Last Chance

Disclaimer: C.S.I. borrowed for fun and not to make money. Just happy people. I hope.

Title: Last Chance (5)

Author: hazeleyes57

Rating: R

Summary: Did the swimmer guys work?

Note: Many many thanks for your reviews and encouragement, it means a lot to me.


Last Chance (5)

Sara was her usual hour or so early for work and it gave her time to try to compose herself before she next saw Grissom.

It wasn't going very well.

She had to try to compartmentalise her life in to different sections. Home was home and work was work. She had to think of Grissom as two different people. Grissom at work and Grissom not at work.

Because she was going to go mad if she kept thinking about the fact that only a few hours ago she had used Grissom's 'contribution' in her first attempt at artificial insemination. That had been Grissom not at work. Grissom at work would be a stranger, someone she had not met and most definitely had not used as a sperm donor. She would be more relaxed if she could stop thinking the words 'sperm donor' every five seconds.

Sara worked for forty-five minutes or so on trying to connect a single cardboard match found at a crime scene to one of the books of matches found at the suspects' house. It was just the kind of mindless task she needed. She could concentrate on the match and matchbook, but didn't take all of her mental energy to do the job. She was relieved when she finally found the match and she could stop.

Sara returned to the break room. She was feeling slightly less anxious and decided that she would put on the fresh coffee without grumbling to herself today. Day shift were so damn lazy about washing the pot out.

Ten minutes later Nick arrived with Greg in tow.

"...so then I said, hell, that's what the batteries are for!"

Greg started laughing at whatever Nick had been discussing prior to their arrival.

"Hey, evening Sara, you okay?"

Nick looked at her as he poured himself a coffee and offered to pour one for Greg, who nodded and held out his mug.

Sara smiled and nodded, sipping her coffee.

"Fine, just fine, thanks."

Nick returned the jug to the warming pad and turned a conspiratorial look towards Greg as he nodded to Sara.

"Hear that Greg? Sara's 'just fine'."

Greg caught on quickly to Nick's teasing allusion and played along.

"Oh, 'just fine' huh? We all know what 'just fine' really means don't we?"

Nick nodded sagely.

"We do, my friend, we do."

Both men looked at Sara with earnest expressions on their faces. She was perfectly aware of what they were doing and smirked at them, refusing to be drawn in.

"Dream on if you think that I'm telling you guys anything."

Greg looked at Nick with raised eyebrows.

"Whwoulwould seem to indicate that there was something 'not' to tell."

Nick grinned in agreement.

"Absolutely right! So, Ms Sidle, what's this that you are not telling us?"

Nick and Greg had seated themselves on either side of Sara and were both looking at her with keen inquisitiveness.

She looked from one to the other then returned her attention to her coffee, smiling enigmatically.

Nick and Greg looked at each other across Sara's lap.

"She's not talking."

Greg nodded.

"Must be serious."

Nick leaned forward as if Sara wasn't there, speaking in a stage whisper.

"Reckon it's a new beau."

Greg looked suitably impressed, although privately he was dismayed that Sara might have found someone else while he was dithering.

"Cool. A new player in town."

Catherine and Warrick entered the break room, just in time to catch the drift of the conversation. Catherine looked at Sara with an eye roll that said 'the guys are at it again'. Sara half-grinned back.

Catherine went to the fridge and took out a bottle of mineral water, collecting a glass as she went. Warrick had coffee, black.

Warrick turned to face the two other men and leaned back against the table.

"Leave the girl alone, she's entitled to a private life..."

He frowned at the heat of his first sip of his coffee.

"...just because you two don't have one doesn't mean that you get to bug her about hers."

Both Nick and Greg said 'Hey!' at the same time and Sara laughed, smiling at Warrick in thanks.

The three of them were sitting with their backs to the door, but Sara didn't need to see Warrick look up to know that Grissom had entered the room. The hairs on the back of her neck were at attention and she suddenly couldn't think of anything other than just where Grissom's 'gift' was right at this precise moment.

Both Nick and Greg stood up to move to the briefing table, leaving Sara feeling exposed.

For the life of her she couldn't stop herself from looking everywhere where but at Grissom. Sara felt herself begin to blush with both embarrassment and arousal. She wanted to be totally cool about it all but all she could think was 'sperm donor', over and over.

