Month four

The Day of the Great Telling, as Sara later called it, happened right at the end of the twelfth week. She and Grissom agreed to get the word out to everyone quickly; preferably during the assignments so that there wouldn’t be too much time for questions or comments. Unfortunately fate conspired against them right from the beginning of the shift in the form of a flat tire. Changing it took half an hour, and by the time they’d gotten in to work Catherine had taken it upon herself to pass out assignments, nabbing the choice option of a ultra swanky trick roll over at the Topsy Turvy penthouse for herself and farming out the other work, leaving a pair of decomps at a dilapidated gas station as the last, unclaimed job in the In box.

Grissom winced, reading it. “Sara, looks like it’s paperwork for you tonight.”

She wanted to argue, but he shook his head, waving the slip. “The decomp will be bad enough, but given the documented dangers of petrochemicals which are going to be heavily present on-site for this one . . . “

“I’m sorry,” Sara told him gently. She’d never liked decomps, but working them alone was even worse. Grissom shook his head, his smile private and sweet.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he sighed. “Except maybe what’s waiting for you on my desk.”

Sara shot him a suspicious look. “How many inches tall?” she demanded. Grissom suddenly looked very busy as he began to move down the hall towards the locker room. “Grissom!”

“Can’t talk—have to get to the scene—“ he called over his shoulder to her. Sara’s shoulders slumped, and she stalked off in the direction of his office, peeking through the blinds first.

Great. The Luxor pyramid was shorter, she decided sullenly.

Sara cursed under her breath; how could a man so fastidious with the most esoteric things in his personal life be so much of a slacker with office paperwork? There were old cases to be filed; evaluation forms to be filled in; interoffice memos; budget and accounting paperwork, supply orders; correspondence of all sorts and bizarre journals and magazines all lumped together in the stacks.

She wondered why she’d never noticed it all before, and assumed Grissom kept most of the junk out of sight during working hours, all the better to look organized, she guessed. With a sigh, Sara sat down, and began to methodically sort through the piles, putting like items together, and creating a new pile of things to ask Grissom about when he came back.

After a few hours, Sara realized she was hungry, and got up, stretching. The stacks had now been transformed into smaller piles, and the easiest to deal with was the junk mail; Sara scooped it up and carried it with her, planning to drop it into one of the hallway garbage cans on her way to the break room.

She was in the mood for . . . salsa, she realized. The stuff Nick used on his tamales—Texas Torture. Nick bragged that it was infused with so many jalapenos that it was canned by little Hispanic ladies in Haz Mat suits. All Sara knew for sure was that she was in the mood for some, glopped on top of a big bowl of . . . tofu and peanut butter.

Sara grinned to herself, shaking her head. Crazy. That was totally crazy. Who on earth would want flaming hot fresh chunk salsa over smooooth, firm tofu and salty, creamy peanut butter? Too many textures, for one thing. And flavors—well, two at least, since the tofu was really sort of a platform for other foods. But still, it was just the sort of bizarre concoction that . . . damn it. Her mouth was watering. Texas Torture, tofu and Skippy. She wanted it.

Like, right now.

As casually as she could, Sara wandered into the break room, dumped the junk mail, and discreetly checked the fridge. There on the door shelf was a jar, unopened, as luck would have it. Sara guiltily picked it up the treasure and left a Post-it note: Nick, IOU one jar—will make good, I promise! SS and carried it to her locker. She fished out her purse, closed it up, and smiled at Judy on her way out.

“Going to get some food; I’ll, um, be back in about twenty minutes.”

“Sure, Sara. You might—“ Judy began, and hesitated. Sara gave her an inquiring look, and blushing, the receptionist continued. “—Um, might want to get a few lemons, too. I saw the last job slip in the In box,” she finished apologetically.

Sara nodded, her dimples deep. “Right. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Judy replied with a sigh. “Decomps are rough on all of us.”

The trip to the supermarket didn’t take long, and within forty minutes Sara was back, microwaving her creation and impatiently studying it through the grilled window. She wasn’t exactly sure if the tofu would taste right, but she was too hungry, and too driven to care.

It dinged, and she carried the bowl to the table. Nick came in, along with Greg.

“So I told her--oh jeez, what’s that smell?” Nick turned to look at Sara.

Greg, puzzled, glanced over. “You told her ‘what’s that smell?’ That totally makes no sense at all,” he complained.

“No, no man, I mean what’s that smell here in the break room,” Nick explained. He looked at the solitary figure hunched over the table. “Sar, what exactly are you eating?”

