THIS IS A SLIGHTLY REVISED VERSION OF CHAPTER SEVEN.

A/N: You're all such blessings to me, those who review. Please, please keep it up; I am so grateful. Also, JPAC (Joint POW/MIA Accounting Command), formerly CIL-HI, really exists and for anyone interested in forensics, I advise you to google them. Also, for those G/S shippers, you're gonna hate this chapter. Please remember, if you don't have anything constructive to say, don't say anything at all. –your humble author

Cover-Ups

The most horrendous thing occurred only a few weeks after Christmas, which had been relatively painless and drug free. Only a few hours later, the most amazing thing happened. And while Sara thought January could not possibly be topped in the year to come, she was very, very wrong. It started with a plane crash.

"Wow," she whispered, standing next to Nick. It was a very messy scene out in the desert, but not as bad as some crashes in terms of size. The little DC 9-50 had only been carrying 23 people. Besides, plane crashes were relatively simple. You knew who each passenger was and where they were supposed to be sitting, as well as crew members. "Is there any suspicion of foul play?"

"Nope. The pilot called in and said he was experiencing bad weather and unusual turbulence, then crashed two minutes later. The weather report since then shows a rough storm changed course suddenly and ran straight into them. They didn't stand a chance."

When Grissom called Sara away, Warrick walked up to Nick. "Can you believe she's been hanging out with Greg? I see them together every day."

"It's weird. I thought she didn't like him."

"Yeah, I thought so, too, but now I think they're dating."

"Whatever happened to her crush on Gris?"

Warrick chuckled. "I don't know, but life with Greg must be pretty easy going—have you noticed she put on weight?"

"It's about time; what makes girls think we want sticks? I'm with Sir Mixalot on this one."

"Are you two finished?"

They spun around to face Catherine, both quite red in the face. She only smiled, suggested they get back to work and left, but neither spoke to the other for the remainder of the scene.

Back at the lab, Grissom conducted their meeting. "I think we'd better call JPAC CIL-HI and see if they can send anyone out. This is a lot for our team and we could use a forensic anthropologist with so many victims. There may even be a few remaining from the AAFS meeting that finished up on Sunday."

"How much would you love to be working for JPAC?" Catherine asked dreamily. "Living in Hawaii and traveling the world to recover and ID soldiers killed in action? It must be nice to give that kind of peace to families and live in a tropical paradise."

"I don't know about that," Doc Robbins said from across the table. He had David sorting through bones back in the lab; grunt work was for the young. "I've spoken with the lab director and most of their time is spent camping in jungles or deserts and digging around. Personally, I'm rather more partial to my bed and indoor plumbing."

Cath was about to make a remark when David entered, looking quite confused. "We've got…kinda…a problem."

"What's wrong?"

"Well, you told me there were 23 passengers and four crew members, which equals 27. But while I was laying out bones, I came across 35 skulls."

"Stowaways?"

Grissom shook his head at Nick. "Probably a mistake on the manifest; we'll call the airline and have them double check."

"No, that's not it," David stated, rather sure of himself. "If it were just an error, we would have 35 skulls and 70 femurs, 70 tibias, and so forth. But we have 35 skulls and 54 femurs and tibias."

The room paused while each person did the math in his or her head. Warrick managed first. "Are you saying we have eight extra skulls?"

"That's the problem."

"Is it possible we simply missed them?" someone asked.

"Miss exactly eight of everything?"

Grissom raised a hand and silenced the murmurings. "All right. I'm going to call Tom Holland and try to get a little extra help. In the meantime, let's attempt to ID each whole skeleton and start by calling family members for dental and medical X-rays. You're dismissed."

Sara stood at the front desk and waited for her messages. They'd been spending whatever time that wasn't on the field siding, sexing, and aging bones. Bones everywhere! If she never saw another bone, it would be too soon.

"Here you go, Ms. Sidle. Hey, I noticed that you're getting a little paunch there—is it true you're pregnant?"

She didn't drop the messages, but clutched them tighter. What? What! "Who told you that?"

"Well, Judy did. Is something wrong? I mean, if you're not pregnant and you think I think you look fat, I didn't mean it that way. Because you don't. Ms. Sidle? Ms. Sidle, I'm sorry!"

The apology fell on deaf ears, since Sara was storming off in search of Greg. That rat had told someone! She'd been so careful and worn only loose clothes! Granted, she'd got bigger much faster than some women due to her small size, but she was only four months pregnant! How could anyone know so soon? Before long Grissom would find out and then she'd have to move and live under an assumed name. Was she being irrational? Was the pregnancy making her more scared than reasonable? No.

"Greg!"

He jumped and hit his head on a cupboard. "Ow! I think that shout was a little uncalled for. What's wrong?" He refrained from asking why she looked so murderous.

She looked around to check on their privacy, then cornered him. "Whom did you tell?"

"Tell what? About Three?" "Three" was what they'd begun to call the baby ("and baby makes three…"). Or, rather, Greg had. Sara just called it "it" or "baby." "I didn't tell anyone."

"Yeah, then why did Cheryl just ask me if I'm pregnant?"

"Because you are?"

