AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't own anything having to do with CSI. I have some money saved up though, so if anyone wants to chip in, we might be able to make it happen… This is my first real fanfic. I've tried to write lovey-dovey fanfics with Grissom but I get bored very quickly. I have a feeling I won't get bored with this, so I might actually finish something I start. YAY!

Thanks to William Butler Yeats for writing "The Stolen Child" which I am borrowing for this story, or at least the refrain. He's my favorite poet, and he's Irish, so I think he'd be cool with it.

Anyway, enjoy! Reviews are always appreciated.

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"I can't deal with this shit!"

"Mike, he is just slightly autistic the doctor says. Just slightly."

"No, this is bullshit! I've got a deaf wife and a retarded son! Did I pick the short straw or something?"

The tiny ant scrambled up and down the four year-old boy's tiny arm, frantically trying to find a way off. The curly-haired little boy crouched on the ground in the space between the front steps and a rose bush in the garden, watching it intently. The red front door to the house was open and the parents' argument floated through the doorway and to the boy's hiding place.

"I'm not deaf, Mike, I'm going deaf, and I am so damned sorry you got stuck with a shitty family!"

His mother's normally soft voice had risen a few octaves to a high shrill as she defended herself and her son.

"I never asked for this!"

"And you think I did? That's what I wanted, Mike, to grow up to be deaf. It was a dream of mine. What the hell is wrong with you!"

Silence fell for a moment. After a few minutes of wordless shuffling, the boy's father finally spoke.

"I'm out of here," he said so softly the boy could barely hear it.

"Mike. Don't," his mother whispered equally as soft.

Silence ensued once more. The little boy gently picked the little ant off of his arm and placed it back on the ground, where it scurried to get back on the chemical track the other ants had laid from their hill to the piece of apple the little boy had nestled in the dirt. He imagined the little ant was heading back home to his parents who were not fighting over something as trivial as the ant's size or anything of that sort. It wasn't the ant's fault he was smaller than the other ants. A loud bang ripped the little boy from his thoughts as his father burst out of the house and hit the edge of his suitcase on the metal railing of the porch.

"Shit!"

The little boy watched his father intently from his hiding space behind the bush as he hobbled toward his car, balancing a suitcase between his hip and arm as he dug in his pocket for his keys.

He opened the car door violently and threw his two suitcases inside. Thrusting his right leg in, he began to shove the rest of his broad physique into the car when he stopped and stared at the bush where the little boy was hiding. Curiously, the little boy had no desire to call out to his father, or to run after him. His father knew he was there, and the boy knew his father knew, but he made no movement that would betray his hiding place. He just stared into his father's blue eyes, waiting for him to break their skewed eye contact. Finally, the father did, and roared off down the street.

The little boy turned his attention back to the little ant. It was no longer there. It had disappeared into the hill already. The boy gave a small sigh of disappointment.

"Gil."

The little boy looked up at the whisper of his name. A small, innocent smile drew across his face and he gently pulled himself from behind the bush, and walked up the stairs. He paused for a moment, then wrapped his arms around his mother's waist. She closed her eyes and stroked his brown curls. After a moment, she gently pulled him away.

"Would you like me to teach you sign language?"

Gil gave a small nod and wrapped his arms around his mother again, breathing in the soft, familiar smell of her lavender scented talcum powder. She hugged him back, and resumed stroking his curls, her face pulled into a world-weary frown as she stared at the empty spot in the driveway.

Finally, he pulled away and ran back down the steps to his alcove. His mother watched him for a moment then returned back inside. When he was alone, he crouched back on the ground. He stared at the ants quietly for awhile. Stroking the back of one of the more stationary ants, he began reciting his mother's favorite poem in a soft, sing-song voice.

"Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's morefull of weeping than you
can understand."