"The quickest way of ending a war is to lose it."

George Orwell

…

"I don't know if I can do this."

"Sara. We can do this. I'm right here." Nick smiled at her kindly, and taking her hand in his as they pulled up the driveway of the Stokes ranch, just outside Dallas. Sara squeezed his fingers gently. He let go of her hand to throw the truck into park, and she laid the palm of her hand on the gentle swell of her abdomen. He had not been ignorant of her uneasiness, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her cheek lovingly.

"What if they hate me?"

"They won't hate you."

"What if they don't approve?"

"Sara. They've been asking for a grandchild from me for fifteen years. They'll take what they can get."

"Just, just stay where I can see you."

"I'll never leave you, Sara."

Sara jerked awake at the memory and sat up straight in bed, one hand flying to her abdomen, the other searching for the warm body beside her instinctively. Her dream, her memory, had been so clear, Nick's words hung in a cloud over her consciousness, she could still hear his soft, reassuring voice in her ear. For a fleeting moment she thought she was in Dallas with Nick, pregnant with Lauren, but as her surroundings came into focus, she realized she was in Las Vegas, pregnant with the new baby, and the warm body her fingers had found belonged to Greg, who was slowly waking up.

Instantly, she felt the weight of everything hit her with a heavy guilty feeling in her chest, and she took her hand away from Greg's side, suddenly not wanting to wake him. Too late.

"You alright?" Greg wiped the sleep from his eyes, concern lacing his features as he propped himself up on an elbow. "Sara?"

"He said he'd never leave me." Her words came out as a whisper, and she brushed away the tear that welled in her eye. Greg lay back down, and ran his hands over his eyes. She had been dreaming. He felt miserable instantly, here she was, expecting to wake up beside Nick, reaching out for Nick, only to have her fingers find him instead. He was just about to speak when she settled back down into the bedding, and curled into his side. "I'm sorry."

"Just." He sighed, exhaling a deep breath. He didn't know what to do anymore. He was out of ideas. He shifted, propping he head up with his pillow, and hugged her tightly. "Just come here."

And she did. Sara laid her head on his chest, resting her arm across his abdomen. She had just begun to show, her slight little bump pressed against his side gently.

They were closing in on three months without Nick, and Ecklie had just posted the position open as a level one slot, but had made no further motion to advertise it. Sara wasn't the only one uncomfortable with the position being filled, but the leisurely pace the administration was taking in finding Nick's professional replacement was a comfort, even if it left the night shift stretched a bit thin.

They had been doing this for a little over two months. Ever since that morning she had shown up at his front door, a teary, insomniac mess. Now, now she curled up to him not in the desperate need for sleep as she had that morning, but in a companionable ease that tugged at his heart. Before, he was able to convince himself that sleeping beside Sara was a labor of love for Nick, calming her fears, coaxing her out of the occasional nightmare, setting the alarm clock, it was all for Nick.

Now, however, now she rested so easily in his arms, tightened her grip on his side, and he ran a hand along her shoulders affectionately, and for a fleeting moment, this was their apartment, their bed, that was their baby, this was their life.

For a moment.

He was such a jerk.

He turned his head to the side and pressed a kiss to her wild curls, immediately feeling guilty. Greg took a deep breath, moving his hand from her shoulder to her hair, sifting through her curls leisurely. He shouldn't be feeling guilty. Nick would have done the same if their places were reversed. His southern charm probably would have done it smoother, however. He would have done the cowboy thing, the reassuring smile, all the right words, simplistic body language. He wouldn't have stuttered and stammered his way through arguments, Nick would have known the limits, and not pushed them, avoiding arguments altogether.

Nick Stokes wasn't perfect though. He was human, a regular guy. Greg pulled Sara closer to him, and she yawned against his chest and acquiesced, shifting halfway on top of him. Her knee burrowed between his, and he let it, bringing his thigh up to rest against hers. No, he was definitely not Nick. Nick would have been more confident, more comforting.

Sara had postponed the trip to Dallas, preferring to take Lauren once school let out for the summer, instead of disrupting her routine all over again. For that he was secretly glad. He had developed a taste of the brand of insomnia Sara had initially sought him out for relief from, and more often than not could not drift off to a peaceful sleep without her in his arms. He just wasn't ready to go six consecutive days without her.

Then there was Lauren. Through all of this, his relationship with Lauren remained constant, in it's original form. He was still her crazy Uncle Greg, and he fought relentlessly to stay crazy Uncle Greg, in the eyes of the five year old. It was the one strand of normalcy in his life, and he clung to it with an almost wild desperation, it kept him from crossing the line with the sleeping woman beside him, pregnant with another man's baby.

"You're thinking too loud." Sara's soft whisper was warm against his tee shirt, and Greg smiled, unable to hold in a quiet laugh. She propped her head up on an elbow beside him, resting her hand in her tangle of wavy curls. She smiled warmly at him, and he couldn't help but return the gesture.

"Sorry."

"What's on your mind?"

"Nothing important." He didn't want to get into it, but she laid her hand on his chest, catching his attention. "Really, Sara, I didn't mean to wake you." He started to roll over, away from her, but she pulled him back, and he laid flat on his back beside her.

"Don't shut me out." She reached up and pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, examining him with a concerned expression. He sighed heavily, there was no simple explanation for his growing dependency on her, or the guilt he fought off each time he drifted off to sleep with her within reach. "Greg."

