Sara woke slowly, the fuzziness that had encased her after her fainting episode gone, but the bewildering shock of the following revelations still cloaking her. She replayed the conversation with Beth, focusing on the picture on the screen of the ultrasound. It all seemed so surreal. Feeling the muscles in her back protest angrily, she rolled over and opened her eyes. An expanse of dark blue material met her eyes. Grissom put down his book and turned onto his side, facing her. She stared at him, her mind trying to catch up to the present.
"Am I dreaming?" Sara finally asked, reaching out to put a hand on his chest, needing the reassurance of his warmth, and his heartbeat under her touch.
"No," he whispered, caressing her face.
"I don't know what to think," she admitted.
"It's ok," he laced his fingers with hers. "I'm reeling too."
"I don't want to tell anyone," she murmured, "not until its safe."
"I agree, not even my mother." Sara nodded and hugged him, suddenly overcome with emotion.
"I can't believe it," she whispered. Grissom sat up and gently pulled her up into his arms. He scrabbled behind him for the book he'd been reading while he waited for her wake up and pulled out the slip of paper he'd been using as a book mark.
"Here," he replied, handing it to her. "Believe it honey, we have proof." Sara stared at the ultrasound print out Beth had given them. Grissom got up and grabbed her robe, "Come on dear, you need to eat."
"Are you going to go all protective on me again?" she asked, standing and stuffing her feet into her slippers.
"Maybe," he replied, grinning at her. Sara giggled and pulled on her robe, following him to the kitchen. "I called Catherine and told her you wouldn't be in tonight."
"What did she say?"
"She asked me if that was because I had just arrived home and if I was monopolising your time."
"She what?" asked Sara, aghast.
"I asked her when had she ever known either of us to be so unprofessional. And then I told her you were unwell and were following doctor's orders and that she could take it up with you tomorrow night." Sara shook her head and put the kettle on to boil. "What do you want to eat?" asked Grissom, wrapping his arms around her from behind and placing a soft kiss on her neck. Sara craned her head to the side so she could kiss him back.
"Let's make pancakes," she suggested, "we haven't done that in ages." After another quick kiss she walked over to the fridge and pulled out some blueberries, milk and eggs. Grissom went to the pantry to fetch the flour. "Where are the animals?"
"Hank's outside, the kittens were in the office." Grissom mixed the batter while Sara got a frying pan; they worked in the comfortable unison of a couple used to each other's habits, just as they had when working crime scenes together.
"Mmm... these are so good," murmured Sara, a few minutes later as they sat opposite each other munching on their breakfast.
"Good choice honey," he nodded, grinning at her. A scratching sound made them look at the spare chair between them at the square table; a moment later two furry paws gripped the edge of the table and Romeo peered over the top at them, perched precariously on his back legs on the edge of the chair. Sara giggled as he tried to reach for a scrap of paper towel. Grissom inched it closer to the tiny paw, bit by bit, teasing the kitten. Finally Romeo managed to swipe his prize, and it fluttered down to the floor. Romeo pounced and proceeded to bat his new toy around the room with all the energetic glee of a child on Christmas morning.
"They're so cute when they're tiny; remember Hank as a puppy? How his legs were too long for his body?"
"And how he kept running into things and tripping us up?" They laughed at their shared memories, and continued with their meal. Grissom had brewed tea for both of them, knowing that the smell of coffee would have made his wife crave it if he had made some for himself. Watching her now, he noted that she looked more rested, though still somewhat weary. There was more colour in her complexion and her eyes were brighter. A drop of syrup oozed off the bite of pancake she was taking and slipped down her chin; Grissom wanted to lick it off, wrap her in his arms and kiss her, but settled instead with extending his legs under the table and tangling them with hers, for now.
"Are you feeling better?" She nodded, and swallowed a bite of pancake.
"Yeah, still a little tired though. You ok?" Grissom gave her a loving lopsided grin,
"More than, dear. I'm with you."
...
Cleaning up from their meal, Sara put the dishes in the dish washer as Grissom put the ingredients away. His hand slipped as he picked up the flour; it started to fall and he lunged to catch it, but when the bag impacted against his hands it split open. Flour exploded everywhere; it blew back towards him, coating his face, hair, and chest before drifting down to cover his sweatpants and slippers as well. Sara, who had been standing right next to him, bent down putting a bowl back in the cupboard, now had white hair; caught in the act of standing up, the flour had covered her face and curly brown locks. As she straightened, eyes closed against the assault, Grissom saw white powder nestled in her eyebrows and coating her lashes. Her robe was splattered with the stuff, and a large portion had gone down her neck line, leaving streaks of white on her creamy skin. She began to cough as the cloud around them started to clear, falling like mist to the floor. She opened her eyes and saw a wicked gleam in her husband's eyes. He reached out and traced patterns in the flour on her face. Realizing what he was doing, she trailed her fingers over his bare arms, drawing designs in the flour.
