A/N: Thank you to everyone reading! Enjoy!

Out There

Chapter 4

Before the lights of Hawaii flickered on the horizon, Sara had adapted. Dottie, the older of the two nurses had suffered morning sickness with all of her kids and provided advice.

"Treatment is still the same," she said with a compassionate laugh. Adding, "Meaning there is no treatment—eat dry crackers before lifting your head from the pillow. Then drink a weak electrolyte mix and you'll probably throw that up. Keep drinking fluids all day—it will help keep you hydrated."

Knowing she was not seasick helped; for the next three days, Sara walked around the ship with a supply of airplane sickness bags in her hand. The sky cleared and the sea calmed and the shipboard community was well on its way to becoming a temporary village. When she returned to the dining room, the researchers and crew had merged into a rowdy, card-playing, whale-watching community. And every one of them—from captain to mechanic, researcher to assistant—knew she was pregnant. And while she knew carrying around a stack of motion-sickness bags was a visible sign of a weak stomach, she knew her husband had announced her condition; proud as a male peacock, she knew he'd told anyone who was around him for more than thirty seconds.

While she would have preferred to keep the pregnancy private for a few more weeks, she planned to live with this group for three months and resigned herself to everyone knowing what was happening to others. As she sat on a deck chair in sheltered area, sun filtered by a bright blue awning, reading a mystery book from the ship's library, an unexpected shadow fell across the pages.

An unknown male voice asked, "So what are you going as?"

Pulling her sunglasses away from her eyes, she stared at a slim young man taking in his orange shirt, a windblown, bushy head of hair and his brilliantly white teeth as he smiled. She thought she'd met everyone on the ship but with his eyes were hidden by dark glasses, she could not remember him. Yet there was familiarity in the way he stood, in his unconscious mannerisms.

"Pardon?" She had no idea what he was talking about.

Sticking his arm toward her, he said, "I'm Mark Hudson—with LUMCON—the Louisiana group—one of the assistants."

They shook hands; she said, "I'm Sara…"

"I know you—we all know Dr. and Mrs. Grissom." With an easy smile, he released her hand and backed to the rail, leaned against it, and said, "The party—tomorrow night before we dock in Hilo. We are supposed to dress up—like a masquerade party."

"I didn't realize there was a party—and certainly not a masquerade party." If she had known, she'd forgotten. "Not sure I'll be going."

"Oh! You must! We need all the ladies!" Realizing his words were confusing, he explained, "We'll have music—and the men outnumber the women two to one."

As she shook her head, the young man added, "There's an entire room—cabin—filled with dress-up clothes for people to use! I've already chosen what I'll wear." He snorted a laugh that Sara immediately recognized as sounding like her friend, Greg Sanders. The sound lightened her thoughts and her response to Mark.

"Tell me where I'd find this cabin filled with dress-up clothes, Mark." She pressed her lips together for a moment before saying, "Or I could wear my pajamas and come as the old lady from downstairs complaining about noise."

Her comment caused more laughter.

He said, "There were loads of ladies clothes in there—third level, room at the far end. You really should come—the music will be good—and from what I've heard, lots of good food." His finger pointed at her book. "You can always go as Mrs. De Winter!"

Shaking her head, Sara laughed, saying "I'd make a better Mrs. Danvers." Easily, she managed to turn their conversation to the research his group was doing and, as an assistant working on his doctorate, he was immediately describing what brought a marine research group from coastal Louisiana to a ship headed to the Hawaiian Islands.

The young man could not control his enjoyment in explaining whale research in the Gulf of Mexico and what the group hoped to learn in the ocean around Hawaii. He was so involved in his explanation that he failed to notice the arrival of Grissom until he reached for a folded deck chair.

"Dr. Grissom!" Mark stuck his hand out. "I—I—we—I was telling Mrs. Grissom about our research—but—but I'm sure," his face flushed as he stammered. "You already know what we're doing?"

Unfolding his chair, Grissom motioned to another chair for Mark, saying, "Sit, if you like. How's the trip going for you?" He settled into the chair as if a leisurely discussion of whale research was just the thing for a relaxing afternoon. After thirty minutes, Sara had heard about whale species and, as the conversation continued, learned about whale communication research. And she needed a bathroom.

When she stood, the two men followed her, Mark offering to fold all the chairs, adding, "Do think about the party! It will be a great time for everyone." He ambled after them talking about music and food, dodging a few other people who were enjoying the sunny afternoon until Sara and Grissom turned for the hallway to their cabin.

Placing an arm around her shoulder, Grissom said, "I do believe you've made a friend, Dear."

She shrugged, saying, "I really need to pee."

That night, she missed dinner, insisted Grissom go to the dining room, while she stretched across the bed and ate dry crackers and sipped a weak electrolyte drink. At least she was not vomiting but just the thought of food made her nauseous. She sank into pillows, feeling less miserable than she had a few days previously.

She must have fallen asleep because the next thing she heard was the door opening and immediately smelled the faint whiff of food.