"Judy told Cheryl. She didn't just guess on her own. That means someone must have told Judy. Who else knows but you? I told you not to tell anyone! I made you promise!"

"Sara, I swear I didn't tell; you have to believe me! Please, don't you know I wouldn't lie to you by now? Maybe Judy overheard us talking or noticed that you are—well—beginning to show. But I. Didn't. Tell."

"We'll just see," she seethed, storming out of his lab. Greg merely shook his head, amazed by her attitude. He'd never seen her blow up like that and, frankly, it hurt that she would even think he'd break his promise.

While Greg recovered, Sara approached Judy, slightly more calm. "Excuse me, Judy, can we talk for a minute?"

"Sure."

"I understand you think that I'm pregnant?"

Judy nodded. "Yeah, I wrote down a message for you from your gynecologist's secretary; she said he wants you to buy one of those electronic blood pressure machines to use every night and write down the result." Sara looked down at the notes she still clutched. "She said it had to do with preeclampsia monitoring. My cousin had that problem when she was pregnant. So, when are you due?"

Sara felt the rage drain out and be replaced by self-loathing. "June," she managed. "I have to go."

She began walking back towards Greg's lab. How on earth could she apologize for her abhorrent behavior? Did he take cash? She didn't have a chance to find out, however, when Grissom came up to her in the hall.

"We need to talk."

The problem with such a small working community is that news travels at light speed. They walked into Grissom's office and Sara couldn't help feeling as though she were walking into her execution.

"I've been told by a third party that you're pregnant. While it may be none of my business, I'd like to verify the validity of the rumor, especially since these working conditions may endanger a fetus's health. Are you pregnant?"

She swallowed hard. "Yes."

He nodded. "When are you due?"

"Sometime in June. No delivery date is exact."

There was silence while he did some quick mental calculations. June minus nine months was…September. They'd had sex in September. He had to ask, although it made him feel like a soap opera actor. "Sara, is it mine?"

Crap. What could she say? Sitting there, having him stare at her—scrutinize her—only added to the anxiety. She took a deep breath. He deserved the truth, didn't he? He'd never lied to her. Why would she keep this from him? Determined, Sara opened her mouth and out came, "It's Greg's."

Two things happened. She immediately felt regret for lying and a beaker crashed to the floor in the hall. Then she heard a familiar voice.

"Fu…udge!" That censor had taken a lot of effort on Greg's part. Sara raced into the hallway, followed by Grissom. Oddly, and despite the mess she was making, she suddenly wanted nothing but fudge.

"Are you all right?"

"I guess so," he told Grissom, then turned to Sara, but said nothing. His expression was a mixture of confusion and surprise, yet it lacked the anger she had expected.

Gil spoke up again. "I understand congratulations are in order." He looked at Sara. "Aren't they?"

"Yeah," Greg said softly after a moment, not taking his eyes from hers. Her expression also conveyed surprise and confusion, but it held panic, fear, desperation, and self-disgust, as well. She knew—knew—that the hole kept getting deeper and the only way out was by telling Grissom the truth. He deserved. She deserved it. Greg deserved it. Even Three deserved it! Why couldn't she muster up the courage? Where was that titanium backbone she had with everyone else? Why were Greg's pants fizzling?

"Greg, what was in that beaker?"

He looked down at the broken glass, then noticed his pants being eaten away and the unpleasant burning sensation around his ankles. Whatever had been in the beaker splashed up on his trousers. "Oh, nuts! That's sulfuric acid!" He started jumping around and, when that proved futile, walked away at warp speed. "Gotta wash this off. Change my pants. Clean the floor. See you later. Bye!"

Sara watched him hurry off. What was she getting herself into? Why was she getting herself into it? As they stepped back into Gil's office though, it occurred to her that with Grissom she had an iffy and slightly uncomfortable relationship. But with Greg? With Greg she had a friendship and it felt so good to have a friend—a real friend who didn't judge her or try to get in her pants or run away when she claimed he was the father of her child.

Sighing just a little, Sara wondered where she could find fudge at just past two in the morning.

They drove out together in separate cars, Sara behind Greg. He didn't say anything except directing her to follow him and Sara had a bad feeling she was about to lose a friend. First berating him falsely and then telling Grissom that Greg fathered her child? Pregnancy was making her a scared fool. When they finally pulled into the Burger King parking lot, she hesitated to get out of the car. Greg didn't notice; he simply walked into the restaurant without looking back.

Resignedly, Sara followed. She didn't approach him at the counter, however, but watched from the doorway as he ordered in his usual, animated fashion. It actually brought tears to her eyes as she thought of the fun times she would miss with him and all the great help he'd been throughout the past three months. The cashier gave him the food and Greg walked towards a booth. She approached slowly.

"So, we need to talk," he said, opening his box of French toast sticks. He loved French toast sticks. "Sit down. I got you the little sausage, cheese, and egg sandwich thing and told them to take off the sausage 'cause I know you don't like it. Oh, and I got you the milk instead of the orange juice 'cause the orange juice has pulp and I know you don't like that, either. Mm…syrupy goodness."

She sat and numbly opened the sandwich wrapper. "Are you angry with me?"

