed his life, for the better he would be the first to admit. This cancer had given him a new perspective of what was important. It made him enjoy life's simpler moments; the chats over breakfast when Sara told him about her night, running a bath for her and watching her soak in it, sharing a meal with her, sharing a bed, time.

They thought her working nights would be an issue, but it soon became a blessing a disguise. When four months into their return he'd started the final round of chemotherapy Sara had been by his side every day and that without having to take more time off. If he had a doctor's or hospital appointment she could go with him. Now, while she caught up with her sleep, he found himself happy to play house and look after her, cook for her.

He'd taken to walking to his nearest stores in the morning with Hank and doing his shopping, happy to continue the habit he'd picked up in France. If he felt tired afterwards he would slip into bed next to her sleeping form and take a nap, only to wake up with Sara watching him. It would almost feel like old times. Sometimes they'd make love, sometimes not.

Often in the afternoons they would go for walks to their local park with Hank, or spend a stolen afternoon at their local art house and grab a bite to eat before she'd have to clock on again. She'd set off for work when tired by the day's events he was ready for bed. Some days were better than others, but he took them all in his stride.

Yes, he often was in pain, he tired quickly, his diet was limited, and his moral and physical wellbeing totally dependent on pills, but he was alive. Every new day he felt grateful for the second chance at life and happiness he'd been granted, and he was making the most of it. Because in the back of his mind he knew the clock was still ticking and he didn't know how much longer for.

"Nice house," Sara mused in an awed whisper, drawing him out of his thoughts.

He laughed. "You know," he said, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he shifted round on the seat toward her, "if you're interested, I'm pretty sure Heather still has a room as the back where she keeps her old dominatrix paraphernalia." Sara turned a puzzled expression toward him. "If things get a little awkward I could always suggest she showed us round." Sara's lips pursed to the side at his teasing, and he grinned at her. "Ready to do this?" he said, gently patting his hand to her leg.

"I positively look forward to it."

A brow rose, as briefly he wondered if she was double-bluffing him about his offer of being shown the back room he knew for a fact still existed. "All right," he said brightly. "Let's do it."

Leaning over he pressed a kiss to her lips before opening his car door and stepping out. Sara opened her own door, but before she could fully disembark Grissom had walked round to her side, taking her hand and helping her out. Smiling her thanks she cast her eyes over his shoulder toward the house. Maybe she did feel a little nervous after all. His hand in the small of her back, Grissom guided her to the front door and rang the bell.

Almost immediately, he heard quiet footfalls on the hardwood floor coming toward them. He and Sara shared a look and a complicit smile. His hand moved to her shoulder. When Heather opened the door she had a wide, pleasurable smile on her face. Her eyes flicked from Grissom to Sara and then back to Grissom again, her smile wavering slightly as she took in the changes in his appearance. She kept her shock and emotion hidden well though, and had he not known her so well he mightn't have noticed.

Heather wore a summer dress and matching brown leather ballet pumps. Her face was fresh, devoid of make-up. Her hair was its usually glossy self, worn straight and to the shoulder. Grissom leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug, and then watched as she and Sara embraced a little awkwardly. It was after all the first time they met face to face as friends rather than rivals, not that Grissom had ever thought of them as such, but he knew Sara had in the past, mistakenly so.

When she pulled back from the embrace Heather's brow had a slight crease, and Grissom pinched his lips, suppressing his smile. So she had noticed, or at least suspected. How long until she asked, he wondered? On cue, Heather turned to Grissom and stared at him a moment too long, and he read all she was asking but not voicing, just in case she were wrong.

Grissom draped his arm around Sara's shoulders again. His returning smile was proud, wide and beatific, a dead giveaway as to the answer. Heather's face lit up with surprise and joy alike as her eyes snapped to Sara, seeking confirmation.

"Sara didn't tell you?" Grissom asked, feigning amazement, as he looked over at Sara pointedly.

Heather refocused on him briefly. "No, she didn't."

"We didn't tell anyone," Sara said, and nudged Grissom's side. He was enjoying himself far too much for her liking. "Not until we were sure, you know, that everything was progressing well."

"And is it?" Heather asked earnestly.

Sara's eyes lowered to her stomach. She looked over at Grissom who could only smile back at her lovingly. "So far, so good," she replied.

Heather seemed lost for words suddenly, but she recovered, offering them warm congratulations and a second round of hugs ensued. Afterwards, she fixed Grissom with a narrowed stare. "So this was the news you couldn't share over the phone."

Looking over at Sara, Grissom shrugged. "A lot has happened since we last saw each other."