Grissom was remotely aware of Nick, Greg, Warrick and Catherine greeting him and he responded with a general 'Hello'. He was feeling remarkably composed considering that Sara was in the room. He sought her out with his glance and noted her flushed appearance without comment. She was looking at her coffee.

Grissom pretended that he hadn't noticed her lack of a reply. He was able to feel slightly insulated from Sara because he had spent years not allowing his feelings to show around her. He ruthlessly squashed the surge of arousal that had started when he first saw her a few moments ago. He was reasonably confident that none of his thoughts about her were reflected on his face.

As Grissom had suspected, Sara found the first few moments awkward. But once Grissom had started the assignment details she was able to lose herself in the work and move forward. As soon as she realised that she wasn't going to make an ass of herself she relaxed.

Both of them would have been a little more concerned if they had been able to read their companions thoughts.

Catherine could see the signs of tension in Gil's shoulders. She could see that he had something on his mind and that it involved Sara because of the way he avoided speaking directly to her until the moment he gave her and Nick their task. Catherine sighed inwardly, wondering if a couple of months of Sara/Gil frostiness were on the horizon. She thought that the 'post operation Gil' was attempting to reconnect with his staff, and he had been doing very well up until today.

Catherine looked again at the two of them and realised belatedly that she had got it backwards. It was Sara that was generating the tension, not Gil. He was in fact sparing her, not avoiding her. 'Well, well, well.' she thought, 'so what have we here?'

Warrick had watched the colour come and go in Sara's face. He had seen her inability to settle her gaze on anything other than the papers in front of her and regretted again that he had been unable to speak to her the other day. Something was bugging her and he felt compelled to help, even if it was only to be an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on. His gaze flicked over to Grissom and back down to his own paperwork. Neither gave him the information he wanted.

Nick kept his ironic grin to himself. He felt like shaking his head. The tension between Grissom and Sara had ebbed and flowed around the department for a long time, becoming a familiar background presence to them all. They all knew about it and yet no one referred to it. Now the dynamic had changed. It had last altered when the ratfink Hank had showed up and Grissom had withdrawn inside himself.

Obviously Grissom had wind of someone new in Sara's life and one or other of them was finding it difficult to deal with. Nick felt the impulse to try to help in some way, but when he looked at Grissom's composed expression he decided to leave things well alone for the time being. Grissom had had his chance from what the scuttlebutt around the labs had been saying, and he had blown it, big time. His loss.

Greg was just plain miserable. His unfailing optimism usually kept him going, but losing Sara again had dented his confidence. He had hoped that moving into CSI investigation work - as opposed to analysis - might endear him to her a little more, but it had not seemed to make any difference.

The fact that Sara was never his to lose in the first place showed that his deductive skills still had a way to go yet.

Greg's attention snapped back to the group when he heard his nam
".
"...and, finally, Greg and Warrick. You two get a suspicious circ's. A male found dead in what appears to be his own home. Brass will be waiting for you, and he recommends several spare pairs of plastic overshoes."

Grissom raised an eyebrow at the sheet when he read out Brass' cryptic message. He handed the form over to Warrick, who re read Brass' note in the hope that actually seeing the words would suggest a reason for the overshoes. It didn't.

Grissom looked around the table as he picked up his other notes. He thought that it had gone well. He stood, trying not to let his glance linger on Sara, but it stubbornly did. Almost as if she had felt it, Sara looked up and their eyes met for the first time since Grissom had entered the room.

Sara's dark but expressive eyes had the proverbial 'rabbit in the headlights' look about them.

Grissom's striking blue eyes held hers regardless of her will. Or his.

The link was broken when Catherine leaned forward into their line of sight to pick up her bottled water.

Grissom calmly looked at his watch and turned to leave, while Sara belatedly gathered her notebook and pen and stood up, quickly following Nick out of the room.

Both Sara and Grissom felt sure that no one had noticed the fleeting connection. It had been nothing, over in a moment.

Both of them were wrong.

. . . . . . . . . . .


"Holy Mother..."

Warrick's reverentially hushed voice only conveyed half of his horror.

Greg had no such restraint. His stomach heaved at the metallic coppery smell. He covered his nose and mouth with his gloved hand. The scene before him was even more horrifying than his first official visit to a crime scene. There had been more dead bodies at the bus crash, but nothing like this amount of...

"Blood. There's blood everywhere."

Greg's voice was muffled, but there was no disguising his distress.

