A/N: The pairing is Greg/Sara. Sara gets pregnant; can't tell Gris; Greg finds out and decides to help. What will Sara say to Grissom when he must, eventually, find out? How will this affect Sara and Greg's friendship? How can Greg be a help? Thanks for the kind reviews and I respectfully ask that you continue giving input; you know how much it means to me, kids. Thanks—your humble author.
My Blessed Mistake: Sugar and Spice
Why wasn't she starting? Four days and no period. Four days! She's solved murders in less than four days.
And, of course, the question of pregnancy kept nagging at her mind. She'd be processing a piece of evidence when, suddenly, her chest would grow tight as words like "baby," "conception," "pregnant," "mother," and "I-really-can't-handle-this" fired about some overactive synapses. She ran to the bathroom every hour in hopes of finding blood.
But how could she be pregnant? She took the pill faithfully! Besides, PMS was rearing its ugly head; her breasts and back hurt, her sides ached with cramps, and she might actually kill for a nap. When she called her gynecologist, it was the typical spiel about how "no woman's period is normal" and "give it a few more days." She gave it two, then found herself sitting on her toilet with a pregnancy test.
Sara only prayed every once in a blue moon. Her days at temple and Schul were long gone (and those had been the result of a very obdurate grandmother). But holding the Clear Blue test stick elicited that dread which only prayer can calm.
"Okay, God, we both now I can't be a mom. First of all, it's virtually impossible. Secondly, I don't want a kid. I mean, it's not that I never want a kid…just not now. And not with a guy who doesn't think a relationship is "unfeasible." Unfeasible. Stupid jerk." She shook her head; Grissom was not the issue. "Look, in a few minutes, this is gonna tell me if I'm pregnant and I'm asking you—begging you—God, please don't let me be."
She preformed the necessary unpleasantries, then waited. And after only a minute, it was time to check the test. Another minute found her on the phone with the OB-GYN.
Sara Sidle was going to be a mommy.
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Greg shuffled his way towards the break room. This was the mother of all long nights; Gris, Sara, Nick, Cath, and Warrick all had their own cases with their own lab work and each one wanted it now. Bad guys either needed to stop committing crimes or stop leaving trace evidence.
Sara, by far, was the worst, and not just tonight. For two weeks, she would go between yelling at his "laziness" and forgetting why she had entered his lab in the first place. What on earth was wrong with her? Too much stress? Had her dog died or something? She looked like a dog person (actually, she looked like a goldfish person; nothing that needed a lot of time or attention).
He settled down at the table with a cup of coffee and his International Journal of Biochemistry and Cell Biology. Naturally, the object of his previous mulling walked in just as the article became interesting.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"How's your night going?"
"Fine."
"Your evidence should be processed in about twenty minutes."
"Okay."
There was a long silence while Sara gingerly opened her sack lunch and pulled out fruits, vegetables, and a sandwich, but didn't touch anything. Oh, the morning sickness! Almost a week of starting each morning at the toilet and usually skipping breakfast. However, every meal posed a threat. While the doctor's appointment sat almost fifteen days away on her calendar, he had called in a prescription for prenatal vitamins. Unfortunately, no prescription for an anti-emetic.
"Aren't you hungry?" Greg's voice called her out of her reverie.
"Yes." But I'm afraid I'll just throw it all up.
"Then…shouldn't you eat?"
She pulled a carrot from the vegetable baggie and began chewing. Greg watched, noticing unconsciously how her hand rested at her stomach. When the carrot went down without a problem, she ventured for the sandwich—turkey and bread had never tasted so good! What a relief to not have hCG reintroducing the meal. She gobbled it down like a starving person and then chugged the half pint of milk.
"I guess you were hungry. So, can I assume you're gonna want that apple?"
Sara snatched it up and took a bite, relishing its juices until—oh, no. What was that smell? That awful, awful smell! Greg's coffee. It turned her stomach. Dropping the apple, she bolted for the room's sink and promptly vomited up her food. Greg wasn't fazed for a second; he ran to her side and held back that long brown hair. When it was all done, she looked positively miserable.
"Good grief—are you okay?" he asked, grabbing a napkin to wipe her brow.
"Yes," she replied meekly. "Sorry."
"You don't have to apologize; nobody has to apologize for being violently ill. Why don't you sit down; what's wrong?"
She sat, but then jumped away from the table and pointed at the coffee cup. "Could you—could you get rid of that? The smell makes me nauseous."
He washed it down in the sink, then sat beside with her. "What happened?"
"I just don't feel really great."
His mind focused on the way she cradled her stomach again. The subconscious really wanted to connect with the conscious, but certain preconceived notions stood in the way. "Is that why you've been, er…moody…the last couple weeks? Sara, if you've been sick like that for two weeks, you should go see a doctor."
"I will." In fifteen more days. So we can discuss my pregnancy. Oh my gosh, my life is turning upside down. Sara Sidle, don't you dare start crying in front of Greg. Pull yourself together, you wimp!
"I'm not kidding; I've noticed all week that you're tired and preoccupied and just not yourself. Now you're throwing up from the smell of coffee—something's really wrong."
You have no idea. "Honestly, I've already made an appointment."
"And the way you hold your stomach like there's some kind of scary virus in there you're trying to placate. I know you're a workaholic, but…" he trailed off. Something clicked in his head. Moody. Tired. Sensitive to smells. Sick. Hand on stomach. Preoccupied. "You're pregnant."
It might have been possible at that moment to push Sara over with a look. Her face blanched, her jaw dropped, and yesterday's lunch almost came back up. "How—how do you know?"
"You are?"
She looked frantic. "How did you know?"
"I just…I mean, you were sick and then…I figured because of the coffee…can I assume I shouldn't be happy for you?"
Be happy for her? Happy? The thought of being happy made tears fall. "How could I possibly be happy? This is the most unplanned pregnancy in the history of the world. Hell, I can't even tell the father. If Grissom knew…"
It was Greg's turn to be floored. "Grissom?"
She flew out of her chair and pointed an accusing finger. "Don't you dare tell anyone! Not anyone at all! I can kill you and make it look like an accident!"
"I won't; I promise." He pulled the weepy prego into a hug and let her cry on his shoulder. Sara knew it looked ridiculous. It was ridiculous. But it felt so good to have someone know her secret. Carrying it around for the past two weeks was like trying to lug about an SUV. And getting comfort from Greg, of all people. Who knew the geeky biochemist with crazy hair, a million hobbies, and a smart mouth also housed a heart of gold?
"What am I gonna do?" she sighed into his arm.
"You're gonna let a friend help you. And I know just the guy."