Heather burst out laughing, a rich sound that echoed warmly around the lobby. "I'd say." Her head shaking in disbelief, she opened her hand, indicating they should enter fully inside the house, and closed the door behind them. "Please come through to the back. I thought we could sit out on the patio?" she told them, her eyes briefly landing on Grissom for approval. "It's a nice day."

Grissom smiled, nodded his head, and then led Sara down the corridor toward a very large and modern kitchen at the back of the house. The decor hadn't changed at all since he'd last been, a lifetime ago it seemed. A tray with Heather's fine bone china tea set sat ready on the kitchen island. They hovered in the kitchen while Heather busied herself with a tea kettle and the stove.

"We were sorry to hear about your father," Grissom said, and acknowledging his words with a nod Heather glanced at them over her shoulder.

"He'd been very ill for a long time," she said, turning back to her task. "The end came as a relief to him."

"Still," Sara said, reaching for his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "It must be difficult for you."

Finished at the stove, Heather turned and smiled. "It was, but it's getting easier." She moved over to a tin box on the counter, opened it and took out two tea bags, which she dropped into the tea pot. "Lemon tea all right with you, Sara?" she asked, looking over her shoulder. Grissom's brow creased. There was a glint in her eyes, as if she was sharing with Sara more than her words let on. "There is juice, or I could make you coffee, if you'd rather." Heather's tentativeness made him smile.

"Lemon tea's fine, thank you," Sara replied.

Grissom didn't find it strange that Heather didn't ask him about whether he wanted tea, but simply assumed he would. After all, they had indulged in the ceremony ever since that first time over ten years previously when he'd thought her, albeit briefly and very wrongly, guilty of murder. The tea kettle whistled, drawing him out of his musings and he smiled at Sara.

"So," Heather asked, as she took the kettle off the heat, "how far along are you?"

"We're in the second trimester," Sara replied, stealing the words from his mouth, and they shared a smile.

Heather turned, her eyes wide with surprise. Grissom could tell she had questions, but again she didn't voice them. With quiet efficiency, she made the tea, sliced a lemon, and after loading the tray picked it up and they moved over to the conservatory. Grissom felt very much at ease, just as he did every time he visited, and he was glad to see that, from the looks of it anyway, Sara did too.

The atmosphere was relaxed, Heather the perfect host, interested in what they had to say but never prying. They asked about Alison, talked about Paris, Sara's work and impending parenthood, everything except the big elephant in the room: his cancer and prognosis. Sara was telling Heather about the trip to Costa Rica they would soon be making, one last journey before the baby was born, when he excused himself to go to the bathroom.

Curiosity got the better of him, and as he walked back he took the scenic route, checking that indeed the back room he'd mentioned to Sara was still there. It was. When he returned to the patio Heather and Sara were talking in confidence and laughing. He paused at the threshold. The sight made him smile. Under different circumstances he might have felt offended at the fact that they'd both waited until he'd stepped out to truly find their voices, today it warmed his heart.

Heather looked up at him suddenly, her eyes bright with mirth and excitement. "Sara said your trip to Costa Rica was a second honeymoon," she said, "I never pegged you for the romantic type."

Smiling, he resumed his seat. He was feeling very smug. He'd never pegged himself for the romantic type either, but he had a bucket list and still time to tick off every item on it while he could. He'd surprised Sara with plane tickets to San José as a gift for their sixth wedding anniversary. She'd wondered at the iron connection since six years marriage was represented by iron, and he'd shrugged his shoulder at her as if the answer was obvious. "Iron bird?"

"It's only a long weekend," he defended with mock-modesty, glancing mischievously at Sara. "We got to make the most of it before the baby comes."

Heather laughed, but the disbelief in her gaze as she stared at him spoke volume. She had thought she knew him, could read him like an open book, but she hadn't seen that coming. They continued chatting until it was almost time to leave, Sara had shift in a few hours, and it was Sara's turn to excuse herself to use the facilities. Grissom stood, enquiring with his eyes whether she was alright. She gave him a nod, and something in her expression told him she too wanted to take a quick look at the rest of the house. Maybe he should ask Heather for a tour before they left.

He watched Sara leave and sat back down. It was time to fill Heather in on his situation. "You and me, we have one thing in common now," he said, wanting to fill the silence Sara's exit had created.

"Only one thing?" she queried with an amused twist of her lips.

He smiled. "We both have diabetes."

Heather's expression saddened. "Injections?"

"No. Not yet, anyway. But I watch what I eat and I exercise, try to keep it under control that way as much as I can."

She nodded. Her eyes lowered to the silver bracelet on his wrist.

