"And if there's one thing that I know,

it's that it's just best to let it roll."

-Secondhand Serenade

…

"Mum!" Sara hadn't even laid her foot on the inside if the threshold before Lauren was calling to her, the laughter in her voice a welcome sound on Sara's weary ears. She had heard her daughter cry all to often for a first grader. She smiled broadly as Lauren came barreling down the hall, tripping over herself from the kitchen. "Uncle Greg said you wouldn't be home until after I went to school!" Lauren all but bulldozed Sara's slight frame, knocking her mother back a step with the force of her hug. "How many bad guys did you catch?" Lauren mumbled into Sara's waist, making her mother chuckle at her enthusiasm.

"Four." Sara smiled somewhat sadly, seeing her child's uncanny resemblance to Nick for the first time in over twenty-four hours. She knelt, accepting a hug, holding her tightly for a few extra moments, until Lauren began to squirm.

"Mum! The bus is here, I got to go." Lauren smashed a kiss to Sara's cheek, and scampered out the front door, calling back a good-bye to Greg, who was leaning against the corner of the counter a few feet away, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He threw her an amused smile for a greeting, and disappeared back into the kitchen as the yellow school bus pulled away, down the street. Sara dropped her bag and coat unceremoniously, before following him.

"Hey." He handed her a large ceramic mug, the thick steam wafting off the top in lazy swirls, leaning toward her casually and dropping a companionable kiss to her lips. He looked tired, despite how many time he had dismissed the idea of it as they worked their cases last night. His had wrapped a good twelve hours before hers, allowing him to spend a rare evening at home with Lauren and Andy all on his own. If she had to wager, she'd bet that Lauren loved every minute of it. Sara stared at the dark coffee in her mug, wondering just when they had become so domestic. When they had developed routines.

"You look terrible." His voice was soft, and she chuckled, knowing he was just telling her she needed rest. She nodded, taking a long sip from the mug he had given her, grimacing.

"This coffee tastes terrible." She remembered all too well the dull taste of decaf. "I thought we got rid of all the decaf."

"The last thing you need in your system is more caffeine." He shrugged, running a hand through his curls as he dropped a dollop of cream into his own mug. He turned to her, taking a breath to begin a conversation, but a faint cry from Andy's room upstairs halted the words in his mouth. He kissed her quickly as he moved past her. "I got it. Go to bed."

"Okay." She listened to him take to the stairs, two at a time at first, and then the last few a bit slower, stepping on each. She drained the rest of her coffee and placed the mug in the sink before following him up, and slipping into the bathroom to brush her teeth. God she was tired.

She paused, between brushing her teeth and slipping between the sheets, listening to him try to sooth Andy down from his hysteria, a few steps down the hall, before turning away and making her way to the bedroom, not wanting to intrude on an opportunity for Greg to bond with Andy.

Sara sank into the bedding comfortably, relaxing her tired muscles against the soft of the pillows and the smooth of the worn cotton sheets. She was tired, exhausted. They had had a trying week, to say the least. A few minutes later, Sara heard Greg quietly slip into their room, felt the other side of the bed dip slightly as he sat down, with her back to him, he had no reason to think that she wasn't already asleep.

She smiled as she listened to him drop his jeans, the flick of the button and the faint metallic grind of the fly, the dull thud indicating he hadn't taken his wallet out of his back pocket. He never remembered to remove it; it always ended up in the hamper. The drawer of the dresser groaned softly with heavy friction as he pulled out a pair of pajama pants, and slid it back into place in a staccato rhythm.

He crossed the room again, climbing into bed beside her, jostling the mattress only just as he pulled back the covers on his side and settled in. She listened to the quiet rustling of blankets, wondering if he was coming down with whatever was going around the lab as he coughed twice. The cool of the air that had hit her back when he disturbed the covers was warmed again as he pulled them back up. Greg twisted, reaching up and switching off the bedside lamp with a soft click, exhaling evenly, truly relaxing for the first time that day.