Warrick did not correct him or tell him to shape up. He was shaken, so he could only imagine what Greg felt like.

They realised immediately why Brass had specified extra shoe protection.

The entire floor space that was visible was coated in the dark red sticky stain. As the two C.S.I's stepped carefully forward they could feel their feet trying to slide in mess.

It wasn't the only mess. The owner of the house appeared not to have thrown anything away for years. There were piles of newspapers, stacks of books, old food cartons, dirty clothes, bags of God knows what piled on every available surface. The DB lay on the couch and at first glance Warrick had mistaken it for a pile of dirty rags, until he saw the sunken face sticking out of one end of the bundle. It was impossible to put an age on the man because he looked about a hundand and fifty. He was only certain it was a man because of the messy and matted bearded chin.

"No obvious wound to cause all this blood loss."

Warrick took several photographs, both of the body and the room. Greg recovered enough to shine his Maglite over the contents of the room. He turned the light back to the DB.

" There's gotta be litres here, he must be shot under all that crap."

Warrick shook his head.

"Don't guess, just look at what the evidence tells us. We'll wait for Doc Robbins to tell us the cause of death."

Greg nodded.

"Sure. But the guy is totally white under the dirt. I bet there's nothing left in his veins."

Warrick just shrugged, but privately suspected the same thing himself.

They carried on processing the grim scene.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Several hours later Sara walked in to the break room to have the equivalent of her 'lunch'. She glanced at Catherine seated in front of the television screen but didn't disturb her. She retrieved her pasta salad from the fridge and moved to the table to eat.

Five minutes later Nick wandered in and took his sandwiches out of a resealable baggie. He too sat down at the table, across from Sara.

She glanced at his food and pointed to the bag with her fork.

"Resealable huh?"

Nick grinned and nodded.

"Thought I'd get in ahead of the recycling thing by not throwing it away in the first place."

He had pronounced the word thing 'thaing' just to get a laugh from Sara.

Sara smirked.

"You'all southern boys are jes' soo con-sid-er-ate, now aren't ya honey?"

Nick laughed outright.

"Why, ah do believe we are, Ma'am."

Both he and Sara were still grinning when Grissom walked in the room and went to the sink with a plate and a glass.

Sara ducked down to continue with her pasta.

She heard Grissom mutter under his breath after he had picked up the nearly empty coffee-pot. He put his plate and glass down in the sink and started to prepare fresh coffee.

Catherine was watching a news channel when Warrick turned up shortly after Grissom. He wasn't hungry yet after the scene earlier in the evening, so he just watched the television with Catherine.

The last news item was about that a baby that had been conceived using sperm that had been frozen more than twenty years ago, the father having had his sperm collected prior to having chemotherapy.

Catherine turned off the set after the weather and came to the table, eating an apple.

"That's just so incredible. Twenty years. Wow."

Sara looked up and nodded. Off to her right she could see Grissom's back as he stood at the sink.

"The technology now is much more advanced and they have a higher viable recovery rate now than they used to."

Catherine looked at Sara.

"Don't tell me - there was an article in the Journal of - "

Sara interrupted with a grin.

"Ah, no. Cosmopolitan."

Nick, sensing an opportunity for fun, turned to Warrick.

"I don't know man, what do you think about this stuff? This 'canned' variety sounds kinda iffy to me. I'm much more your 'draft' kinda guy."

Warrick nodded seriously, amused to see Catherine bridle at Nick's comment.

"Man, I hear where you're coming from."

Catherine turned to Sara, keen to get even.

"I don't know about you Sara, but at least if it were 'canned' you'd be able to check out the quality beforehand. See if those little suckers were up to the job. So many of them aren't."

Both Nick and Warrick hooted with derision, but Sara was far more interested in the fact that Grissom's back had stiffened at the mention of 'canned' goodies. An imp of mischief made her nod solemnly to Catherine.

"Absolutely. You can't be too careful. I'd have to get them examined to make certain that they were potent. It'd have to be virile sperm for me."

There was a crash from the sink.

Everyone looked over to Grissom.

He looked up as if only now aware of their presence. He pointed to the sink.

"Plate slipped."

. . . . . . . . . . . .


Sara had had to leave the room before she erupted into laughter. She figured that it was time for a tactical retreat and made herself scarce for a while. After the crash, Catherine, Nick and Warrick had turned back to continue discussing the news once they realised that Grissom was not hurt.