"You know," she commented in an offhand manner, inspecting the Celtic design he was scrawling on the back of her hand, "if you wanted to do something artistic, we could just have gotten the paint out." Grissom laughed, and tried to brush flour off his t-shirt. All he managed to achieve was a new cloud in the air, and a round of sneezing from his wife. Sara stepped back and went for the broom, trailing flour everywhere. When she tried to sweep up the mess, it just wafted further afield. Grissom pressed a hand to his mouth, muffling his amusement. Sara mock scowled at him and stepped toward him to give him a hug; he moved to put his arms around her and felt his slipper-shod foot slide on the flour. He lurched, twisted and slid ungracefully, but relatively gently, to the floor, throwing up a huge plume of flour and colliding with Sara's legs. She wavered; wind-milling her arms to stay upright, but tumbled down on top of Grissom.
"Ow," she muttered, wiping flour from her eyes and wincing at the throbbing ache in her knee. "You ok?" she asked.
"Fine," he returned, taking inventory; probably a few bruises, but nothing serious. "What hurts?"
"I hit my knee, but it'll be fine." Sara brushed flour off his face and leaned closer to kiss him. Grissom wound a curly strand of her hair around his finger, noting the thick coating of powder.
"I think a bath is in order," he mused before her lips sealed over his. He kissed her back, matching her deepening passion and slipping his tongue into her mouth. She pulled back to breathe and pressed her forehead to his.
"I think you're right," she sighed, "flour really doesn't taste all that romantic." Grissom began to laugh, and Sara joined in. "This mess can wait," she decided, getting up and trying to shake as much dust out of her hair as possible before she tracked it through the house. Giving up, she stripped of her robe and let it drop to the floor, doing her best to step carefully around the worst mess as she headed for the door. "Are you coming?" she asked, looking back at him, her eyebrows raised. Grissom tugged off his t-shirt and sweatpants, dropping them quickly on the floor as he watched her bare back vanish down the hall.
...
Sinking into the pool of hot water opposite Grissom, Sara hummed with pleasure. Her back, which had been achy for the last few days, first twinged and then slowly relaxed under the heated immersion. Laying her head back, she closed her eyes and played with Grissom's toes.
"I wonder if the place at Dartmouth has a bath," she mused, sliding lower down into the water, letting it run up to her collarbone.
"I hope so," replied Grissom, running his eyes over her, checking for injury from their tumble and then, when he was satisfied she was ok, admiring the view in front of him. His eyes wandered to her belly, and his thoughts turned to the new life forming there.
"What are you thinking?" she asked softly, eyes still closed. "I can hear your mind ticking you know."
"About us, and a child."
"What do you think?"
"I'm not sure what to think," he said slowly. Sara opened her eyes and stared at him, and he was taken aback by how vulnerable she suddenly looked.
"I'm terrified," she admitted to him, biting her lip.
"So am I, but we have to hope and believe that things will work out this time." Sara took a deep, steadying breath, thinking back to their time in Europe. Not long after their honeymoon they had been surprised to find out that she was pregnant. A child had never been in their plans; they had never really discussed becoming parents. Shock had eventually given way to thrilled excitement until, at ten weeks, she had miscarried. Several months later they had conceived a second time, this time greeting the news with joy. But on the eve of the seventeen week mark Sara became ill and was rushed to hospital in France. For the second time she miscarried, and the resulting complications from the D & E procedure meant that the doctors had told them there would be a less than ten percent chance of her conceiving again. The news had been difficult, but the experience had made their bond stronger than ever. Birth control, something previously often forgotten in the heat of the moment, had gone out the window now that there was such a slim chance that they could create another life together; the unanimous decision to leave nature to its own choices, each privately thinking it would never happen again. Now Sara found herself thrilled, and yet petrified at the same time.
"Third time lucky," she nodded, forcing herself to think positively. She smiled softly at Gil, and ran her big toe down his chest. He grabbed her foot and tickled it lightly, causing her to shriek and yank out of his grasp. She moved to his end and sat right in front of him, curling her legs around his back and linking her hands behind his neck so she could stare into his eyes.