Sara didn't move, lying on her side, her breathing soft and even. He assumed she was already asleep. He was careful not to disturb her, knowing she hadn't really had a chance to rest at all in the last few days. Her case had been difficult, strenuous. Nick's trial had done a number on them all, as well. Normally he would roll over, up against her, pulling her body to his, snuggling into her shoulder, sleeping with an arm slung around her middle, protecting her. From what, he never thought about. The space between them was too much for him, and he rolled over now, leaning over her and pressing a soft kiss to her temple before settling back into the covers. The mattress shifted slightly under him as he lay back down against his pillow, and Sara sighed, feeling him lie flat on his back, the gentle curve of her hip the last thing he saw before closing his eyes.

"Hey. What about this one?" Nick handed her a form, as her eyes scanned the legal material she cringed. 'Legal Guardianship in the Event of Catastrophe.'

"Nicky, I don't want to think about this." She handed the form back to him, sighing heavily and sitting back on the couch.

"It's a dangerous job, Sara. I just want to have peace of mind."

"You're being paranoid."

"No. I'm being sure." He laid a hand on her pregnant bump, feeling for a kick. The baby had been over active today, moving and kicking, and making Sara miserable. She watched his features, memories of fire ants and hopelessness scrawled across his expression.

"Of course. Give me the form." She spoke quietly, suddenly understanding. She touched her palm to the side of his face affectionately, curving her fingers around the back of his neck, and pulling him to her, kissing him thoroughly. He pulled away from her moments later, his breathing ragged, a charming smile on his face.

"So, who are we declaring?"

"Your brother?"

"He's not doing too well with his twenty year old wife."

"Eh. Charlotte?"

"Told my mother she wants to be a dancer in a chorus line on Broadway last week."

"Eh. Marianne?"

"Loser boyfriend."

"Justine?"

"Too many shotguns."

"Liz?"

"Now you're just joking." Nick sat back against the back of the couch; frowning at the forms the lawyer had given them. Recomposing their wills had turned into a huge, dramatic ordeal. "What about people in Vegas?"

"Like the pit boss at the Tangiers?"

"You're a riot." His deadpan made her laugh. "Seriously. I don't want Ned here to have to dig up his roots when he's older. I mean, he'll know Texas, yeah, but Vegas'll be his home. I just wouldn't want to take him away from that." He was somber, stoic, and she nodded, trying to keep a straight face.

"Nicky, I don't want to name the baby after a cowboy gunslinger." He chuckled, biting back his argument that Ned Kelly was a heroic figure in his own right.

"Darling, I don't much care what we call him, jus' as long as we can call him our own." He flashed her a smile, dropping a kiss to her belly, before turning back to the paperwork in his hands.

"Who you thinking?" She arched an eyebrow at him, watching him think.

"Greg."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

She bit back the urge to cry, the casual display of affection he dropped against her temple striking a chord with her. Here was this man, her good friend, who never left her side, from the minute she received the call from the ER. Almost a year later, and he had remained within an arm's reach. He loved her so deeply it seeped into his motions, his expressions, his smile.

Hearing Greg move around their bedroom had made Nick's absence blatant each morning. She was grappling for normalcy, familiarity. Like how he would crawl over her, kiss her, mumble hoarsely in her ear. With Nick, she slept easier pillowing her head on his chest, weaving a knee between his thighs, draping an arm over his abdomen. That was her normal. Her routine. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, or tangled in her hair. Kisses on her forehead. Watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest with every breath he took.