"I don't know. I mean, I'm not thrilled that you think I'd break my promise—"

"I don't!" she interrupted. "I talked to Judy and she got a message from Dr. Miller about blood pressure monitoring for preeclampsia. She put two and two together on her own. Greg, I'm…I'm really sorry for the way I acted and for not trusting you."

He smiled. "Then, if that's cleared up, I'm not angry with you."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "But what about with Grissom…"

"Oh, the whole thing where you told him I'm the daddy instead of admitting the truth and solving your biggest problem?" He stopped eating and sat back, fixing her with an honest stare. "I know you're scared. And I know you won't admit it right now because you have to be strong all the time. But you don't have to be strong all the time with me. I understand why you did what you did. Granted, you'd be a lot happier just telling him the truth—and you owe it to him, by the way—but if this is what you need now," he told her with a shrug, "I'm here for you."

She couldn't help asking the next question. "Is it because you like me romantically?"

Sara had never brought up his brownie declaration, especially not the part where he had admitted he liked her more than platonically (or the part where he confessed his infatuation for something called "The Fairly OddParents"). Greg choked on his stick. "What? I don't—I mean, I…oh, who cares? Yes, I like you. But it's kinda moot now, isn't it?" He gave her a rather sad smile. "I'm gonna be your friend no matter what. Okay?"

She smiled back, also sadly. "Okay."

They were on their way out when it happened. She stopped walking and gasped a little, surprised at the movement.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know. I think…I think it moved." After a moment, Three moved again, delighting its mother. "It just kicked! Here, feel," she said giddily, putting his hand on her stomach. He waited, then felt the kick.

"Wow!" he whispered. Sure, he'd felt Gefjon kick all those years ago, but it was still amazing. A real, living thing inside her! It didn't compare, however, to the smile on Sara's face. He patted her back. "Congratulations. Mommy."

Mommy.

Sara snuggled down in her bed and thought over the night. Grissom knew. But did he know? Did he know about her lie? He should; after all, the man's job was finding the truth from clues. If he couldn't figure this one out, he ought to give up his position. Of course, this only caused Sara more anxiety.

However, Grissom didn't know. A little part of him suspected something, but Sara wasn't the type to lie. He, like most men, could not understand her pregnant state of mind. It's a scary period in a woman's life, especially unplanned. And while he would have stepped up to the plate—accepted his responsibility for the child's welfare and upbringing—the name "Greg" had never sounded so good. No reflection on Gil's character; it was simply a fact.

She held her tummy and, for the first time, spoke to Three. "Hi. I'm your…mommy." The word came out like her meeting with Grissom, awkward yet unnerving. "Oh, what kind of a mess have I made for myself—ourselves?" she asked, looking up at the ceiling sorrowfully. She felt stupid and insecure, not to mention ridiculous. Of all the things she could have said to Grissom, lying was the worst. "I didn't know what to do in his office. How do I tell him that—despite birth control—I'm having his baby. His. Would he have even believed me? Would he now? Hindsight is twenty-twenty, but sitting there, I could only imagine him angry and resentful; I thought he would yell at me to get out of his office, accuse me of lying or trying to force him into a relationship. How stupid is that? I know him and that's not him. How can I possibly fix this?"

She groaned, then turned off the light beside her bed and rolled over. "What have I—

"—Got ourselves into?" Greg asked his pet hamsters from the comfort of the sofa. Kykelikokos had been a gift from the twins a year ago and he'd bought Phil himself. They didn't bother looking at him, though. Apparently, food pellets proved more interesting.

"No. What did Sara get us into? How could she look him in the face and say that I'm the father? When Gris finds out, he's not gonna be happy. But how do you scold a distressed pregnant woman? I couldn't just let her go this alone. And it's not because I like her. This has nothing to do with that," Greg told his furry friends adamantly. He didn't know whom he was trying to convince—himself or the hamsters. Not that Kykelikokos or Phil seemed to care. Actually, Phil spared him a glance, but it was more of an, "Oh, are you still here?" look. Phil always had an attitude problem, though.

Greg fell back on the couch. "When did my life get so complicated? It wasn't this complicated three months ago. It wasn't even this complicated yesterday. What's gonna happen tomorrow? Oh, God, no more surprises, please—a quick email is all I ask." A thought struck him and he groaned loudly. "Work! I have to work tomorrow. With Grissom. I really don't want—"

"—Anything else, thank you," Grissom told the waiter. "We'll just take the check." He turned to Heather. "Did you enjoy your meal?"

"It was very nice. I wish you could have been here for it."

Gil gave her a questioning look, which prompted her to point out his preoccupation. He nodded. "I'm sorry. I learned today that one of my investigators is pregnant and it's something of a surprise."

"You had a relationship with her?"

How did she know those things? It was very disconcerting. "Yes. Apparently a lab tech she had previously shown some disregard towards is the father. The change in both of them has me marveling."

"People change. What are you worried about?"

He frowned. "I get the feeling this was unexpected on their parts and I don't want to see either of them lose their edge in the field or the lab; they are extremely good at what they do." He stood up as the waiter approached, glad he could change the uncomfortable subject. "Shall we go?"

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