Grissom yawned and turned over, sliding an arm under Sara's shoulders. "Man, this parenting business is way too tiring. And I'm not even the one doing the hard part – you must be exhausted, honey."

"I deal with it," Sara said with as much of a shrug as she could muster, considering her prone position. "I'm used to being tired, remember?" After a moment's thought, she pulled her gaze from the ceiling and directed it at Grissom's face. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Ok, then . . . what happened at Catherine's the other day? What did Warrick have to say?" Okay, so maybe she was taking Catherine's advice for once, she thought, but she was tailoring the questions so that she could drag out of him exactly what she wanted to know.

Grissom's arm flexed under her head as she spoke, a sure sign that he wasn't too pleased with having to talk about this. "We had dinner, Sara. You knew that."

"Bite me," she said, giving him a threatening look. "What else happened? I want details, and I want to know what the problem is or was."

He heaved a sigh. "Fine. Warrick told me I spend too much money."

Now was the time for the fake-innocence act. "You 'spend too much money'? Excuse me? We're not struggling at all. What was he talking about?"

"He, uh, well, more specifically, he thinks I spend too much money on you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. He said . . . Sara, do you really need to know all this? I'm perfectly capable of resolving this on my own." Before he had even finished speaking, Sara's pajama-clad form was on top of him.

"Listen, buddy," she said, inches away and speaking directly into his face. "This involves me, apparently, and you're going to tell me all of it or I'm going to do you some serious damage. Got it?" She rested her elbows casually on either side of his collarbone and subtly dug them in.

Grissom knew when to admit defeat. "Yeah, I got it." He pressed his lips together, trying to formulate a way to relate the story that would keep Sara off his back at the same time that she literally got off his front. "He thinks I spend too much money buying things for you. And that I don't need to, because you don't want them."

"Well," Sara began, only to be cut off.

"Hold on, I'm not done. He said that you don't want them and that you don't like me buying them for you. And he said that you won't buy anything for yourself because I buy things for you."

He looked pained at this, and Sara felt a pang of sympathy. "Well . . . I have mentioned things like that to you before, you know. You just never really paid attention. It's not that I don't want you buying anything for me, Gris. It's just that . . . if you want to buy something for me, buy me some flowers, or make me up a batch of Red Creeper, or something. It doesn't have to cost thousands of dollars."

Grissom said nothing for a long minute. Then, in a soft voice, he asked, "Is it true that you won't buy a nice dress because of the money I've spent on you?"

"You've been talking to Catherine, too, haven't you?" Sara shook her head. "That's not it. I just . . . I just don't see the reasoning behind spending enough money to feed a Third World nation on a white dress that I'll wear for one day out of my whole life."

"I don't think I completely believe you, Sara. I think that's part of it . . . but I think there's more that you don't want to tell me about." A deep breath. "Listen, if you don't want me to . . . waste . . . any more money on things you don't want or need, or if you want me to save my money for a rainy day, or anything like that . . . tell me now. I want the truth."

No longer able to pretend this was a casual conversation, Sara sat up and regarded him closely. "Okay, Gil. I would like you to stop spending your money to lavish things on me. Not because I don't appreciate it, and not because I don't think the ring is beautiful and Newton is the best dog ever, but because you don't need to do things like that. You don't need to win me anymore; you've got me." She paused to give him an ironic smile. "But don't go getting the idea that you can stop treating me as good as you do. 'Cause if you stop changing diapers, you're outta here," she finished, jerking her thumb over her shoulder toward the door.

"I'm trying to follow you here, but I need a little more detail. Dumb it down for the estrogen-challenged crowd, huh?"

She couldn't resist leaning over to give him a big kiss for that comment. " 'Estrogen-challenged' . . . I like it. Ok, so here's the male-friendly version, just for you: only buy me things if you honest-to-god want to buy them and think they're perfect for me. And, before you jump through the loophole I just provided, how about consulting me before spending more than $100 on me at a time?"

"Why a hundred?" he asked curiously.

"You got a better idea?"

"Umm . . . well, when you put it like that. So let me see if I've got this. I'm not to go out and buy any more dogs, rings, or gold collars without checking with you first. I am, however, to treat you, in all other ways, exactly as I have been treating you."

Sara eyed him worriedly. Had that been sarcasm? Was he annoyed at her request or something, or had he really been repeating back what he understood from her? "Was that a serious comment, Gris? Or are you making fun of me?"

"Hey, when was the last time I made fun of you?" he asked indignantly. Sara snorted, and he grimaced. "Seriously made fun of you, I mean. I was serious, I swear. I just want to make sure I know what you want me to do."

"Oh. Ok, then."

Grissom smiled weakly. "Can I ask you a question now? And will you answer it honestly – and I mean COMPLETELY honestly?"

Sara didn't answer, just tilted her head to the side and gave him a look that plainly said that he shouldn't think he even needed to ask. Taking this as a yes, he continued. "Do you really not want to splurge on a dress? Or do you just think you shouldn't want to?"

Sara's eyes scanned the room, from the open hallway door, to the cobweb in the left corner of the ceiling, to the baby's crib against the wall. She wasn't avoiding the question, really; it was just that she wasn't really sure of her answer.

"Do I want to splurge on a dress . . ." she mused out loud. "I, um . . . well, I really don't think my opinion comes down to how much it costs. What I really want is to find the perfect dress without looking at any price tags, and then, when I find out how much it costs, decide if it's worth it to me."

"Well," Grissom said steadily, "why wouldn't you be able to do that?"

A self-deprecating smile covered her face. "Because it would ruin my image, Gris. Come on, Sara Sidle in raptures over white gowns, willing to spend whatever it takes to look her best?"

"Bull, sweetheart," he retorted mildly. "Everyone who knows you just wants you to do what'll make you happy. If it's a few grand on a dress you'll only wear once that makes you happy, well, everyone knows that you're not a clotheshorse, Sara. We're all pretty sure you're not going to squander your money or mine on makeup and high heels; I don't think any of us would look down on you in the slightest for wanting to look beautiful on your wedding day."

Sara smile loosened into one that actually represented happiness. "Of course, you meant to add, 'even more beautiful than you already are,' to that, right Gris?" He stumbled over an answer and she laughed. "I'm kidding. So I guess the verdict is . . . I'll let Cath take me wherever she wants to look for a dress, and who knows – maybe my favorite will  be the ninety-buck one at Macy's. Or maybe it'll be the Vera Wang everyone seems to want to see me in."

"Hey, don't look at me. I'd rather see you in nothing." With a chuckle, Grissom handily ducked the pillow that came flying at him.