"My mother gave it to me," he said, fingering the bracelet, and gave a heartless laugh, "Custom-made. I'm a diabetic without a spleen and less than half a pancreas left."

"But you're alive," Heather said with a soft smile.

"Yeah."

"It's good to see you looking so well," she said warmly, "and so happy too. Sara said you were doing well."

He nodded his head. "I am." He smiled, gave a sigh. "The latest CT scans and test came back all clear. It looks like the cancer is in remission. Well, really what it means is that there is no evidence of disease at this moment in time, but it could come back. It would seem though that…" His shoulder lifted, his smile returned, "I'm one of the lucky ones."

Heather's smile widened. "In more ways than one, I should say."

Grissom's eyes lowered; his expression darkened. Last week had been the two-year anniversary of his being told he definitely had cancer. He remembered the day very vividly, not because of the devastating news, but because it was the day he'd put an end to his marriage with Sara. That day still haunted him. He owed Heather a huge debt of gratitude; after all without her input Sara wouldn't have come to him when she did, and then what?

He hadn't told anyone, least of all Sara, but when he couldn't sleep and Sara was at work or sleeping herself he wrote. Longhand, old-fashioned manuscripts, letters and poems where he put down his memories, thoughts and feelings, for Sara, but for the baby too, his child he might, or not, get to watch grow.

"I don't think I'd have made it if Sara hadn't come," he said, looking back up and meeting Heather's concerned gaze dead on. He flashed a mirthless smile, shrugged his shoulder. "Without her with me, without her love, her strength…" his words drifted in a sigh, and he swallowed. "She's the strongest person I know, while I'm the biggest coward."

His heartfelt words gave Heather pause. "'A coward is incapable of exhibiting love,'" she quoted, "'it is the prerogative of the brave.'"

His smile was sad. "It's no use quoting Ghandi at me. Not telling her about the cancer―ending our relationship the way I did was cowardly."

"And now you're going to be a dad."

Grissom laughed. "Strange, isn't it?"

"Not so much." She paused, regarded him with affection. "You will make a wonderful father, Gil, and Sara a wonderful mother."

"We hope so."

"But a baby?" she asked, her amazement at the thought evident.

A smile spread across his face. "Why is that so surprising?"

Heather pursed her mouth as she pondered her reply. Her shoulder lifted, and she reached for a cookie she daintily broke in half. "Well, there's your age, for one," she said, once again refocusing her attention on him. "Then there's the cancer. Actually, it's more than just that. I just never pictured you as the fatherly type."

"I pushed for it," Grissom said, feeling the need to put her straight lest she thought it was Sara's idea. "I figure that I've been given this second chance at life, at happiness, for a reason. I need to make it count. I mean, I'm not stupid. I'm in remission, but I'm not going to live to be a hundred, or even seventy."

Heather's eyes filled with tears and she looked away, quietly wiping at them.

"Do you know what the five-year survival rate post pancreatic cancer is?" he asked, and pausing smiled at her. "It's ten percent."

A door opened and shut in the background, and Heather quickly wiped her fingers to the underside of her eyes. Sara came back in, pausing briefly when she felt the sadness in the room. She and Grissom glanced at each other, and Grissom lifted his shoulder in a helpless gesture.

She plastered a smile on her face and resumed her place at the table. "Did Gil tell you how he had his sperm FedExed from Paris so we could try IUI?" she asked, and his lips pinching in amusement Grissom thanked her with a silent look.

Heather's eyes widened. Laughter spluttered out of her, and she brought her hand up to her mouth. "I'm sorry?"

"They have this service," Sara went on enthusiastically, "Priority Overnight, it's called, that does just that. They collect frozen samples previously packed on dry ice. They flew Gil's…" she glanced at Grissom mischievously, "…boys to New York, and then onward to Vegas."

"You see, dry ice keeps for up to forty-eight hours," Grissom chipped in helpfully, and Heather snapped her gaze at him, "If kept at the correct condition. And it goes straight through at customs without being X-rayed."

"The first try didn't take," Sara said, and Heather refocused on her. "It didn't work. But that's quite common."

Speechless up to then, Heather recovered her powers of speech. "And is it?" she asked, eyes flicking between the two with interest, "A boy, I mean."

Grissom and Sara shared a look. "It's a girl," they said in unison. "We had the ultrasound confirming it yesterday," Grissom said. "You're the first one we tell, so keep it to yourself, will you?"

Heather pretended to zip her lips shut, lock them and throw away the key. "And have you thought about names?"

Again, Grissom and Sara looked at each other. Smiling, they turned back to Heather, both replying at the same time, "Francine. We're going to call her Francine."