Her husband was trying to be quiet but when she turned her face toward him, his expression lightened. With a few steps, he was beside the bed, leaning to kiss her on her cheek. When she returned the kiss, she felt, for the first time in days, hunger.

"How was dinner?" she asked.

Giving an affirmative nod, he produced a small covered bowl, saying, "I brought fruit."

As she ate, Grissom talked about dinner conversations before surprising Sara by saying, "I think we should dress up and go to the party—even for a short time—if you feel like going."

Surprised, Sara asked, "Why?" Grissom had never been a one for socializing.

"A night to party before everyone gets deep into research—and your young friend is in the band. I learned this from another guy—all five of them play music."

"We should visit the cabin—see if anything is left to wear to this party."

He grinned. "I've already looked—the room is filled with—with stuff." He reached for her hand and said, "Come on—we can dress as—as—who are the characters in that book you were reading?"

"We'll go—I may have to dress as Lady Godiva." She crawled out of bed and slipped her feet into sandals.

Grissom laughed as he gave her a hug, saying, "Your hair isn't long enough—and I refuse to be a horse."

The fancy dress cabin was a surprise; racks of clothes were crammed into a standard-size room with all furniture had been removed. Sara was amazed at the variety—colors, sizes, styles—of dresses and skirts, jackets, shawls, a silk sari, flowing pants in bright prints. While she looked, Grissom found a black jacket and a fedora, black with a black band.

"I can be a gangster," he said as he plopped the hat on his head.

It took a moment, but Sara found a slim skirt, held it against her waist and said, "Okay, Clyde, help me find a shirt and I'll be your Bonnie."

Both laughing, they raked through several racks, finding a silky plum colored dress Sara liked that could pass for a 1930s fashion. She said, "What's the story on all these clothes?"

Grissom, busy clipping suspenders to his pants, said, "At dinner, the captain said people had left them over the years—at some point, the crew decided to clean them up and keep all these for parties knowing most of us don't bring dress-up clothes."

Sara bit her lip to keep from laughing. Her husband wore the hat at a rakish angle, wide black suspenders and the black jacket gave him a remarkable resemblance to a movie character—a sheriff, she thought.

She said, "I think you need to claim that hat—don't think you've ever had a black one."

The evening of the party arrived with Sara feeling better than she'd felt in days. Maybe it was the fruit she'd eaten without being sick or the prospect of touching solid ground the next day. Or the call with a medical office in Hilo where a midwife had agreed to see her in two days. And somehow, her husband managed to look as dashing as Clyde Barrow could have wished while her plum dress was more brown and dowdy and hung loose on her body.

As she twisted in front of the wall mirror, her hand gathering excess fabric, Grissom walked behind her.

"You really look beautiful."

"I should have gone with the skirt—this looks like—I don't know—a paper bag."

His hands ran along her sides; he could see she wasn't satisfied with her outfit. A minute later, he said, "Let's try this." Removing the suspenders he bent the clips and removed the straps, hooked the two clips together and clinched the dress in two places at the back.

Sara turned in front of the mirror, smiling at her reflection. "How'd you think of this? But you lose your suspenders!"

He grinned, saying, "The jacket is enough and you look beautiful." Secretly, he was worried about how thin she appeared but he would never voice the words.

When they entered the dining room, the party was in full swing and the two were quickly pulled into the boisterous crowd. There were several people dressed in the simplicity of white lab coats, others were in a variety of uniforms, a young woman as a snake charmer, more were copycats to television and movie characters, and one Michael Jackson. Overall, half the crowd could be called predictable while the other half displayed more creativity.

For the first hour, there was a continual parade of food served on buffet tables then the musicians, who had been playing soft background music, moved to the larger deck and in minutes there was a significant change in tempo with added drums, several violins, an accordion, and a banjo; Mark Hudson was playing a violin.

Grissom and Sara smiled at each other. The music was an upbeat, dancing tune that got half of the party goers turning and spinning while laughing and singing along with the vocalist.

Grissom shrugged, grinning as he wrapped one arm around Sara. He said, "What did we expect from a group of Cajuns?" Tilting his head, he added, "Let's show these youngsters how to dance."

Sara placed her arms around his neck and smiled. She'd always been surprised at her husband's ability to dance. Years ago, she had been furious with him when he refused to dance with her at a law enforcement event. Months later, he'd told her why.

As he pulled her close and began a slow two-step dance, she placed her mouth to his ear and whispered, "Are your pants are loose enough?"

With a chuckle, Grissom said, "I cannot believe you remember my discomfort from—was it ten years ago?" His hand pressed against her lower back. "And if you keep this up, we're going to call it a short night so I can get some relief."

Shaking with laughter, Sara pressed against him and said, "Maybe your jacket will provide some concealment?"

Swinging her around before answering, he said, "And that's how I learned to wear my shirts untucked around you, dear."

A/N: Again, thank you for reading, for your time in keeping GSR alive and well on fanfiction!

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