A/N: I'M SORRY! I know it's been—what—forever? And I'm kinda pushing things along in this chapter. But I've taken on a second job, in addition to fulltime classes, hence this has been put on low-priority time-wise. So, to all who still care: I'm sorry and thanks. To the rest: I'm sorry and I understand completely. –your humble author

Requiem for a Lie

The trauma opened Sara's eyes to more than just new feelings for Greg; she also felt a renewed obligation to Grissom. The fear of his reaction lessened significantly in light of the real terror she experienced from the last two weeks' events. Besides, in a moment of brief, pre-pregnant like lucidity, it occurred to her that whatever his reaction, it could never cause more anxiety than not telling him. Often it kept her up at night.

"I'm gonna do it," she announced, standing next to the couch and Greg. The latter had arrived home only a few days before and after two weeks at the hospital.

He paused Mystery Science Theater 3000: Space Mutiny ("Reef Blastbody! Big McLargehuge! Roll Fizzlebeef!") and struggled to sit up. "Do what?"

"Tell Gris."

"About the baby?"

"No, about East European socialism; of course about the baby!"

Greg looked startled. Yes, he had been encouraging her daily to come clean, but now she appeared romantically interested in him—his goal from the moment she walked into the Vegas lab. And anyway, didn't she owe him? He'd taken care of her for the past seven months, including, but not limited to, moving her into his home, dispensing sage advice, giving up coffee, cooking, cleaning, and getting shot protecting Three's father (or, at least, that was how it seemed in retrospect; hindsight is not always twenty-twenty).

Greg, you wienie-head, don't be ridiculous; she doesn't owe you anything. You made the choice to do all that. Of course, she's seems more moody than grateful. Who does she think she is? Calm down! It's just your nerves talking because all you've had to do for the past two weeks is sit around watching TV and eating. She's been attentive and caring—for Heaven's sake, she spent the whole time at your bedside in the hospital. So why does she wanna go to Grissom now? Why does she want to leave you? Shut-up!

"Greg?"

"What? I mean, that's a great idea."

"Say it like you mean it." She smiled a little and sat down to rest her swollen feet. "Look, you've been right all along and I'm only getting that now. I had to get my priorities straight."

His eyes took on a sad puppy look. "And what's the order now?"

"The baby and I. Yes, I'm doing this for Grissom, but mostly for Three and me. It deserves to have a father who knows it exists, and I deserve to sleep at night. Besides, the time is getting closer to have this thing and I can't go through a delivery with guilt on my mind. Although, I'd be willing to do that if it could happen now."

"Chomping at the bit?"

"I want my body back."

"Yeah, that'll happen once you deliver."

"What are you talking about?"
He grinned. "Well, after you give birth, you'll breastfeed. Now, there are some crazy nurse lactation specialists out there; Liz called the La Leche League for a little help and they told her to nurse Geffy until she was five."

"Months?"

"Years. You've got a long road ahead of you."

"It sucks to be a woman."

He patted her belly consolingly. "Sara, I wouldn't trade places with you for all the money in the world."

She shot him a sideways glance. "You mean more than you already have?"

"I knew this would come up! Look, money isn't important to me. If it were, I would be living in New York, being chauffeured to and from a boardroom, and making business trip on the company's personal jet. I'd have dinner at 21 with Michael Eisner and Steve Jobs to discuss a subsidiary merger. None of that is me. This is me. Well, not the whole sitting on my butt all day watching TV and getting fat of flavofides—"

"Flavowhat?"

"Sorry, cultural reference. But you know what I mean. I am not my father."

"I can't understand why I never figured it out earlier. You're of relatively recent immigrant stock, willing to receive less pay in order to be out in the field, and the coffee you drink is forty dollars a pound."

"What does my ancestral background have to do with it?"

"Y'know—dream the American dream; most people who've been here for a while stop dreaming it and just subsist. But I'm getting of topic. Look, I gotta tell Gris. This is driving me nuts. Will you be okay here by yourself for a couple hours?"

"Hey, I just have to sit here and watch Smoke Manmuscle throw Canadians over railings with his grandma-girlfriend. Will you be okay?"

"I sure hope so. And never reference these shows again."

Gil called off his date with Lady Heather to meet Sara about something urgent. He hoped it wasn't about her resigning to be a mom. After all, pretty much the whole lab now knew she was bearing the child of and/or engaged to or dating or living with someone ridiculously wealthy (or at least someone set up to inherit a ton of money). It wouldn't be like her to quit, but he'd seen motherhood change more than a few women. They met in the same restaurant where Sara first told Greg about the baby (not that Grissom knew that). She shuffled through the door looking extremely...pregnant.

"Hi, Trish, could we have our usual table?"

After their first breakfast there, Sara and Greg began coming regularly—twice a week once she started her leave. She had apologized to the poor waitress for her initial behavior, explained being pregnant, and now even looked forward to the familiar, if painfully cheerful, girl.

"Sure thing, Ms. Sidle. Where's Mr. Sanders? I haven't seen you guys for a couple weeks; I thought maybe the baby came."

"No such luck, I'm afraid. Mr. Sanders is at home right now. Could you bring out one of those fried-cheese-stick platters? Oh, and a butterscotch sundae? And a glass of milk. What're you gonna have?" she asked Gil.

"I'll just have some water until we're ready to order the meal."

Trish chuckled and Sara cracked a smile. "That is my meal." Sara had followed Greg's good advice on what to eat until her cravings began in full force and the nausea subsided. Why waste a perfectly good excuse to eat whatever, whenever, and as much as she wanted?

