A/N: Thank you so much for your warm welcomes back to CSI! I hope you enjoy this chapter.
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Disclaimer: I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.
Spoilers: Anything up through season 11.
Summary: What will the team do when Timmy's bank-robbing, murderous father, unexpectedly re-enters his life? Sequel to To Catch a Killer.
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"Is anyone going to help me with the pancakes?" Greg glanced at both Sara and Timmy, waiting for the pan to heat up enough to pour the batter.
"We could," Sara comfortably lounged on the couch, Timmy in a plush chair across the room from her. "But then they wouldn't be your famous banana walnut pancakes, now would they?" she pursed her lips, trying not to laugh.
Greg rolled his eyes in amusement. "That's the lamest excuse for getting out of kitchen duty that I've ever heard," he teased. "Well at least tell me this much, then. Should I use a lot of bananas and walnuts? Or just a few of each?"
"A lot," Tim replied, opening up his math book so that he could study while he was waiting for dinner. And then after a moment, "Sara?"
"Yeah, honey?"
"Can I borrow your cell phone for a minute?" he nervously asked.
"What for?" Sara inquired, digging it out of her pocket anyhow.
"I wanted to text something to Grissom," he smiled. "I've been practicing my French, and I wanted to see how he's doing."
"Sure," Sara tossed the phone over. "I'm sure he'd love to hear from you. But make sure you let him know that it's you, and not me, doing the texting," she winked, standing up and moving toward the kitchen to help Greg. "Speed dial number 2," she reminded Timmy.
"'Kay," he murmured in concentration, flipping the phone open. Hey Grissom, it's Timmy. Parlez-vous François? he texted.
"How are the pancakes coming?" Sara leaned over Greg's shoulder to peer into the skillet.
"They're coming along," he shrugged, waiting for the tiny bubbles to appear in the batter, letting him know that it was time to flip the pancakes. "So how are we going to do this?"
"We'll just tell him straight out," Sara murmured. "I think it's probably the best way," she added, glancing over at the couch where Timmy was eagerly awaiting a reply from her husband. "Do you want to do it? Or would you like me to?"
"It doesn't matter to me," Greg played with the unused batter as he continued to watch the making pancakes. "But I will say that Timmy has told me numerous times that you remind him of his mother, whom he loved very much. He might take it better from you."
"Hey, guys," Timmy interrupted them. "Grissom's French is improving!" Scrolling through the rest of the message, he then glanced up at Sara. "And he wants to know how you're doing."
"Please tell him pas mal, or not bad," she couldn't help but laugh. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, though, so why don't you go wash up?"
"Okay," Timmy finished his return text, leaving the phone on the couch. Seconds later, he disappeared down the hallway to use the bathroom sink.
"So I guess I'll just start the conversation, and you can fill in what you want to," Sara quietly continued, leaning against the counter. "How do you think he'll take the news?"
"Not sure," Greg expertly flipped several of the pancakes, his attention focused on the stove. "But I'm not going to lie, Sar, I'm worried about him."
"What'cha guys talking about?" Timmy padded back into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table.
"Nothing, Squirt," Greg placed six of the large pancakes on a plate, setting them all down in the middle of the table.
"Is it my math test?" Tim frowned. "I knew you guys were disappointed in me." One, two, three, four.
"We are definitely not disappointed, Tim," Sara smiled, grabbing the syrup, butter, and milk, from the refrigerator. "Besides, I know a bunch of pretty smart people who failed some important tests in their lives."
"Yup," Greg agreed, sitting down at the table. "I actually failed my field proficiency test to become a CSI," he admitted, digging into his dinner.
"So how did you eventually pass it?" Timmy wanted to know, taking a sip of his milk.
"My friends helped me study," Greg smiled at his little brother. "Friends can make the difference, Squirt. Like I said, though, Sara and I will help you through math. She has a degree in physics, and I'm just smart," he added with a twinkle in his eyes.
"You're both smart," Timmy pointed out. "But I think Grissom might be smarter."
"Hey!" Sara laughed.
"Not cool, buddy," Greg fake-frowned.
"I was just kidding," Tim took one final bite of his pancake, pushing the entire plate away. "Those were pretty good, Greg. Thanks for having me over for dinner tonight."
"No problem, Squirt," Greg started to clear the table, glancing over at Sara for a moment.