But Sara had found herself on the receiving end of a look from Grissom. It defied description but had managed to convey his feelings nonetheless.

A difficult mix of emotions, but 'insulted' was definitely in there.

It was a couple of hours before Sara saw Grissom again. He came up from behind in the corridor and fell in beside her. He had a couple of sheets of paper in his right hand.

"Sara, the tox. screen is back from your labrat."

Sara hadn't heard Grissom's approach and looked at him surprise. He handed her the papers.

"Oh, thanks."

She looked down at the papers, hiding her amusement at his description of Greg. It wasn't the first time that there had been a hint of Greg baiting from Grissom and she wondered what motivated him. She certainly knew what it appeared to indicate, but he couldn't possibly be jealous or territorial about Greg's interest in her.

Could he?

To Sara's further surprise Grissom didn't immediately leave after giving her the results. He continued to walk beside her. She glanced back at his face to see if he was going to say anything.

He looked slightly discomforted and stretched his neck as if his collar was too tight.

Despite the fact that he was wearing a polo shirt with the buttons undone.

Grissom gave a quick glance up and down the corridor as if to make certain that they were alone. He cleared his throat. He opened his mouth, but for a long moment nothing came out.

Sara was fascinated, she hadn't seen Grissom like this before.

"What's up?"

A split second later she was to realise what an unfortunate turn of phrase that had been.

"If you had any concerns about the quality of the...product...it would have been better to mention it beforehand."

Sara didn't pretend for a moment not to know what he was talking about.

Her gaze flew to his and in that instant she realised that although he appeared to be slightly awkward about this conversation there was something in his eyes that made her think that he was privately amused.

There was one of two ways to go here. Embarrassment or brazen it out.

Sara fixed him with a gleam in her eye. There was some safety in being in a public place.

"That was a comment to wind up Warrick and Nick as well you know. I have no doubts about the efficacy of the...product."

They had nearly reached the door of Grissom's office and Sara turned to face him with a smirk.

"In fact, you look - and felt as I recall - so potent to me, that you could probably manage it over the 'phone."

The last thing she saw before she strode off past his office was Grissom standing slack jawed and bug eyed.

Sara knew that she'd have to pay for it later, but right at that moment it was worth it.

. . . . . . . . . . . .


Grissom recovered from his shock sufficiently to walk into his office. He was all over the place in his thoughts. He was stunned at Sara's sheer audacity to come right out and comment on his dimensions - and at work of all places.

He had to admit that he was partly responsible because he had brought the original subject up after the break room incident. He had known that Sara was winding the boys up, but he had been unable to resist the opportunity to talk about what had happened between them. He would have to examine his motives about that later.

Grissom had always looked forward to his verbal sparring with Sara. She had a sharp intellect and a keen wit. She kept him on his toes, and not many people could do that.

Grissom smirked as he seated himself at his desk. He knew without false modesty that he was more endowed than average and it pleased him that Sara appeared to think so too. Before he could stop himself he thought of Sara in her bed lying against him with her hand wrapped around him. It had its now customary effect on him and he felt himself becoming physically aroused.

He suddenly realised that he was seated in his office with a sappy grin and a raging hard on, instead of getting on with his work. This was another example of how a relationship between them would interfere at the workplace. He frowned and picked up a report to check through it before signing it off. He would have to think about Sara later. Much later.

For such a sharp man it didn't occur to him that if he actually had Sara in his personal life, maybe he wouldn't be thinking about her so much at work.


. . . . . . . . . . . .


Sara looked at the calendar taped on the inside of her locker door. Various dates were circled in red, others in black. Red for ovulation, black for when her periods were due if she didn't conceive. Like much of her life it was well organised. She looked through the months until the end of the year and wondered how she would be feeling at the end of the six months if she still wasn't pregnant. This was only attempt number one and she was feeling frazzled.

"Hey, Sara."

Sara jumped and slammed the locker shut in almost the same motion.

Warrick looked at her with some concern.

She smiled too brightly.

"Oh, hi. Sorry, you made me jump. Thought I was alone."

"I thought you heard me. Sorry."

Warrick opened his locker to change his shoes. He absently checked his work shoes for any stray spots of blood that had snuck through at the old man's house. He found none, to his relief.

He looked up to Sara from his seated position.

"What's up with you?"

Sara looked alarmed for a second but came straight back - too quickly - with her reply.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Everything's fine. Really. Fine."

