A/N: Thank you to everyone who continues to read...we appreciate hearing from you!

FOLD

Chapter 16

Two days later, Gil Grissom became a father.

The spring morning was crisp with a biting breeze when the couple stepped out of their car and made the short trek into the physician's clinic. They had made so many visits that the reception area was as familiar as their own home and the woman at the front desk waved the two into the inner office with a quick motion of her hand. Routine. Hoping the pressure had dropped. Hoping for no mention of the 'C' word.

As she'd done before, Sara climbed on the exam table, toed off her shoes, leaned back, and waited for the physician. She lifted her leg to check her toes and the colorful polish from her recent pedicure.

After all the weeks of waiting, watching the changes to his wife's body, a final ultrasound measuring pressure to the umbilical cord found a decreased in pressure, and in a surprising moment, the physician and the soon-to-be parents observed a strong contraction indicating active labor.

When asked if she'd felt contractions, Sara said, "I feel abnormal—I've felt that way for weeks!" She laughed, saying, "I thought it was gas."

An hour later, they were in the hospital with an encouraging nurse who had 'natural' birth with twins a few years previously. Sara was able to walk around, take a shower, get into some of the labor positions while Grissom did as he had learned in the many classes they'd taken—be her coach.

Late in the day, when monitor sensors and multiple lines for IVs and a catheter in case an epidural was needed had been stuck all over her body, Sara seemed to gather strength as she blew out a long breath of air.

"Take a break, Gil. I'm fine. Go get coffee or something to eat." She knew his hands were cramping from the continued massage he'd been giving her. Having his hands touching her brought a sense of calm to the process of labor.

He said, "No, I'm here. Catherine will bring me something if I ask her. What do you need?"

Her face contorted with a strong contraction and then relaxed. "Number One is taking his time."

Grissom grimaced with her, asking, "Are you sure there is nothing I can do?"

She gave him a sidelong look. "Yes, I want to talk—you to talk. You look tired."

With a chuckle, he said, "I'm not tired—you are doing all the work."

"We've done things a lot harder than this for a lot longer," Sara said as another contraction gripped her abdomen. She patted the bed, "Sit for a few minutes. It won't be long before we are moved." With twins, delivery would be in an operating room regardless of birthing method. "And then we'll have a dozen people with us!"

As he wiped her face with a cool cloth, she smiled and said, "Tell me something—something I don't know."

"You know everything there is to know, dear."

Biting her lip with another strong contraction, Sara said, "Tell me about Heather Kessler—what's the attraction you've always had with her?"

"Ahh—Sara! Heather? Really? Now?"

She managed to grin. "Yes. Now. The one 'secret' you have—what's the attraction?"

As Grissom studied the face he'd loved longer than he could remember, pale and fatigued from pregnancy and labor, he felt something inside his chest twist. Not physically, yet something turned, opened, and he dropped his head onto her hands held in his. Lifting his head when her fingers gripped his as another contraction took her breath, he knew she deserved an explanation.

Waiting until she had her breath, he said, "You know, I never went to bed with her."

"You have said that—but you had a safe word."

"What? No—we—we never did anything! I…"

"In Vegas—after the school bombing—you said your safe word was 'stop'—when I asked you." Her hands tightened on his again as another contraction twisted and pulled through her body.

Grissom lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers giving him a moment to hide a smile. He said, "I remember that—and I knew you were very angry at me in that moment." Gently, he opened her hand and laced his fingers with hers. "I learned a lot about—about a part of humanity that you and I have never known from Heather. I never participated in any of those practices—I do not get pleasure from pain or suffering."

He reached for the cup of ice chips and placed several flakes between Sara's lips. "And," he continued, "the word 'stop' is never used as a safe word. Simply because the word 'stop' can be used in—in the process. According to experts—in this case, Heather—the safe word is agreed on beforehand and is something like—like 'pickle'—a word that would not be used in—in the—act." Pulling a face, he said, "I—that day in the school—I did not want to talk about Heather—so I said stop. As in stop talking about—about what you thought Heather did."

Sara motioned for more ice which he provided. Clicking the ice against her teeth, she said, "Tell me about your friendship—why Heather?" When Grissom frowned, Sara smiled, saying, "I'm in labor—with your sons! Humor me!"

He laughed as he placed hands on her left leg and began to massage her calf. He said, "You know I was married to my job—even vacations were wrapped around something related to work." He tilted his head, gave her a crooked smile before he said, "I had you around causing a diversion that I was trying to ignore. Then I met Heather—I knew nothing about—about what she had going on! It was as if I'd found a set of encyclopedias on a subject I didn't know existed."