That wasn't her normalcy now, however. The routine, like the man sharing her bed, had changed. Now she listened for the thud of his jeans against the floor, the feel of the bed as it dipped under his weight on the far side. She waited for the feel of his arm pulling her body snugly against his, resting her curls along his arm, feeling his kisses against the back of her neck. The length of her body fitted securely against the length of his, his arm snaked along her stomach. She looked forward to their few moments of companionable intimacy, human contact with someone her own size, if only in sleep. At first, he had let her curl up to him, passive in their contact. Weary, she suspected, of becoming too assertive on her broken soul. But in the last few months before Andy came, when her pregnant bump began to push them physically apart, Greg had fixed it, turning her over and pulling her close.

She didn't hear Nick anymore, moving around the room. Around her life. She heard Greg, instead, filling the holes in her heart like the metal in a cavity, easing her pain, returning her to normalcy. She knew that Nick wasn't there. She didn't listen for him to open the front door. She heard him sometimes, but only in her memories, talking softly in her ear. She didn't listen for him.

She listened now, for Greg.

Sara rolled over slowly on to her stomach, turning to face the man beside her. He didn't stir, already asleep, despite her close proximity. She studied him, for a moment, fascinated in the gentle slope of his jaw, the smooth plane of his chest beneath a faded t-shirt, the lullaby of his even breathing.

A few months ago, with pregnant hormones at the fullest of their swing, he had handed her the box of Kleenex when she sneezed. His simple act made her think of all her needs that he had selflessly filled, and how she hadn't even begun to reciprocate. She had cried an apology, she just wasn't ready to give back to him. She just wasn't ready. To his credit, Greg made a crack about not wanting to induce labor, but he had understood.

He always understood.

Timidly, she reached out, now, touching the stubble along his jaw.

"Greg." Her words came out a quiet whisper. Her fingers found his hair, shifting through the disheveled curls. She smiled as he slowly opened his eyes.

"Mmsleepin, Sara." His words protested being woken up, but he rolled on to his side, and into the gap between them, touching his forehead to hers companionably, closing his eyes again, missing her somber expression. She leaned over and pressed her lips to his solidly, breaking away a few moments later. When she pulled away, she caught his gaze and held it, biting her lip nervously. Sara saw something in the dark of his eyes that she had never seen quite so dominant over all the other emotions he wore across his features.

Want.

Pure, unadulterated, affectionate want.

Her gaze flicked to his hair, pushing a stray curl out of his eyes, before returning, more confidently, to his, held steady.

"I'm ready." It was a whisper, tumbling off of the faintest of smiles, and beside her, Greg broke into a grin.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Her smile brightened softly, and he leaned into her, catching her lips in a slow kiss, heavy with even pressure, lightly asking permission. She didn't falter, letting him in, tangling her fingers into his hair, and pulling him down to her. He pushed her over gently, pressing her into the bedding. He broke their kiss, stopping himself from rolling on top of her completely, the rational part of his mind screaming at him to take this slowly. To be careful. This was beyond want. He'd wanted her since the day she'd come into his lab. It was more than that between them, though. He loved her. Adored her. Valued her. Treasured her. Needed her.

Most of all, he needed her.

He hesitated, not wanting to ruin everything between them, for once not completely trusting himself. He didn't want to battle her for dominance, or turn her vocabulary to a string of whimpers and moans, like it had happened so many times in his fantasies. He wanted to show her that it was okay to love again, he would never break her heart, never make her cry. He loved her then, and he loved her now, but he loved her differently, wholly. He remained addicted to her smile, still found her laugh infectious, read her like his dog-eared copy of Huck Finn.

He was terrified, though, of this last barrier. Greg fought back a laugh, trying to dismiss his own insecurities. He hadn't really thought about actually sleeping with her. Well, no. He had. He let her roll him over onto his back, running a hand along her hip and up beneath her shirt, pulling her down to him, trying not to think about what was happening between them, trying not to let on that he was nervous.

On a technical level, he was more than out of practice.