Warrick continued to scrutinise Sara as he thought of the phrase 'methinks she doth protest too much'.

"Yeah, right. Have it your own way." He sighed. " I just want you to know that should things become not so 'fine' you can talk to me, okay?"

Sara softened her tense posture and gave Warrick a small but genuine smile.

"Thanks. I appreciate the thought."

"No problem."

Warrick stood up and closed his locker.

"See you tonight."

Sara nodded.

"Bye."

She waited until Warrick had left and opened her locker again. She looked at the black date for this month. Ten days to wait. It seemed like a lifetime.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Grissom didn't see Sara again until the briefing that night. After he had slept during the day, he had been going over the disks more thoroughly and had some additional information that he wasn't sure Sara knew about. Or perhaps she did know and couldn't bring herself to tell him.

When trying to conceive naturally, couples were advised not to make love every day, but to try every third day so that each ejaculate was more concentrated. The men were also discouraged from masturbation in between the dates for the same reason.

Grissom had already figured that out for himself.

Unfortunately, just like anyone on a diet that is told 'no more doughnuts for you', the thing you start to crave is 'doughnuts'.

So, did Sara want to try every four days or so, or did she just want to try around the date of ovulation?

Because Grissom really needed to figure out his doughnut schedule.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Grissom had just completed the handout of new assignments. He looked around the break room table and settled on Warrick and Greg.

"How is it going with your case?"

Warrick told Grissom where they were with it.

"Information about the dwelling states that the owner's name is Henry Norton. The DB at the scene has been identified as Norton by dental records. Ex Vietnam vet who, according to his neighbours, was just an average Joe until his wife died eight years ago. No kids, no family. They reckon he just stopped everything after the wife died and became a recluse. Social did try to get in a few times but they kept being rebuffed until they gave in. He was no trouble apart from the smell so he was left alone."

"Cause of death?"

Warrick didn't like not having an answer for Grissom.

"Heart stopped because of lack of blood. Body was exsanguinated. No obvious wound. Not shot or stabbed or any large trauma to account for the blood loss."

"Nevertheless, Norton's blood got on to the carpet somehow."

There was a moment's quiet while they all thought about possibilities.

Catherine stirred. She tapped one of the photographs.

"Why was there no sign of struggle? It looks like he just lay there until he died."

At Catherine's statement, Sara felt a faint glimmer of recognition. She was sure that she had heard that sentence used before in an old case. She sat upright and shuffled through the photos.

The others had noticed her animation.

Grissom looked at her.

"Sara?"

She didn't look up until she had gone through all the photos.

"Were there any wounds on the guy's feet? Small wounds that didn't look significant?"

Warrick went through the PM report.

"...subject appeared not to have worn footwear for some considerable time...ingrained grime...lengthy toenails...ah, here. Right foot, small puncture wound two mm. in diameter. Poor scab formation."

Sara nodded.

"Read a few years back about an almost identical case about fifteen years ago. The police thought that they had a murder on their hands with a bloodbath and a bloodless body. Turned out that the guy had punctured a small hole in his foot, which he hadn't noticed. It had hit a decent size vein and the ME reckoned that he had bled out over three or four days as poor diet and ill health had compromised his clotting time. Figured that after a day or two the guy had got really tired and cold and had lay down to sleep, still continuing to bleed. Died in his sleep, none the wiser."

Sara looked at the others around the table. It was as good an idea as any other.

Grissom agreed.

"It works. Warrick, you check with Robbins to ascertain if this could be the case with this guy's foot wound."

Warrick nodded as he made a note in the file.

"Sure. Good call, Sara."

Grissom looked at Sara with poorly hidden pride.

"Yes, well done."

Sara didn't say anything, just gave a small shrug that said 'I was only doing my job'.

The meeting broke up after that, and they dispersed to their tasks.


. . . . . . . . . .


Near the end of the shift the following morning found Grissom looking for Sara. He had not had the opportunity to ask her about her schedule preferences and wanted - needed - to know before he went home today.

After looking in several places he gave up in the end and rang Sara's cell from his own. Twice in as many minutes there was no answer. He tried a third time. It rang several times before she finally answered.

She sounded flustered.

"Yes?"

"Where are you?"

Grissom could barely make out what she was saying.

"Why are you whispering?"

