A/N: We don't own CSI, but wanted Catherine's exit to be different-a glimpse of Grissom! And of course, there is fluff! A short one! Spoilers for Willows in the Wind, but we all know how that one ended!

Change In All Things is Sweet

Chapter 1

Blowing air out of her mouth, Sara felt she had been gut punched. Catherine's announcement had seemed to come out of nowhere—leaving the lab, immediately taking a federal job—a decision made in haste, Sara thought, a decision one might regret in a few weeks. Slowly, she breathed in; her finger pressed the button for the car window to open and fresh air helped her breathing. She knew it wasn't the same yet she had felt the same way when hearing about Warrick. Catherine wasn't dead but her leaving would leave emptiness for Sara. They would not even have a good-bye party—Catherine insisted she wasn't going away forever, that she would be returning to Vegas frequently, that they were still like family.

"It will be sad and weird," Sara muttered as she pressed the button to start her car. Catherine had been in the lab the first time Sara had entered the place and while they had not always been friends, they had grown into something more. Like sisters, she thought; Catherine was one person she trusted for female companionship—and sometimes secrets.

Checking traffic, she pulled into the street. She had not called her husband to tell him the news. He had pretended it did not concern him when Catherine was demoted, but Sara knew it did. And her decision to leave would affect him more than he would admit. So, instead of a phone call, she'd tell him at home.

The thought of her husband being at home made her press her foot on the car's accelerator—not to speed, not much anyway. He would be waiting for her to arrive. She had not had time to call him during her long shift, not with all the confusing chaos taking place, Catherine and D.B. missing, then found after they discovered all the destruction at Catherine's house. Sara actually snickered a laugh imagining Grissom's face when she related all that had happened.

Catherine's leaving would not be the first or last major change in her life, she thought. With everything else that had happened—she never thought she would marry, she never thought she would return to work at the lab, she never thought she would live this calm, steady life—she should feel as shocked by Catherine's announcement as she was. Heavily, she sighed. Catherine was tired of all of 'it' and she should have recognized the signs before anyone. No, she corrected her thoughts; she—Sara—had not been tired. When she had abruptly left the lab, exhaustion had played a small part in the days leading up to that day; everything in her life had brought her to that black hole. Forever thankful for the support and therapy she had gotten after her total collapse, she had been able to return to normal life—a better life. She smiled at the thought of her "normal life".

Traffic slowed and she thought about her husband. He would want to see Catherine before she left town; Sara knew that was one reason she had not called him. He would not try to talk her out of leaving—everyone remembered how he left, him most of all. "Stayed too long" he often said.

Now, he was doing something he had always dreamed of doing. Quietly, Sara laughed again—made possible by a little secret his mother had managed to keep from him until—she grinned—just the right moment.

All traffic stopped for some reason. Sara pressed a button for the passenger window to slide down and, as the dry air of Las Vegas entered the car, she remembered the reveal of this secret.

Betty Grissom, Sara's mother-in-law, had arrived for dinner one spring day—several weeks after she had brought Sara a plant and the two had Skype-talked with Grissom who promised to return soon. Sara wasn't sure if it had been the actual case or learning of the inappropriate relationship of her colleague, but Betty changed or they both changed, she thought. She no longer thought of her mother-in-law as an irritation but as a pearl—sort of like the grit in an oyster turns to something valuable and beautiful—and Betty was actually a very thoughtful and pleasant person.

Grissom had returned; they had dinner. Betty showed no hesitation when demonstrating her newfound appreciation for her daughter-in-law. And during dinner there had been a rapid exchange in sign language between mother and son that Sara had been unable to follow—except for Gil's "my wife" and "our home" and something about his travel plans.

Sara had not asked for a verbal interpretation; she knew Gil was irritated, but had extended an invitation to Betty to come to their house for another dinner and that's when a secret nearly fifty years in the making had been disclosed. After a pleasant meal, Betty had pulled a thick envelope out of her purse, pushed it across the table, and slowly signed:

"This is for the two of you."

The age-yellowed brown envelope lay between their plates for a full minute before Grissom's fingers traced across the faded writing. Sara watched as he blinked several times, nervously wiped his hand across his face, and looked at his mother.

Sara could read the scratchy handwritten name: 'For Gil' on the first line and 'our son' on the second line. It was then she recognized the same writing was on the framed botanical prints—his father's prints—hanging in their house. She glanced at her husband.

Betty signed, "Open it," and smiled, slightly nodding her head toward Sara.

Sara pushed the envelope closer to her husband, and, because his expression seemed to be one of surprising shock, she placed her hand on the center of his back. She knew Gil had been nine years old when his father died; she also knew his mother had a small art gallery for many years, and he and his mother had been financially comfortable, not wealthy by anyone's definition, from a life insurance policy. Some instinct nudged in Sara's brain that this yellowed envelope held financial records and by presenting it to both of them, Betty was making a declaration—of something.

Grissom lifted the flap—one of those old-fashioned ones with a brass-colored metal tab on it—and withdrew a bundle of folded papers. Instead of unfolding the papers, he held them and looked at his mother, saying "What is this?"

His mother smiled. Slowly, giving Sara time to read her words, she signed and Grissom voiced her words, "Nearly fifty years ago, your father left an estate of seventy thousand dollars. Part of it came from the sale of your grandfather's land. There have been taxes, but overall the money has been left undisturbed." She reached for the white page wrapped around the bundle and placed it on the table before continuing, "This is the balance sheet. Not bad, I think." She smiled and her hands moved to the heavy paper covered with columns of figures, smoothing it with her fingertips.