She pressed heavy kisses to his lips, not bothering with a protest as he pulled her over and against his hips, on to his lap, the hands that had been holding her son, rocking him to sleep minutes ago, now lighting sweet fires along any bare skin they could find. Her breath hitched in her throat as he sat up, dragging fully into his lap, his fingers dancing lightly along her back. She expected him to flip her, move on top of her, explore her. Venerate her. She expected him to pull her shirt over her head, ease his fingers into the waist of her pajamas. Take her, after all these years, all they'd been through, all they'd survived.

She hadn't thought he would hesitate.

Did he not want her? Clearly he did, the want sparkled in his eyes darkly, and she kissed him harder, longer. He groaned softly, and it barreled through her, reverberating along her spine and settling in a decidedly uncomfortable, heated pressure below her waist. Sara broke away from their kiss raggedly, sitting up, straddling his hips. She caught his gaze, holding it, biting her lip, already swollen from their fervent kisses. He arched an eyebrow at her, half asking her for reassurance, half daring her to strip off her tank top. The amused smile, that had graced his lip so frequently so many years ago, when he used to flirt shamelessly with her, made a halfway confident return, and she smiled smugly, lifting the thin material off her frame in one fluid motion, dropping it on the floor beside the bed.

She expected him to become preoccupied with her newly exposed skin, but his gaze only flickered over her chest and stomach before snapping back up to her eyes. He sat up, shifting her only just, dropping a slow, corporeal display of affection to the crook of her neck, causing her to wrap an arm around his shoulders, and weave her fingers into the curls in his hair. She expected him to continue down, forget, for a moment that her chest was sore, thanks to the sleeping infant in the other room, but he didn't, placing the lightest of kisses along her collarbone, instead.

He let her pull his t-shirt over his head, his hands breaking away from her sides for just a moment, hooking his arm around the small of her back as she dropped his shirt unceremoniously on top of hers. She bent, kissing him deliberately, pressing her hips against him. Sara pushed him back down against the mattress, leaning over him, not breaking their kiss. He pulled her down on top of him, arching up against her as she made short work of his pajama bottoms and boxers. His arm snaked back around her waist, and he flipped her quickly, the start of a mischievous grin playing at the corner of his mouth, with on hand, he leaned over her, claiming her mouth, making her gasp; with the other, pulling her pajamas down her legs, giving her plenty of opportunity to back out; rescind. She didn't.

He arched an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to push him off her, change her mind, tell him she wasn't ready after all. She didn't. She matched his expression, with that smug little smile that challenged him, as if she was daring him to leave his mark. Kiss her. Take her. Love her.

He already loved her. More than anything.

Her smile sobered, and she pursed her lips, searching his features for whatever was holding him back. He shook his head, dismissing her concern, but she reached up, touching the side of his face with her palm, watching him carefully. Greg leaned into her touch, closing his eyes, before dipping his head to her body, shifting down a bit and pressing a leisurely few kisses to her stomach.

She squirmed a bit, pulling a leg out from under him, resting her knee along his side, sighing softly as his five o'clock shadow tickled the skin of her abdomen. She watched the span of his shoulders, delicate muscles usually hidden in his slight frame moving and tensing casually. His curls fell a victim to gravity, tumbling forward, and brushing against her skin.

He pressed a sweet kiss to her hip, turning upward, dropping a soft kiss to the swell of her breast lightly, shifting again to catch her, asking permission and taking it. Sara ran her fingers along his shoulders, curling an errant lock of hair around her finger. She pulled away, breaking their kiss, at the feel of him against her. He froze, like he was having second thoughts, like this was too forward, like he was stopping himself from taking advantage of her.

"Greg." Her palm slid to his jaw, holding his gaze to hers steadily. "It's okay. We're okay." Her voice was soft, laced thickly with want and affection. He smiled down at her, searching her features for a no, and not finding it. When she had started to feel like she was reliving prom night, she couldn't remember.