He pulled away from her, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, resting his head in his hands. He was not having these feelings again. He had fought them, conquered them, years ago, after Sara had gotten pregnant with Lauren. His heart swelled as she touched the small of his back, and he willed himself to not close the space between them. He ran his hands roughly through his hair, concentrating on ignoring her movements as she came to sit up against the headboard. He didn't want to tell her that she still affected him, he hated himself for it. His feelings caused a guilt that wracked his soul each and every time he felt her pull back the covers, slide in between the sheets beside him. He battled his feelings for Sara years ago. He was not going to let them surface again, especially after she had made a commitment to Lauren and Nick.

"I'll make some breakfast." He stood, feigning impartiality, and didn't look back at her as he left the bedroom, and turned down the hallway to the tiny kitchen. He needed to put a sizable distance between them. He was suddenly failing to obtain the ability to restrain himself with the discipline he had developed in the last few years.

He squinted at the Nevada sun that slid in through the kitchen window; already well into its dissent along the Californian horizon. He watched it for a brief moment, before his eyes flickered to the small frame on the windowsill. In it, he was a little boy, grinning like a fool at Olaf and whatever wild tale he was telling from his youth. His father had left, just before Greg was old enough for grammar school. Greg's mother had found herself in bed with a cold pillow, and a hastily scribbled note, alone to raise a six year old and an infant on her own.

Greg understood the importance of a father figure. Papa Olaf had supported his only daughter, moving from his beloved homeland to a little street in Brooklyn, to help Greg's mother raise her children. Olaf had made it look so easy, sliding in where there was a void, picking up the slack where Greg's father had dropped the rigging to the bitter end, so to speak. All he wanted to do was to pick up where Nick had left off, give memories like the ones he had of Olaf to Lauren, he already loved her as if she was his own.

He groaned, frustrated with himself, and swung open the door to the fridge, taking out the milk and a few eggs, before turning and reaching into a cabinet for a mixing bowl. He didn't have to turn and look at her to know she was standing in the doorway to his little kitchen, watching him as he cracked open the eggshells with a little too much vigor. Her hair would be a disorderly, uncontrollable mess, rumpled by the peaceful sleep they were sharing, until Greg's conscious got the better of him. Her hand would be softly rubbing her swell of a pregnant bump, her expression would be weary, concerned, confused. He didn't have to look at her to gauge her thoughts. She used to look at him like that when he hadn't quite conquered his feelings the first time around. When she was still his mentor, when he was still her student. When she was pregnant with Lauren, moving in with Nick. He had won the war against himself all those years ago, and there was nothing indicating that the same victory couldn't be claimed again.

He just couldn't look at her.

If he turned around, his resolve would break, and he would be spilling his secrets between his tears. She had enough troubles, she didn't need him on top of it all. She didn't need his people saving complex, or his nice guy welcome mat mentality. She didn't need him at all. She was sleeping through the night, well, day. She had gotten Lauren back on a normal routine, she had taken herself to the doctor's, she had returned to work, had taken the lead on a few cases, had completed all the paperwork on Nick's open cases herself. She was smiling again. He had only ever wanted her to smile, since the day he met her. Now she did it on her own. She didn't need him for anything.

"Talk to me, Greg." Her voice was soft, and he visibly relaxed at its soothing sound, breaking her fragile heart. He stopped mixing the pancake batter, it was only something for his hands to do while his mind searched desperately for the conviction to hold his ground, and not let her see what she did to him. She made her way to his side, and he winced as she ran her hand along his arm.

She had done that hundreds of times, when he was too worked up over a case, when he was letting a suspect get to him, when he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into the DNA lab and pick up his old coat. Her touch had always calmed him, even when he was about to slam his locker shut, chase the guy that got away, and pummel him into the gravel.

He shook her off now, not wanting to surrender himself to the comfort she always offered, losing the fight to keep his tears at bay. He hated himself. Sara pulled her hand away, and took a step back, pursing her lips and sweeping her gaze over him as if he was a piece of evidence.

"Okay." She spoke as if she had made a decision, and she stepped away from him, running a hand through her disheveled curls, and made her way to the door. He silently cursed himself, regretting thinking about anything as she heard the door to the apartment open.

"I never wanted you to get hurt." Sara turned at his words, one foot already out in the hallway. She looked back at Greg, the tension had returned to his shoulders, and he stood, gripping the counter, with his back to her. The man she trained to be her partner, who couldn't go a minute and a half without a smile or a joke, who her daughter referred to as 'Crazy Uncle Greg' was not in the kitchen. This man here, this was a broken man, torn between his heart and his head, his passion and his reason. She shut the door behind her, stepping back into his apartment, coming to lean in the doorjamb of the kitchen.

"None of this was your fault, Greg."

"I had it all under control, Sara." Greg rubbed his eyes, and pushed the pancake batter away from him. "I beat my own feelings years ago. I thought I could handle it. I was happy for you. For Nick. I was content with being Uncle Greg, it meant I got to be a part of Lauren's life."

"Greg-"

"I'm fighting the same war all over again, Sara. I want more than anything to be able to love you like I do, and I can't be Uncle Greg when you're climbing into my bed every morning after work. At first I convinced myself that it was justified because you needed me. No, let me finish." He cut her off as she was opening her mouth to speak. "I didn't feel guilty when you needed me. It was when you started to sleep through the night that I realized I needed you. See my dilemma?" He turned, taking a few steps away from the counter, placing his hands on his hips, and standing before her not unlike a small child with a newly trampled spirit.

"Greg-"

"Tell me what to do, Sara. I'm out of ideas. Everything I've tried has brought me to guilty, tired, and grieving. I love you, I need you, and I hate myself for it." Greg looked Sara in the eye, and realized the war with himself was over.

He had just lost.

……

A/N: sorry about the delay… poor Greg just can't take it anymore. More to come. Soon. For real this time.