Grissom was eating something when Sara walked in the front door of their house, and her first thought was, "Oh god, don't let it be tuna." After a few more steps she recognized the scent of eggs mere seconds before her stomach did.
Grissom's first view of Sara that afternoon was of her hurtling toward the bathroom. "Damn," he said under his breath, no longer able to pretend that he didn't think she was sick, and followed her and the sound of her retching toward the bathroom.
"Sara?" He pushed open the half-closed door and found her in a familiar position: sitting on the floor with the outer side of the bathtub supporting her back. He quickly took another step into the room. "Please tell me you're just hungover again," he implored.
Sara lifted her head from where it had been resting on her knees and held out a hand to stop his approach. "Just . . . stay over there. For your own safety and cleanliness."
"Safety? Sara, what the hell's going on here?" More concerned about her than about himself, he took another step forward, putting himself squarely in front of her, and squatted down until they were face-to-face. "Tell me what's wrong," he demanded, as sternly as he could manage.
One of Sara's hands was rubbing her stomach, the other was still held out toward him, and she managed again, "Grissom . . . get away. Last chance."
"I'm not going anywhere!"
Two seconds later, his shoes were wearing the contents of Sara's stomach. Sara, eyes still shut and tearing, muttered, "Told you to move."
After a few seconds and a few deep breaths, she opened her eyes and Grissom thought he could see amusement lurking in them. He slipped off his shoes, thankful that he'd been wearing sneakers and not dress shoes, and put them into the bathtub, then turned the hot water on them. That done, he returned to his former position standing over Sara. "What's so funny about you being sick and throwing up on me?"
The outrage in his voice forced out of her the laugh she'd been trying to restrain. In between bouts of giggles, she managed, "Cath . . . introduction . . . like she said!" On the edge of hysteria, she laid her head back against the tub and kept laughing.
"Hey!" More worried than ever, Grissom jerked her up to a standing position, forcing her to face him. "Hey!" he tried again, but got no response. Taking a deep breath and hating himself, he gave Sara's shoulders a hard shake, making her head snap back.
She stared at him for a moment, laughter gone. "Um . . . thanks. I needed that." Grissom did not look at all pleased, she noticed. Well damn, too bad for him because he was going to be dealing with this problem too within the hour. "I need to talk to you. Kitchen?" Thinking better of that, she corrected herself, "No, bedroom."
Grissom blinked. "Sure," he ventured, and followed his housemate out of the bathroom. He watched her settle herself on the bed, legs crossed Indian-style and hands gripping each other tightly in front of her breasts. "Tell me."
"Uh." Now that she had him in here, all intelligence had fled and she stared at him blankly.
"Sara!"
"Oh! Oh, yeah. Um, well . . . first thing I'll tell you is that I didn't throw up because I'm sick."
"You didn't? Then you are hungover, why didn't you just tell me?"
"Not hungover either," she told him with a weak grin. "It was the, uh . . . eggs."
Grissom didn't get it. "What? The eggs? What was wrong with them?"
"They smelled like eggs," she explained without explaining anything at all. Seeing that he didn't get it, she sighed. The man was a freaking genius, and he wasn't following the hints. Damn, she hadn't wanted to have to actually say it. "I also got sick on the way back from picking up lunch with Nick. That time it was tuna. And Catherine pointed out to me this morning that my bra was suddenly too small."
Grissom was still looking at her blankly. "Damnit, Gil, are you not getting this? I'm pregnant!"
His jaw dropped. "You're WHAT?"
"Pregnant," she whispered. "I didn't do this on purpose, believe me! It's your fault too!"
"Wait, wait," Grissom stuttered. "You're pregnant. We're going to have a baby? And you're afraid I'm going to blame you for this?"
"Yes, yes, and sort of." She uncrossed her legs and let herself fall onto her back on the bed. "A baby. Yeah. And I have no idea if you want kids. But whether you do or not," she added heatedly, "I do, and this is my child, and I'm not giving her up."
A moment of silence, and when Grissom spoke, it was so quietly that Sara could barely hear what he was saying. "I would never ask you to do that. I would never do that to begin with!" And then, louder, "I can't believe this. We're going to have a baby! This is absolutely amazing!" He jumped up from the bed, dragging her with him, and started waltzing a very confused Sara around the bedroom.
"Hold on!" she said after being spun three times. "Don't be twirling the nauseous pregnant woman around so much, it's dangerous for the well-being of your clothing." She gave him a smile to lighten the tone of what she was about to say, bit her lip and ventured, "So you're . . . happy? You want to do this?"
"Hell yes, Sidle! You just made me the happiest man in Las Vegas!" He wrapped his arms around her in a fierce hug and started firing questions at her. "How do you know? What were you saying about Catherine? When are you due? Does anyone else know?"
Finally relaxing completely, Sara grinned. "I know because the test said so, and because I'm throwing up all over the place, for god's sake! And Catherine," she had to laugh again here, "Catherine said the best way to tell you would be to throw up on you. And sure enough, I did. But you, Mr. Genius, didn't get it!" She enjoyed watching Grissom turn red at that statement. "And . . . what else? Oh, due date – I have no idea. I just took the test this morning with Cath, so I need to make a doctor's appointment to get all that stuff figured out. And yes, Catherine knows, and no, no one else has a clue, though I think Nick's worried about me because he knows I threw up."
Grissom released her and put a hand to his forehead like a fairytale heroine. "Oh my god!" he said again, and let himself fall backward onto the bed with a huge grin covering his face.