Blissfully, guiltily, Sara glanced up, fork still in her mouth. She swallowed and tried to smile. “Nothing. Just—my lunch.”

“Ohhhhhh!” Greg waved a hand in front of his face. “NOW I gotcha, phew! It smells like sour milk!”

Nick came closer; Sara put her hands over the bowl and pulled it away from his curious gaze. He spoke up. “Hey! Is that my salsa?”

Sara debated lying, but slowly nodded. “I um, left you a note. I’m good for it, you know that.”

“Yeah, okay,” Nick agreed, still working to get a peek into the bowl. “So what else is in there?”

Catherine sauntered in and her pert nose wrinkled for a moment. “It smells like someone burned some peanut satay sauce in here.”

“Salsa and peanut butter?” Greg questioned, moving to the other side of Sara and glancing in the bowl. “Ewww, and chunks of Doctor Scholl’s shoe inserts, apparently.”

Sara, who had another forkful in her mouth spoke up indignantly. “’At’s to’u!”

“So let me get this straight,” Catherine put her hands on her hips. “You’re eating salsa, peanut butter and tofu.”

“Gross!” Nick announced, backing away. “That’s a waste of Texas Torture, Sara!”

“Sal-sa, peanut butter and tofu,” Catherine repeated slowly, a knowing smirk crossing her face. “Two sources of protein and one of serious vitamin C.”

Sara blushed. She lifted her chin and set her hands flat on the table on either side of the bowl. Without meeting anyone’s eye, she sighed. “I’m pregnant.”

Nick and Greg stared at her; Catherine grinned, and leaned over, putting her hands on top of Sara’s and squeezing. “That’s . . . terrific,” she replied in a low, sweet voice.

“Pregnant? How’d that happen? No, wait—don’t answer that, noooooo----“ Greg backpedaled quickly. “Geez, really? As in baby on the way?”

Sara felt the heat on her face; she’d known this was coming, but somehow she’d imagined it would be more . . . dignified. Maybe standing with Grissom’s arm around her in a noble pose, not hunkered down over a bowl of microwaved cravings with three people staring at her. “Um, yeah. End of September.”

“So that means you’re just about four months along,” Catherine calculated quickly. “Geez, you’re hardly showing. A little chubby, but in a GOOD way, she amended quickly as Sara shot her an annoyed look.

Then Nick squatted down and threw his arms around Sara, making her spill a forkful of food as he hugged her hard. “Oh man, this is GREAT news, Sara! Babies are great! And YOUR baby’s gonna be great!”

“Thanks, Nick,” Sara finally smiled, hugging him back for a moment. His clumsy exuberance was damned endearing and just the sort of thing she’d known he’d show. Nick loved kids and everyone knew it; he was better with them than almost anyone else on the nightshift.

“Congratulations,” Greg grinned. “Looks like Wyatt’s going to have a playmate!”

Catherine was smiling now, shaking her head gently. “Wow, this is pretty amazing. I never thought you and Grissom were, you know, the types.”

Sara hesitated, and in that hesitation, Catherine’s grin widened. “Ohhh my,” came her purr. Greg shot a look from Catherine to Sara, and came over to Sara, sliding an arm around her and squeezing gently.

“Surprises are good things,” he murmured gently in her ear. “Take it from me.” Sara leaned against him for a moment, and Catherine came forward, looking embarrassed. She cocked her head and gave a little sigh.

“Hey, Lindsey was unplanned, so I have no right to talk. It really is wonderful news, I just— well let’s face it, Grissom never struck me as parent material.”

Sara nodded, her grin a little crooked as she accepted the unspoken apology. “Yeah, it’s a new learning curve for both of us. He’s been . . . good with it.”

“I bet,” Catherine grinned again. “So has Ecklie been told?”

“Not yet,” came Sara’s admission. “That’s Grissom’s job.”

Greg grinned, and Catherine bit back another smirk, the two of them sharing the thought. Sara scooped in another mouthful of her magnificent Sal-To-Pea, and mentally calculated how long the news would take to circulate the lab.

Her personal estimate was twenty minutes, tops.

Grissom pulled the Denali in and climbed out, pausing only to add a Post-it note to the driver’s side window: Decomp: Vaccuum, ex. strength Febreze before stretching a little and hearing a little symphony of joint snaps and pops. The cacophony was slightly disheartening, and he grimaced.