"Are you ok with this? Are you happy?" she asked, seriously. He slipped his hands around her back, his fingers playing over her muscles.
"Yes," he said firmly. "I can't deny I'm extremely worried about you, and apprehensive about being a father. I have no idea what I'm doing and that frightens me, but it's a new learning curve for both of us."
"I think you'll make a great daddy," she smiled, "and yeah I'm petrified of the unknown too, but I think two great scientists can work it out, don't you?"
"I should hope so," he agreed. "Are you alright with this?"
"Yes; I'm just, I don't know... I know it's real, but part of me doesn't want to believe it in case something goes wrong again." Unbidden, tears began to run slowly down her face, carving tracks in the still lingering dusting of flour.
"Hey, it'll be ok," whispered Grissom, brushing away her tears and holding her to him, rocking them both gently, soothing her until she calmed.
"Do you still want to go to Dartmouth?" he asked, laying his cheek against her hair as she pressed her ear to his chest, listening to his heart.
"Yes. I'm really glad now that I'll be out of the lab and away from all the stress."
"So am I," he admitted. "I was afraid I was going to have to persuade you to slow down and relax."
"Nope, if we're doing this, then we're doing it right. Besides," she added, shifting her hips against his, "the doctor said to stay calm and relaxed, and I don't know about you, but I know a few very enjoyable ways to relieve stress." She punctuated her statement by sitting up and kissing him passionately. Grissom groaned into her mouth, his fingers sliding to the front of her body. Sara caught his hands in hers as they broke the kiss to breathe. Resting her forehead against his she grinned at him. "We need to get rid of this flour first Bugman," she laughed. Holding onto his hands she leaned backwards, letting her head fall back, until her hair was immersed in the water; arching her back slightly, she smiled to herself when she heard his moan of longing. She let him pull her back up into a sitting position, and then looked for the shampoo. "Rats," she muttered.
"I think a shower would be better," he suggested, "seeing as how gross the water is now." Sara looked at the flour floating on the surface of the bath, and dusting the sides of the tub.
"Did you just say gross?" she giggled. He winked at her and stood up, pulling the plug out with his foot. They tumbled into the shower, shivering in the corner while the water heated. Grissom squeezed shampoo into his hand and massaged it into her hair, listening to her purr with pleasure. He had never washed another person's hair until she had come home from the hospital with her arm immobilized in a cast, needing help with such things. To his surprise he had found he enjoyed playing with her curls, and that it had a tendency to lull her into the most relaxed of states. Sara's eyes fluttered shut as he massaged her scalp, working his way down to the back of her neck and shoulders. Sara rinsed and conditioned her hair while he washed the thick coating of flour out of his own.
"How can one bag of flour make so much mess?" wondered Sara, using shower gel to remove streaks of white powder from Grissom's neck, jaw and even the ridges of his ears.
"I'm sure we could do better if we tried," he suggested, rinsing off. "You still have some in your eyebrows dear," he added, as she applied liberal amounts of the liquid soap to her own body. Sara rolled her eyes at him and rinsed thoroughly. Gil joined her under the spray, trailing kisses over her face and running her hands over her body. Pressing a palm over her stomach he looked down into her eyes; she gazed up at him, a radiant smile emblazoned deep within her eyes. Overcome, he pressed his lips to hers, pulling her desperately into him. She scrabbled behind her and turned off the water, before blindly reaching for the towels slung over the shower door. They dried off impatiently but her hair was still dripping when they made it to the bed. Dropping his own towel on the floor, Grissom took hers and proceeded to dry her chocolaty hair in much the same way he had washed it; kissing her neck and shoulders as he worked. When she could wait no longer, Sara tossed the cloth aside and turned so they were on their knees, facing each other. She traced his facial features slowly and sensually before leaning in for a deep and unhurried kiss. His arms curved around her, claiming her body as his mouth claimed hers, their tongues dancing in the slow waltz of practiced and devoted lovers. He lowered them to the mattress, taking his time to adore every inch of her, satisfy every plane of skin and caress every contour. He returned time and again to her lips, allowing her to pull him into the most sensual and desiring kisses. Only when they were both incredibly and unbelievably aroused did he initiate their union. Sara pulled him to her with such love in her eyes he nearly crumbled right there and then. She clung to him, and he to her, savouring the sensations of their combined desire, passion and need.