A tap on the door stopped him and a nurse entered. She checked the machines, the lines and sensors, asked questions and finally said, "We're going to move you in a few minutes—time to really get these babies moving!"

As soon as the nurse left the room, Sara said, "Continue! You can't stop now!"

Grissom chuckled. "You know Jim warned me off Heather. He had heard of her—most of it gossip but later, I knew some of it was true. She tried to get people—people with connections—involved with her—as customers or clients, she called them. She knew a lot of people but she had no friends—after her daughter was killed—there was not one person she called. She had a housekeeper who stayed with her. I went to her house several days later and we talked for a while. That's when I realized she needed a friend. It was—it was sad." His mouth lifted in a weak smile. "After that, I'd call her—not often—a few times a year. That's how we became friends—just friends."

Sara groaned as a powerful contraction tightened and held her in its grip. Grissom held her hands until her breathing returned to normal.

She said, "I think Number Two just shoved Number One!" Her face remained contorted with pain for a long moment. Finally, she was able to say, "You make some odd friends."

Shrugging and smiling, Grissom pressed the call button and immediately the room seemed to fill with people. Sara was rolled to an operating room where birthing twins was considered safer in case a Cesarean section was needed. Grissom dressed in a blue gown and was given a seat near Sara's head.

With some directed pushing, less than an hour later, the first baby Grissom arrived, quietly, with a mop of dark curls whose pale skin quickly pinked up with a few breaths.

"Oh, Gil, he's beautiful!" He was small, perfectly formed, immediately breathing on his own.

"Yes," said Grissom with a catch in his throat. "He is beautiful—does he look like William or James?"

Twenty minutes later, James Grissom arrived with pale curly hair, yelling at the top of his lungs as soon as his mouth was cleaned. When he was placed on Sara's chest, she solemnly and quickly examined the newborn before laughing out loud.

"He—he looks like his dad! Look at his little chin!"

The new parents were able to hold both babies before they were whisked off to NICU for lengthy evaluations on breathing, sucking, and swallowing. While they waited for results, Sara was taken to a room where a maternity nurse met her and helped with a shower, fresh clothes, and encouraged her to sleep.

Within minutes of this advice, Sara was asleep…

"Well, what do you think?" Gil Grissom and Jim Brass stood side-by-side looking into a small oval baby's crib that was gently rocking and making a very low rhythm pattern similar to a heartbeat. Inside, twelve-day old Will Grissom was sleeping soundly.

"Catherine said he looked like Sara—and he does! And my namesake looks like you!" Brass chuckled as he leaned over the sleeping baby. "It's amazing how a baby smell stays in your brain," Jim said very quietly.

Grissom rubbed his chin with one finger, saying, "Yeah, he's got this going on. Both are turning out to look pretty good—stretching out—sleeping three-four hours at a time." He mimicked Brass and leaned over the sleeping infant, sniffing as he did.

"Catherine has been a tremendous help," Grissom said. "It was difficult to leave them at the hospital—even though we knew it would happen. But having her here really kept us going. She did everything but put us in the car."

"And Sara's doing good?"

Smiling, Grissom said, "She is amazing—sleeps when the babies sleep. She nurses one while I give a bottle to the other. She can soothe a restless one—I have to admit, there are times when we've been asleep and she's awake before I am—she'll be up changing one and I'm trying to get out of bed."

"You didn't tell her I was coming?"

"No—no—I want her to have a surprise. She knew you'd come as soon as we told you their names and got them home."

Jim grinned, if possible, from ear-to-ear. He said, "It never occurred to me—not in a million years. James Gilbert Grissom—has a strong ring to it, doesn't it."

"Yeah, it does. My father was William—back in his time he was Billy—but this one is Will. You want a drink—strong one? The women and little James should be back soon."

"You going to call him James? I've always been Jim—or Jimmy."

Softly, Grissom laughed. He said, "After he got home, Sara was singing to him one morning and called him Jay. So I think we have Jay and Will—at least until they are old enough to decide for themselves."

Grissom stepped to a cabinet and brought out a blue labeled bottle, holding it up for Jim's approval.

Nodding, Brass said, "I'm making plans to visit often."

Handing his long-time friend a tumbler of Johnnie Walker whiskey, Grissom said, "We appreciate you, Jim."

"Blue label—the good stuff!" He clinked his glass to Grissom's, saying, "To Jay and Will and their parents. May your blessings outnumber your days!"

A/N: One or 2 more chapters to finish this one before the holidays. Help keep GSR alive-read the stories, leave a comment, and maybe in 2020 we will see a new CSI movie "20 years after the Pilot-What has changed!"