He was almost certain that he heard what sounded like a growl from Sara. There was the sound of a tap running and then a door banging. Sara came back to the phone with her normal voice. Well, normal if you consider that her teeth being clenched together were 'normal'.

"I was whispering because I was not alone here and I didn't want to - "

"Where is 'here'?"

"Jeez Grissom, can't I even go the toilet?"

"Oh." Grissom had the grace to sound sheepish. "So why did you answer your cell?"

"BECAUSE IT KEPT RINGING!"

Grissom held the cell away from his ear and glanced around to see if anyone else had heard her. He hurried in the direction of his office.

"Sorry."

His apology sounded grudging to Sara but she let it go.

"So, what was so important?"

"Not on the cell. Before you leave today stop by my office."

There was a moment of silence before Sara answered as she reviewed what she had left to complete before she went home.

" Okay. I'm done here. That is, I've finished for this shift. I'll be there shortly."

"Good."

Grissom closed his cell and put it back in his pocket. He leaned back against his desk. He didn't have long to wait.

He looked up a few moments later and Sara was standing in the open doorway. He beckoned her in.

Then he went past her and shut the office door. Sara turned to watch him as he moved. She licked suddenly dry lips.

"What's the problem?"

Grissom walked slowly back to his desk to sit on one corner, one thigh hitched on the desk's surface, the other leg on the floor.

"Have you gone over the disks you took home yet?"

Sara mentally switched tracks to 'Grissom not at work'.

"Yeah, why?"

She watched him come to the decision to just go ahead and speak.

"We didn't cover it the other day, but the article suggests trying more than once a month."

Grissom could tell from Sara's expression that she knew what he was on about.

"Ah."

"So have you given it any thought?"

He realised as soon as he said it that it was a stupid question. She'd probably not been thinking about anything else for ages.

Sara looked at him, trying to judge his take on it. He was the one who had to come up with the goods - no pun intended.

"How do you feel about it?"

Grissom had given it some thought. He had concluded fairly early on that the sooner Sara was pregnant the better, because he was in danger of becoming more involved in this than he had intended. It was already getting difficult to stay remote.

"Well, I think that your chances are better if you go with the more frequent option. Unless you want to go down the route of measuring your progesterone level?"

Sara shook her head. Neither the blood tests nor the predictor kits appealed to her this early in the game. Maybe by month three of their attempts she'd try them.

"No. So how often do you want to...what interval do you want to use?"

Grissom looked down at the shoe on the foot that was off the floor while he mentally double checked shift patterns. He looked back up to Sara.

"How does every four days sound?"

Sara looked a little shocked at his apparent keenness. 'It' sounded like both heaven and hell to her. So near but so far.

"Um, if you're sure. Okay."

She stood there looking at him as if with new eyes. Somehow her feelings had altered from squicky to flirty. Almost as if they were talking dirty but in code. Something else was going on here and it was a puzzle.

She loved puzzles.

Grissom looked at her quizzically.

"The same as before? After five and I ring you when I'm c - leaving?"

They both knew what he had nearly said. Grissom's lips twitched despite his best efforts and Sara fought not to grin.

"Yeah, that's fine."

Sara's voice finished on a suspiciously high note and she coughed into her hand.

She continued.

"If for any reason either one of us has to be doing something else, we can sort that on the day, by cell."

Grissom nodded in agreement.

"So, the next time will be the day after tomorrow?"

Sara nodded too.

Grissom leaned over his desk and spun his appointment diary around and flicked over a couple of days.

"I'm not due anywhere on that day and you are not due in court until the day after that."

Sara nearly missed what Grissom was saying as she watched the material of his pants stretch tight over his thighs and crotch as he twisted across the desk to read.

Boy was he packing.

"Umm, lovely."

Grissom looked back at her, surprised at the form of her reply.

She looked startled.

"I mean great. It's great that we're not in court."

Grissom gave her an odd look but didn't pursue it. He straightened up and then stood.

"Okay then, I'll see you tonight at work."

Sara nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and left the office.

Grissom watched her walk away and realised that it was already too late.

He was in over his head.

. . . . . . . . . . . .


Ten days later:

Sara was wound tighter than a spring and the tension was giving her a headache.

She knew that she was being snippy with everyone but could not seem to stop it.

She was cursing not so quietly about day shift and the coffee pot when Greg unwisely suggested in an aside to Nick that Sara was probably suffering from PMT.

