A/N: Hold onto your seats, we're skipping ahead in time in this chapter!
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They were awakened by 125 pounds of dog flying onto their bed. Grissom shot up in bed, eyes wide and wary until he realized that the weight was Newton and she had either figured out how to unlatch the baby gate that kept her in the kitchen, or she'd just hopped it. "Down!" he ordered the panting canine, who was licking Sara's face as if it were her job in life.
Newton gave him a look that said, "Yeah right," and went back to licking Sara.
He heard Sara giggle. Well, he thought, at least the dog hadn't scared her like it had scared him. "Down," Grissom tried again, with no success. He gave the dog a dirty look, then gracefully accepted his defeat and tried to ignore her
. "Morning," he whispered to Sara, brushing a lock of hair away from her eyes so he could see them.
"Morning," she said, eyes sparkling, then twitched as she felt a claw scrape where it shouldn't be. "Ow!" She, too, gave Newton a dirty look. "Stay away from the stomach, dog!" She rubbed her large belly, at first to relieve the sting and then in wonder. She couldn't believe how much her girth had expanded, even since her fourth month, when she had already felt like a giant beach ball, and she was now constantly touching the mound in amazement.
"You ok?" Grissom asked with deep concern in his voice. When she assured him that she was, he sighed. "We should really get a bigger gate. It's way too dangerous to have the dog walking around on you."
"Relax, Gil. It's been six months; if I haven't managed to hurt myself beating up the stupid desk you stuck me behind at work, then a bouncy dog certainly can't hurt me." When Grissom harrumphed, she grinned and sat up. "Oh, stop grumbling, you big baby. You just think this thing is your exclusive domain." She patted her stomach and smiled wider as he frowned.
"Well," Grissom said, "I did have more to do with creating it than either the desk or the dog did."
"Besides," Sara continued, purposely ignoring him, "Newton's tall enough to jump any gate we buy, unless you can find one that goes all the way up to the ceiling."
Grissom chose not to respond to that truth. Instead, he reached out a hand and laid it on top of Sara's, which was still on her stomach. "Hello, baby."
"Me? Or her?"
"Both of you. You . . . and him," he said pointedly.
"Oh, give it up, old man. It's a girl, I'm telling you." She grinned. "Need I remind you that I'm doing all the work in this pregnancy, and you should be bowing and obeying my every wish?"
Grissom smirked. "I did, this morning."
"Yeah," Sara replied, "I noticed. Look." She pulled the sheet down another two inches, revealing her left hip, which bore distinct purple finger marks.
Grissom sucked in his breath. Oh, no . . . he hadn't meant to mark her! "Do they . . . hurt?" he ventured. There had been many discussions of the fight they'd had about getting married, and though Sara kept telling him that she trusted him again, he was skeptical and always on his guard. He closed his eyes, hoping for a reprieve in whatever form it could take. "I didn't mean to . . ."
"Those have been your favorite words the past few months," Sara said sternly, then ruined the act with a smile. "It's ok, Gris. They don't hurt, and you certainly weren't angry when you made them. Besides . . ." She patted him on the back, then ran a finger over his shoulder blade. "I got my revenge." Flicking a finger at one of the new, crescent-shaped scabs that were forming on his back, she had to laugh. "I'm pretty sure I did more damage to you than you did to me."
Grissom had withdrawn from her, though, and she knew it. She had dealt with the exaggerated fear she'd felt of him that day, knowing that half of it had been her anticipatory fear of being hurt; the other half she chalked up to the hormones that had turned her into a wreck that entire day, before and after their blow-up. Grissom, however, still lived in fear of . . . well, she wasn't sure what of. Of hurting her again, she supposed, though they both knew that he wouldn't, and she had tried to explain that to him many times.
"Grissom."
He didn't speak, but turned to look at her.
"Grissom, it's fine, for god's sake. I said 'harder;' you obliged. You were only obeying my every wish," she said with a wink. "Please don't turn this into another lecture on how you're only trying to do what I asked two months ago."
"Well I apologize," he said, still not smiling, " but I'm about to. You can't blame me for worrying when you very nearly ran out of my life the same two months ago because of marks just like these." He ran a finger lightly over the bruises, not pressing. "So how can I know whether you consider them different or not?"
"Gil, I've told you that I was stupid to get so scared. Please, can't you forget about it? I just want the old Grissom back; the one who wasn't scared to pin me against a wall and kiss me."
Grissom sighed. "We've had this discussion before, Sara. I can't just forget it. I'm trying to do what you say and move past it, but you're too valuable to me to lose over, I don't know, rough sex or something."
Sara gave up on convincing him. Instead, she got up and shepherded the dog out of the room, shutting the door behind the retreating tail. Turning back to the bed, she caught Grissom staring at her body. "I know, just call me the Walking Beach Ball. I never thought I cared about my weight, but I guess that was because I was always so thin."
A snort answered her. "Sara, you're six months pregnant and you've only gained fifteen pounds. You're supposed to have gained almost twenty-four. There is absolutely no way that you can honestly say you're fat."
"Well I certainly can't say I'm thin! I haven't been able to wear my own clothes forever! I look like I'm carrying around a bowling ball. Plus," she added as the thought came to her, "there's someone doing aerobics in my belly, and I think I'm getting internal bruises from it."
Grissom couldn't help but laugh at her outrage. This earned him a fulminating glare. "You're beautiful, Sara. Don't argue with me about that, or I'll, uh . . . do something to make you stop arguing."
Sara's eyes narrowed. "Oh really?" she asked in a low voice.
"Yes. Really."
She grinned. "Well, in that case . . . I'm fat, I'm fat, I'm fat . . ." Sara started wobbling across the room in what might have been a dance had she been able to see her feet, repeating this in a singsong voice until she knew it must be driving Grissom nuts. No reaction on his part, hmm. She tried again. "I'm ugly, I'm ugly, I'm fat . . ."
His arms closed around her chest, locking down just under her breasts. "I'd wrap my arms around your waist," he whispered into her ear, "but it's just that you're so fat, I can't get them all the way around."
"Why you . . .!" Sara didn't hesitate, simply spun around to face him and smacked his arm lightly. "You're supposed to be doing something to make me stop saying that."
"I'm sorry," Grissom said questioningly and with an impudent grin, cupping a hand around his ear. "I couldn't quite hear what you were saying . . ."
"Bull," Sara said with a laugh. "You're back up to 83 percent of your aural capacity, bugman. No fair claiming you can't hear anymore."
Grissom groaned theatrically. "Skewered by the pregnant woman." Throwing his arms out in surrender, he smirked. "Punish me as you will!"