All night, Grissom had been nagged by the realization that he would be entering his seventies by the time the Sprog would be heading off to college. In theory, seventy wasn’t a bad age—his own mother was in her eighties and distressingly spry—but still, seventy!

As he trudged his way into the building, he sourly revised his assessment—given his grey hair, people would probably assume he was the Sprog’s grandfather right now. He still occasionally got disapproving glances from strangers when he and Sara held hands in public. Not often, but now and then, and once she started to show, Grissom imagined there would be more---

He was so preoccupied that he didn’t see Nick sailing down the hallway towards him, arms and smile wide. “Hey Grissom! Congrats, man!”

The hug seemed inevitable; Grissom braced himself, but at the last minute, Nick’s face contorted, and he veered off, coughing. Grissom said nothing, watching the younger man turn and keep his distance, choosing to wave weakly instead.

“Yes, Nick?”

“Yeah, about you ‘n Sara. You know—“ Nick rounded a hand over his stomach and grinned. Grissom stared a moment, then managed a small smile in return.

“Thank you,” he replied, simply.

“I’ll catch you later then—“ Nick replied, waving again and backing up down the hall. Grissom watched him go, suddenly glad for the lingering stench that surrounded him in an invisible cloud.

It was time, he decided somewhat impishly, to go tell Ecklie the good news.

Ecklie was in his office, talking on the phone. He shot an imperious look at Grissom and motioned to him to have a seat, then turned back to his conversation. Grissom politely closed the door and sat down, scooting his chair a little closer to the desk. His expression stayed politely neutral as he watched the lab supervisor’s face begin to twitch. Hastily Ecklie said his goodbyes and hung up, glaring over at Grissom in annoyance.

“Good God, Gil, whatever it is, couldn’t it wait until after you’ve showered?”

“It’s more fun this way,” Grissom admitted, and against his will, Ecklie managed a small smile. He leaned back in his chair as far as he could and spoke again.

“What is it, and be brief, if you don’t mind.”

“Sara’s pregnant. Our baby is due around the end of September, so we’ll both be taking family leave around that time.”

Ecklie blinked. “Pregnant?”

Grissom cocked his head, his smile soft. “Yes.”

“Aren’t you a little . . . old for fatherhood, Gil?” Ecklie pointed out dryly. “It’s not exactly the easiest job in the world, especially at this point in your life.”

“True, but I’m looking forward to it,” Grissom replied, his words slow and measured. “It’s an amazing opportunity I didn’t think I’d ever have, and now that it’s been given to me, I plan on doing the best I can.”

Ecklie bit his thin lips, and slowly extended a hand across his desk, his grip cool and firm as Grissom took it. “You’ll do fine,” he sighed, “Just as you do at everything else that matters to you. Congratulations to you both. I’ll start getting the paperwork in order; have Sara come see me sometime this week. Now go, so I can Pine-Sol my office in peace.”

Grissom rose and left, feeling a mingled sense of pride and gratitude; annoying as Ecklie was, he’d make sure Sara’s work shifts and leave would be dealt with properly. With a lighter heart, Grissom made his way to the break room. Catherine and Greg moved to hug him; only Catherine followed through, holding her breath and squeezing him quickly before jumping back. “Whoa! Congratulations, now hit the showers before you set off the sprinkler system, Grissom!”

“I’ll just congratulate you from over here—“ Greg called guardedly, his grin taking the sting out of his words. Sara grinned, waving a fork at Grissom.

“Hey.”

“Hey. What smells so good?” he asked, coming over to her. Sara pinched her nose, still smiling, and pushed the bowl towards him. Grissom took a forkful and ate it, his expression thoughtful. “Good.”

“Good?” Catherine commented skeptically. “As in ‘yum?’”

Grissom nodded, sharing a gentle look with Sara.

His hair was still wet and the scent of lemons now clung to him as Grissom stood in the lobby, waiting for Sara. The first light of dawn was glowing just beyond the glass doors, and the only other person around was Judy, just beyond the reception desk. She looked up at him, and smiled, waving him over conspiratorially.

Curious, Grissom moved over, and she whispered excitedly. “I’ve got some really good news! It’s all over the lab--Sara is pregnant!”

Grissom blinked at her.

Coming up behind him, Sara moved closer, slipping her arm in his. She leaned over to Judy, keeping a perfectly straight face and whispered, “He already knows. He was there when it happened.”

A that, Grissom solemnly winked, and Judy blushed bright red, blinking as Sara laughed and steered Grissom out the glass doors and into the morning.