He wanted her, for so long, so much. He'd lived this moment before, a thousand times at least, in his mind, letting his imagination surprise him with the details. Never, ever, had he been this hesitant, this analytical. What if this was all an act? What if she only said she was ready because she knew how long it had been since he had slept with anyone? What if this was her way of a thank you, and she didn't actually feel anything for him? What if he was kidding himself-

"Greg." She interrupted him, pulling him from his thoughts. He refocused on her, but she saw the crinkle of a nervous smile in the corner of his eyes. She leaned up and kissed him, taking his lower lip between both of hers, pulling gently, causing him to groan, and kiss her hard. She shifted beneath him, and finally he pushed into her, making her gasp softly against his mouth. He paused, breathing in the taste of her, regaining control over himself, before pressing another kiss to her lip. Sara arched against him, and he nearly lost it, dropping his kisses to her shoulder so she wouldn't see the tears in his eyes.

Then everything fell away.

Greg forgot about being nervous, forgot about the city outside and the sleeping baby down the hall. All he could see was Sara beneath him, moving with him, setting a rhythm, whispering his name. She ran a hand through his hair delicately, and hooked a knee around his waist, pulling him closer, making him shudder. She pushed his shoulder, and he let her roll him onto his back, maintaining their contact. His hands went to her curves, kneading her skin gently, pulling her hips against his, gaining confidence, his breathing becoming labored as she shifted, torturing him with sensations he'd forgotten he could feel.

Her lips were on his again suddenly, her hands in his hair, along his jaw. Her skin touching his pulled him to the brink of his resolve. He rolled her over again, pushing into her with more vigor, making her breath hitch in her throat, his name hanging in the air between them, in her delicate timbre. He felt her constrict around him, watched her wince, tightening her grip on his arms.

He had done that.

Made her feel.

That was it for him, he couldn't hold onto his carefully constructed control any longer. He pushed into her one last time, dipping his head to her shoulder, kissing the soft skin just below her ear. Her arms slipped around his shoulders, pulling him against her, feeling the strength in the muscles of his back. The same strength that had carried her from the rubble of her broken fairytale, held fast for her child when she couldn't even look Lauren in the eye.

He pulled away, propping himself up on his elbows, as their rhythm fell into a slurred cadenza, slowing to an end. He broke into a lopsided grin, leaning against her, touching his lips to hers in even, light pressure.

"We gonna be okay?" She spoke beneath him, returning his kiss in the spaces between her words. He nodded, kissing her fully again before answering.

"Everything is going to be okay, Sara." He kissed her again, pulling out of her and shifting so that he lay on his side, draping an arm casually over her waist. She rolled onto her side, facing him, leaving mere inches between them, like before, when she had woken him up. She laid her fingers along the back of his neck, twirling her fingers absently in his scraggly curls. His fingers slipped from her waist to her thigh, feeling the smooth of her skin as she hooked her leg over his hip, shifting closer. He closed his eyes, breathing her in, assaulted with the sensation of being loved. Appreciated. Needed. Wanted.

He could always identify her scent, like laundry and chamomile, lavender body wash and wintergreen tic-tacs. He leaned in, trailing gentle kisses along her neck and shoulder, listening to her breathe, taking in new scents, cataloguing them in his memory. His scientific mind told him it was pheromones, being a chemist, with a minor in anatomy and physiology. The sweet tang he had never detected on her, in all their years as friends. She smelled like December, and her smile sparkled like Christmas morning.

She rolled over on her back, pulling him with her, and he curled into her, his thigh laying over one of hers, his knee under the other. He sprawled out partly over her, careful of her chest. He sat up halfway, squinting in the rogue rays of midmorning sunlight falling unceremoniously into the room. He reached over her body, taking her hand and tangling his fingers in hers, flashing her a classic 'Crazy Uncle Greg' smile before pressing an affectionate kiss to her lips, and settling down against her.

Greg chuckled softly as she shifted against him intimately, twisting and reaching to pull the blanket over them, letting go of his fingers for a moment, then grasping on to them again as she lay back down. She stared at the ceiling, listening to his breathing, feeling it slow into restful sleep against her side.