Sara nodded, also getting to her feet. "Timmy, Greg and I do want to talk to you about something else, though," she quietly said, leading the young boy back to the living room. "Greg will join us in a second, but go ahead and make yourself comfortable."
"What's wrong?" Timmy immediately asked, sitting down in his customary chair. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No, you didn't, honey," Sara perched herself on the edge of the couch. "But something has come up, and we needed you to be aware of it."
"Is it my family?" One, two, three, four. "Are they okay?" he felt his anxiety, and thus his OCD, starting to grow worse.
"They're fine," Sara tried to assure him that his adoptive family was safe, sighing in relief when Greg finished what he was doing and took a seat beside her.
"It's about your father, honey," she gently continued.
"What about him?" Timmy gazed at her in confusion and nervousness. Your little boy will be next. One, two, three, four. One, two, three four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Your little boy will be next.
Sara kept her voice as steady and calm as she possibly could, hoping that her tone would help keep Timmy calm. "We wanted you to know that your dad will be getting out of jail at the end of the week, and that he might want to see you."
"No," Tim's face immediately paled, as he shifted from side to side in agitation. "But I don't want to see him," he whispered, his shifting now turning into rocking.
"I know, Squirt," Greg kept his gaze riveted to Timmy's face. "I know that you're scared, but it will be okay."
"But your little boy will be next!" he reminded both Greg and Sara, his eyes prickling with tears. "Your little boy will be next!" he repeated, rocketing out of his chair and lunging at Sara in a matter of moments.
Greg and Sara exchanged concerned looks. Both CSIs had expected the OCD to return full-force, but neither had expected Timmy to revert back to statements from years ago. They both realized at the same time that the statements were connected to the memories, and that Timmy was clearly panicked by his father's imminent return.
"You're going to be okay, Timmy," she whispered, tightly wrapping her arms around his now slightly shaking body. "Greg and I aren't going to let anything happen to you," she gently rubbed his back. "And neither are Nick or Catherine."
"But your little boy will be next," he whispered, burying his face in the crook of Sara's neck. "Are you sure you aren't mad at me about the math test?" he suddenly asked, tears sliding down his cheeks.
It wasn't that Timmy was necessarily afraid of his father, although there was certainly that. It was just that thinking of his imprisoned father also conjured up memories of his mother being murdered, and of the traumatic events from several years ago.
"We're positive, honey," Sara murmured, slowly running her fingers through Timmy's hair. "You've done nothing wrong."
"Okay," Timmy sniffled, climbing up onto the couch between Greg and Sara. Leaning against Sara's shoulder, he tried to burrow his face into her side. "I'm scared," he admitted. One, two, three, four, your little boy will be next, goodbye!
"About what, Squirt?" Greg asked, even though he pretty much knew. He just thought it might help for Timmy to talk about it.
"Well what if my father tries to take me away from you, or from the Smiths? I don't want to stop being your brother."
"That isn't going to happen, buddy," Greg quietly told him, gently squeezing his shoulder. "You're going to be just fine, and you'll always be my little brother."
"Four?" he then timidly asked.
Oh no, Sara thought to herself, having a sneaking suspicion that she knew where this was going. "Four what, honey?" she hesitantly asked.
"…Can we have four cookies?" he meekly asked. "I like the number four."
"Yeah, we can get you four cookies," Greg quietly replied, exchanging another concerned look with Sara.
"Okay," Timmy mumbled, slipping his hand into Sara's. "Thanks."
Greg got to his feet, meandering back to the kitchen to fetch the cookies. Before he was able to return to the living room, however, his cell phone rang. "Sanders," he absent-mindedly replied, tossing the package of cookies onto the couch as he held the phone up to his ear. "How did you get this number?" he whispered, immediately walking away from the living room so that no one else could hear the call.
Sara caught Greg's tone of voice, her head swiveling to keep track of him.
"Don't you ever call here again," he angrily—yet quietly—hissed, hanging up the phone.
"I'll be right back, Tim," Sara kissed the top of his head, attempting to extricate herself from his grasp.
"No!" Timmy screamed, clutching Sara's arm. "It's him, I know it is!"
Was it him? Sara mouthed to Greg.
Greg simply nodded yes, his own face a bit on the pale side.
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TO BE CONTINUED