Sara looked at the bottom of the page and even as one part of her brain processed the numbers, another part was telling her the number could not be correct. She glanced at Grissom who had not looked away from his mother's face, his face and hands appeared as unmoving as a marble statue. Sara's hand could feel the tense muscles ripple along his back.

"Mother," he said, and then his hands and fingers begin to sign rapidly as he spoke: "That money was not mine. It was yours."

Quickly, Betty placed the side of her hand on her palm. "Stop." Even Sara knew that word. She continued once Grissom's hands stopped moving. "I had money. I opened the gallery with it. Over the years, I have done well. I have traveled with my friends. When I sold the gallery, you know I became wealthy overnight. I have been and I continue to be well-placed for the life I lead and I enjoy my life. I enjoy seeing my son happy, and his wife who is a wonderful, kind woman.

"Several times I thought of telling you about this money. But you were so independent. You would never ask me for money." Suddenly, she laughed and continued signing. "Once you talked about needing money for a body farm and when I understood what that was, I made the decision to keep this a secret unless you really needed it. Or give it to you when you married or when there were children." She glanced at Sara and smiled. "Now, it is yours. I want both of you to have it. It is all in Gil's name, Sara. But in those papers is a form for you to make it a joint account."

"How much?" Grissom asked without looking at the balance sheet.

His mother held a hand toward Sara, passing the question to her. Sara put her finger on the last number and slowly said, "One million, three hundred fifty-two thousand, six hundred and eighty-two dollars."

Afterwards, Sara knew she felt Gil sway in his chair, but after she spoke the last number, she heard "Mother" in a hushed whisper before his hand turned the paper so he could see the numbers.

His mother's shrewd investment and her wise decision to keep a young man from spending an inheritance opened up dreams and ideas and opportunities Sara and Gil had only imagined. Yet outwardly, it changed nothing. Sara continued to work while her husband gathered his thoughts and designs for a project he had visualized for years. Not a body farm, but a book—and a data base—to use as a companion source for students and professors, entomologists and hobbyists, anyone curious about beautiful insects. He no longer had to write proposals for a funded research project or work on someone else's project. When someone called asking for his expertise, he did not have to ask for compensation. Most of the time he stayed at home and worked on his project, never giving a thought to actual profit, as he had already decided to give away most of the books.

Remembering the event that had brought such a change in their financial security caused Sara to smile. It wasn't the money, she thought; it was the assurance and confidence of knowing she did not have to worry about money. And her thoughts turned again to Catherine, very wealthy from her inheritance from Sam Braun, who was leaving one job for another. Sara realized why Catherine was leaving—she was tired and bored and looking for something new—a change.

She pressed the remote for the garage door to open and coasted inside. Grissom would hear the door close and be standing in the kitchen by the time she opened the back door. She chuckled as she thought about the man she loved. He would be wearing an old soft shirt, baggy jeans, and sandals, and smiling.

The door opened for her and there he was—just as she knew he would be.

"Hey, Honey," he said softly as she went into his open arms. "I've missed you." And before she could say anything, he kissed her. With a few words, he managed to sum up her shift, "You've been on the news."

"Me?" She lifted her head from his shoulder.

"Not you—Sara Sidle—but a shooting involving a crime scene investigator and two seconds later I heard from Ecklie who said it wasn't you, but it was Catherine. And something about bringing her in using a body bag."

Sara made an effort to laugh. "I work there and you must have known as soon as I did!"

He hugged her tightly. "Please stay safe, Sara—for me."

She lifted her hands to his face; her palms rested on his cheeks as her fingers threaded through his hair. "I'm very careful, Gil. Now more than ever—and there's more that's happened. No one else is hurt," she hastened to add. "I want to take my shoes off and be next to you when I tell it."

Grissom took her hand and led her to the living room sofa where he pulled off her shoes and removed her sweater as she told him about the FBI, Catherine's 'friend', the deaths, the horror of finding Catherine's house empty but eerily and hastily repaired, and by the time she was nearing the conclusion of the case, her husband was beside her, enclosing her inside a quilt with his warm body stretched the length of hers. His strong hands gave her a gentle massage as she talked.

"And now, the last part of all of this—this morbid case," she wrapped her arms around Grissom, "is that Catherine announced her resignation—she's leaving. Quickly, for some federal job with the FBI, and after the past couple of days, she decided to take it. She's leaving soon—and she seemed—I think she is relieved."

Sara had expected Grissom to have an immediate reaction, a boisterous refutation or an animated response, but instead, he was quiet, only making an easy grunt.

She said, "You're not surprised."

"No," he replied and kissed her forehead. "I am not. Catherine has always worked—that's all she's ever done. She deserves better than the demotion she got. And she deserves to travel. Lindsey's in college, her mother is healthy." His voice deepened. "She doesn't have to worry about money. She understands law enforcement and she knows quality assurance standards. And she won't get shot at."

As he talked, Sara had pulled away so she could watch his face. "You knew about this? You knew she was leaving?"

Shaking his head, he said, "No, I only knew the job would be offered."

Sara laughed. "They called you—the feds called you, didn't they! And you turned them down. Gil! You sly fox! And you recommended Catherine—does she know?" Her hand flattened against his chest, then moved to his chin, and before he answered, she kissed him.

"No! And she's not to know. I need to call her—when's the party?"

"No party. She's leaving in a few days—told all of us right before we left. I think we were all so exhausted and surprised that we didn't know what to think. She's always been there—I thought she might leave one day to spend Sam's money, but never thought she would leave Vegas."

"I need to see her, Sara. Catherine and I have a long history."

Sara smiled and kissed him again. "She's meeting Morgan," giving him the name of a decade's old restaurant. "Go see her. I'll shower and sleep."

A/N: This is a short story-3 or 4 chapters.