She rounded on him and glared at him with such fury that he actually hopped up out of his chair and stood behind it as Sara advanced on him. Nick thought that it was funny until he came into the line of fire too.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Grissom took in the scene at a glance. He walked over to Sara and relieved her of the empty coffee jug she hadn't even realised that she was still holding.

With a nod to the break room door he dismissed Greg and Nick and they sensibly left with alacrity.

Grissom knew what day it was. He wanted to get Sara to his office before she said anything.

"Sara?"

Sara looked at Grissom with distress. She was appalled at her behaviour and felt perilously close to tears.

Grissom felt for her and it was all he could do to keep from taking her in his arms, just to comfort her.

"Go to my office. You won't be disturbed."

His tone of voice was a mixture of sympathy and supervisor and Sara went without question.

Grissom rounded up the others and went briskly through the assignments, already altering them so that he and Sara would work together.

If he let her stay at work.

Fifteen minutes later he returned to his office.

Sara was dry-eyed and pale. She looked at him.

"I'm sorry."

Grissom inclined his head in acceptance of her apology but then said,

"It's not only me you have to apologise to."

"I know. I'll see them both."

Grissom looked at her bent head. She looked defeated.

"Look, I know that this waiting is difficult for you, but you can't go off like this just because Greg - "

Sara interrupted.

"I'm not waiting."

Grissom was confused. Today was the day, he was sure. He'd made a note in his diary.

"Not waiting?"

Sara straightened a book on Grissom's desk and avoided looking at him.

Then she looked down at the paper tissue in her hands.

"I...I've already started." She twisted the knife in further. " I'm not pregnant."

Grissom was surprised at the crushing weight of disappointment he felt as Sara's news sank in. If he felt like this, what on Earth must she be feeling?

"God, Sara. I'm sorry."

Sara shrugged, uncomfortable with herself, her behaviour and his sympathy.

"Yeah, well, I knew it was a long shot going in."

Grissom knew it was bravado, he wasn't fooled.

"I know that you don't want to hear this yet, but it's early days. This is only the first month. We can try again."

Sara looked at him in surprise. Not only did he want to continue, but he had also used the word 'we' in the sentence.

Grissom looked at her with the hint of a smile.

"What? You thought I'd give up immediately?"

Sara allowed a glimmer of hope to surface.

"You? No." she shook her head. " Stubborn much."

"You'd better believe it."

Grissom looked at Sara. She gave him a weak smile. He nodded.

"Now, get back to work."

Sara looked at him and replied in the same tone.

"Slave driver."

He didn't look up.

"That's 'Supervisor Slave Driver' to you."

Her laughter was music to his ears.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Four weeks later:

Grissom took one look at her face and he knew.

It was going to be even harder for Sara to cope with this disappointment.

She carried on, stone-faced for the rest of the night. She didn't want to discuss it.

Grissom let it be known that he was there if she wanted to talk, but let her deal with it in her own way.

By the end of the following week it was obvious to Grissom that Sara had lost weight and she looked exhausted. He was going to get her signed off sick if she didn't buck up soon.

Grissom drove her back to her apartment at the end of the shift that she had insisted on working. By the time he got to her place he beginning to get angry at her apathetic attitude.

Sara let them into her apartment and went to sit on the couch.

Grissom looked through her cupboards and fridge. There was plenty of good food but he suspected that it was just not being eaten.

He made Sara an omelette and insisted that she ate it by threatening to force feed it to her. He looked so angry that Sara was convinced that he would too.

She ate.

While she was eating Grissom contacted Catherine and made a few arrangements. He was grateful that Catherine didn't question him too much, but he knew that she would grill him later.

Sara had finished eating and taken her plate to the sink when Grissom came out of her bedroom.

"Where are your suitcases?"

Sara looked surprised.

"What?"

"Suitcases. Where are they?"

"Under the bed. Why?"

Sara followed Grissom into her bedroom and watched as he unearthed the cases.

He opened them on her bed.

"Pack. And don't ask me 'what' again or 'why' just pack. For the mountains."

He left her to it. He packed up Sara's perishables and locked the apartment up.

When Sara come out of her room she put her foot down.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Grissom didn't explain.

Then he drove them both to the townhouse where he packed his own case. He loaded up the Denali with the cases, food and some other stuff he thought would be useful.

Sara watched it all from the couch with an increasingly bewildered expression.

Finally he was ready.

It was time for plan B.


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TBC.