"Oh. Then I'll have the soup and salad please—the one advertised outside."

"You got it."

They settled into silence until Gil commented, "I'm surprised you chose to have an important conversation in a restaurant."

I needed a familiar setting and Greg's condo wouldn't do. "You would only have been called away if we met in the lab; everyone wants your time."

"So what did you want my time for?"

Calming breath. "I needed to speak with you about the pregnancy."

He nodded. Here it comes. I'm going to lose one of the best investigators I've ever had to a fetus. "Okay."

"Well, I wanted to..." Let you know I'm having your baby. "That is, I thought you should be made aware..." That everything I've told you is a lie. A big, fat lie! I'm having your child. Surprise! "Look, it's just that..."

"Are you resigning from the lab?"

"What? Resign? No!" She took another breath, reached inside of herself to find courage, opened her mouth, and—

"I've got your food. Let's see, sundae, mozzarella sticks, and milk for Ms. Sidle and soup and salad for her friend. D'you want a refill on that water, sir?"

"No, thank you."

She grinned, somehow even more, and turned to Sara, taking a teacup off her tray. "Y'know, Ms. Sidle, I couldn't help but overhear last time when you said you're really stressed out, so I brought you this herbal tea so maybe you could feel better. It's on the house."

"Thanks, Trish, I appreciate it."

"Yeah. I mean, I started thinking about how stressed out I would feel if the real father of my child didn't know he was the father and I had to figure out a way to tell him, but I'd been lying for so long that it seemed impossible, and besides I've got everyone thinking this other guy is the dad—it'd be a nightmare. Anyway, enjoy your tea." She bounced away.

Kill me now, God. "How's your soup?"

He raised an eyebrow. "How's your tea?"

She closed her eyes, feeling sad and weary. With surprising calm, and meeting his gaze, she began her explanation. "When we had sex, I was taking a contraceptive. Unfortunately, I was also taking an antibiotic, which counteracted the birth control. When I realized what had happened, I felt overwhelmed and unable to tell you; you made it pretty clear we shouldn't be together. Greg put my moodiness and vomiting together on his own and offered to help me. Then time passed and you found out I was pregnant and I just didn't know what to say, so I lied. Things kind of snowballed from there and now we're here." She looked down at her stomach. "We're all here. Or will be shortly."

Somehow, despite the tight control he kept over his emotions, he appeared truly sad. Surprised, of course, and angry. But his sadness struck her deeply and she felt the tears well up.

"Why didn't you tell me? What did you think my reaction would be?"

"I didn't know. Angry at me because the birth control didn't work; unable to work with me any longer; upset; accusatory; anything. Whatever it would be, I didn't want to know. This isn't how I normally am; I'm not easily scared." She paused for a moment. "But I'm not normally in a situation like this. I'd say I'm sorry, but it wouldn't be worth much, would it?"

"No."

She poked the ice-cream with her spoon and wondered, briefly, how a cheese stick might taste with a little butterscotch. Or maybe cheesecake and butterscotch. Butterscotch cheesecake. With a chocolate shell for the crust. No, stop thinking about food and focus on the problem! "What is your reaction?"

"To your lying or to finding out I'm going to be a father?"

"To being a father; I think I can figure out the former on my own."

"Shock, at the moment. I never thought it was mine except when I asked you that once; I didn't have any reason to doubt you. You'll have to give me time to digest this information and...deal with hit."

"I know. I understand that."

He picked at his own food. "Why are you telling me now?"

"Because after Greg got shot, I realized how little I had to be afraid of; it put things in perspective. Besides, I don't have a whole lot longer before I give birth, and I can't do it with a guilty conscience."

"So what is the relationship between you and Greg?"

She shrugged. "He's my friend. I think my best friend. I think, maybe, something more. Now, I'd like to know something, if you don't mind: Would you have wanted me to get an abortion?"

"That's something between you and your doctor."

"But would you have wanted me to?"

"If you had come to me when you first found out and asked that question, I would have said no. Now, having not been told, do I wish you had got an abortion months ago?" He looked at her resignedly. "No."

Word spread like wildfire at the lab when Nick overheard Grissom on the phone to Lady Heather. He had come to deliver a report and started opening the door without knocking (after all, he only had to lay it on the desk and he thought Gris was out on a case). However, he heard the quiet conversation, while Grissom's back was to the door. He promptly went to tell Warrick. Warrick told Archie. Archie told Cath. Cath told Brass. Within the hour, even the guy who delivered the water jugs for the water coolers knew. Fortunately, when her cell phone started to be bombarded with calls, Sara was sitting in the doctor's office with it off.

"Ms. Sidle, I would like to induce your labor within the week."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, except that the baby already weighs an estimated eight pounds and two ounces; by the time you come to term, she'll weigh over ten pounds. Frankly, I don't think your body type can handle that"

The doctor didn't realize what he had said, but Sara heard loud and clear. "'She'll?'"

"What? Oh...crap. Ms. Sidle, I'm sorry; it was a slip of the tongue."

She didn't pay him much attention. So, Three was a Three-ette. That would explain why she'd pounded a quarter of the four-pound box of Swiss chocolates Liz sent as a thank-you. "So, when do you want to induce?"

"Soon. Get your things in order, call your coach or whoever you want to be in the room with you, pack your bags, and be ready to push. Is three days enough time?"

Three days? In three days she would have the baby? She didn't know whether to be relieved, excited, or nervous. "Sure. Three days."

She wondered how Grissom would respond to this news.