Conversely

Conversely

Disclaimer: Not only do I own CSI, Billy Petersen feeds me chocolate cheesecake wearing nothing but a smile. And then I woke up. Don't own them; I get no money, no cheesecake, no naked Billy.

A/N: Ficlet for printdust…her prompt was Baby Converse. Hope you enjoy, Robyn. I love you so much. Thanks to KristeElizabeth for the once (twice, forty-two times) over and the advice on chemicals. And, just generally, tolerating my neurotic and pain in the ass type behavior. Previously posted on my livejournal.

"Ecklie said you quit." There was no greeting, no preamble, no pat for the dog who had run to greet him, just a bald statement barked out as he came through the door.

Turning from the pepper she was slicing, Sara's eyebrows rose into her forehead. "And how was your day, dear?"

"Sara…" he drew her name out like a petulant fourteen year old. "Ecklie said you quit; how do you think my day was? When Conrad Ecklie expresses concern for my new wife's welfare and I can't answer intelligently…that is not a good day."

She sighed and put down the knife. "I tried to call you but it rolled to voicemail." Wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, she leaned back against the counter. "I had to make a decision right then; so, I chose the only one that made sense at the time." She opened her hands in a gesture of surrender. "I kept trying to call you so you'd hear it from me, but Judy said you were in a meeting with the sheriff and then you were on scene in the desert and then…" she blushed "then I fell asleep."

"Explain it to me now, then." He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest; he didn't sound upset anymore, just confused and a little hurt.

"We talked about this…that I might want to leave the lab…" Walking over to the table, she began idly sorting through the shopping bags there.

"Yes, but I thought we'd talk about it, maybe you'd, I don't know…give me a little warning, give the lab some notice." He threw open his hands in a confused and slightly frustrated gesture. "Not just walk out in the middle of processing evidence. What happened, honey?"

"Roberts," she named the swingshift supervisor, "ordered me to fume the Escalade from the Bonomo case." Clutching a bag, she turned towards him.

"The one where the pharmacist was stealing high dollar pills to sell on the blackmarket?" He watched her fingers worry the edges of the paper bag she was holding.

"Yeah. Drugs for ED and baldness and acne. Ones people want but don't necessarily want to get the prescription for."

"I read the initial report. He stole Viagra, Levitra, Cialis, Propecia and Accutane and replaced them with counterfeit pills?"

"He was storing the stolen goods in his SUV," she nodded. "Somebody killed him for it though…we can't figure if it was his boss at the pharmacy or a blackmarket partner or a disgruntled customer. Boxes of pills were crushed in the back of the Escalade…drug dust everywhere."

"So, Roberts wanted you to fume the SUV. And…?" Making a gesture urging her to continue, he watched as she took a hesitant step towards him.

Words came tumbling out of her mouth, tripping end over end off of her lips. "I asked him if I could pass it to Ronnie and he wanted to know why and I said medical reasons and he said what medical reasons and I said I wasn't ready for it to be in my file and he said either tell him or fume and I couldn't reach you, so I quit."

His hands were on her arms squeezing, he hoped not too hard, but he found himself suddenly with his heart sitting squarely in the middle of his esophagus and he saw tears well up in her eyes and he remembered she had had a doctors appointment before work yesterday; it was just supposed to be a final follow up to make sure she was healing ok but he hadn't even called to see how she was doing and what kind of a husband was he, anyway? "Medical reasons? Sweetheart?" Her lip trembled and his trembled in response. "What's wrong, honey?"

A tear brimmed over the edge of her eye and rolled down her cheek. "Gil…I didn't want you to find out like this; please believe me."

"Sara, I believe anything you tell me." He pressed his lips against her forehead. "Just, please, tell me something."

In answer, she shoved the bag against his chest. "I had this thing all planned...better than this." She gave him a shaky smile. "Look."

Hesitantly, he reached in the bag and pulled out a pair of tiny tennis shoes. "Sara?"

"I…" she shook her head, "I thought it was the stress…after everything and then the switch to swing…I didn't think…" she laughed helplessly, nervously.

His eyes, comically round, darted from the Baby Converse to her face and back to the shoes again. "You're…" Carefully, he set the shoes on the counter.

"Uh…yeah…the doctor did a test today…seven weeks…so, yeah, it must have been the first time after I got home from the hos…" Her words were cut off by the sudden press of his lips against hers. He kissed her softly, then deeply, then he kissed her some more even though he could barely kiss her because he couldn't stop smiling.