He loved her. She knew that, had known it for years. She loved him, too, loved everything he had done, said. She loved his laugh, his smile. The consistent, gentle support and strength he had given her, selflessly. Continued to give her. Gave her children. Their children, as soon as the adoption paperwork made its way through the legal system. He could never replace Nick, and she had told him that, angry and stricken with insurmountable grief. He never tried to. He pushed away the books in Lauren's room, preferring to tell her stories about her father as a prelude to a lullaby. Referenced himself as "Uncle Greg' when he spoke to Andy. She knew he loved them as if they were his own, the simple fact that they didn't share his DNA a mere detail that he didn't seem to dwell on.

He was Nick's friend, too, and he was only trying to honor what would have been the older man's wish. Take care of my family. Maybe they had had that conversation. Maybe they had come to that decision, years before. Sara would put money on it. Nick and Greg had had that type of understanding. Nick knew how much Greg cared for her. Probably more so than she realized.

Maybe Nick knew how much she loved Greg, too.

Sara ran her fingers along the hidden muscles in Greg's arm; feeling the safety they provided. She felt loved, appreciated, wanted. Happy.

Happy.

Happy had been something she felt with Nick. Something sacred. Something she thought she'd never feel again. The happiness snuck up on her, in the settling grip of Greg's fingers knotted with hers, in the warmth of his breath on her skin, and it scared her. Was she really happy? Could she be happy?

It wasn't the same brand of content she's had with Nick. But she had hardly expected it to be. Greg was a different man; these were different circumstances. She was a different person. This was a different kind of happy.

But she was happy.

Sara tightened her grip on the sleeping man beside her, pressing a kiss to his forehead, careful not to wake him. She sifted her fingers through his disheveled curls, closing her eyes and relaxing into his embrace, curling into him.

Nick had left a hole in her soul, left her feeling empty, alone. Slowly, Greg had filled in those gaps, loving her unconditionally, catching her when she fell, steadying her when she couldn't stop trembling. Greg had put his life on hold, his grief forgotten, to care for her and her children. He loved Lauren, even though every time he looked at her, he saw Nick. She knew it, she saw him too.

He had struggled along the way, and she would like to think that she helped him transition from the crazy uncle to the companion in her life. Her daughter's life. And her son. Her son would grow up with secondhand memories of his father, but he would know a great man. Greg was a great man, she was lucky to have him. He would be a father to her children, teaching Andy to tie his shoes, going to Lauren's soccer games. He would wrap Christmas presents in the middle of the night with her, cook dinner and make the bed with her. His toothbrush would sit beside hers on the sink.

This transition, from happiness to grief to happiness again, it had been difficult, on all of them. She had struggled with losing her partner, her husband in every sense. Her daughter had struggled with watching her father become mortal before her eyes, her memory of that day splattered with blood on the sidewalk. Her son would know Nick only in anecdotes, and photographs, he would never hear the thick of his accent. Greg had struggled with coming second to a ghost for far too long.

Greg shifted against her, tightening his grip on her in his sleep, letting out a heavy sigh against her chest, catching her attention and distracting her from her thoughts. She wouldn't have made it without him. This had been a transition she couldn't have done alone. Maybe Greg had been right.

Maybe everything would be okay.

FIN.

………

A/N: Thank you so very much for sticking with me on this monster. I appreciate it. So sorry this last chapter was delayed… Greg and Sara got all awkward on me with the sex scene. (They're never awkward with sex scenes, lol) Happy anniversary to Robyn, celebrating one whole year at  I had a lot of fun writing this piece, it was challenging, and emotionally draining, and intellectually consuming, and I'm so sad it's done. Please tell me what you thought of it, whether review, PM, email, or IM. I'd love to hear it. Good, bad, ugly, etc. I loved writing this, and I hope you enjoyed reading it.