A/N: Thank you for your tremendous response to the first chapter. If that doesn't get me posting quickly nothing will!
I really hope you like this chapter as much as the previous one.
"This is my room," he said a little gloomily stopping in front of an open door at the top of the stairs. The room was immaculately clean and yet so very Grissom. The walls were blue adorned by rows upon rows of shelves of books and models or covered with frames after frames of multi-coloured specimen of all kinds of flora and fauna.
Wide-eyed, Sara slowly took in the sight before her. Then she took a hesitant step in, walking past the double bed to take a closer look at one encased display in particular.
Grissom tossed his bag on the bed, joining her side. Standing just behind her he said softly, "Nothing escapes your trained eye, I see."
Sara turned her face toward him awaiting his explanation. He smiled obligingly, saying, "You know my father was a botanist, right?" To her soft nod, he added, "He's the one who got me started collecting stuff. I didn't get into bugs for a long time. I was into plants first and this…is the first sample I ever framed." He shrugged a little self-consciously, refocused his gaze on the frame, and gave a smirk at his handiwork. "Not my best, I'm afraid."
"How old were you?" she asked, keeping her eyes on him.
He chuckled to himself, his mouth twisting in amusement. "Four, I think. Clematis lasiantha," he read, peering at his own overly large, badly formed handwriting. "The Pipestem Clematis."
An indulgent smile playing on her lips, Sara nodded and lifted her hand to stroke his face, her eyes flicking to the rest of the room beyond his shoulder. "This room is like a time capsule."
His brow rose and he snorted at her comment. "I'm not that old!"
"You know what I mean," she smiled.
And he did, for Sara didn't have a place like this, a window into a happy childhood where time had simply stopped. He shrugged again and took a moment to view his bedroom from her perspective. It said so much about the boy that would become the man, the enigma that was Grissom. "Well," he began, "apart from the double bed which is a new addition – well a relatively new addition, I guess you'd say – all the rest dates back to before I left for university."
Sara noticed he was still holding her overnight bag and sensing something was visibly amiss with him eyed him with sudden unease. "What's wrong, Gil?"
Grissom let out a long sigh, took her hand and walked out of the room. Then he opened the door across the landing, pausing at the threshold. "And this is your room," he said with a slight pout.
"Oh." Sara pinched her lips but couldn't help the soft snort escaping any more than her ensuing giggle. Dropping his hand she stepped into the room, gave it a quick once over before plopping herself down on the edge of the single bed, bouncing the mattress a few times. "This will do me nicely," she told him, her grin wide and full of mirth.
He pulled a face at her and set her bag down on the floor. "I'm sorry," he said, slumping down next to her. "I didn't think she'd segregate us."
"That's a little harsh." He gave a little shrug, and Sara laughed. "It's only for one night," she said.
"Two," he amended gloomily.
She draped her arm around his shoulder, pulling him toward her. "She's from a different generation, Gil. I'm sure she didn't mean anything by it."
"Sara," he said his tone almost scolding. "I'm fifty years old. I'm sure she knows-" he sighed short-temperedly the rest of the sentence and shook his head at the ludicrousness of the situation. "Besides we already live together," he added with exaggerated self-pity, "more or less."
The smile wouldn't leave her lips. "Have you told her that?"
He shrugged, muttering sulkily, "Not in so many words."
"So what did you expect?" she asked softly, her hand moving to his head.
"That she'd see me as a fifty-year-old man maybe?"
Mischief gleamed in her eyes and weaving her fingers through his hair, she ruffled his curls as though he were a child. He twisted his head away with annoyance and Sara dropped her hand, sobering up.
"You're overreacting," she said cautiously. "I'm guessing this is new to her too, right? Maybe if you'd told, forewarned her, you know, explained-"
"I shouldn't have to." Shaking his head he pulled a face and made to get up. "I'm going to go tell her now."
"No," Sara said quickly her hand on his arm stopping him. "Please don't. She'll think it's come from me."
"I'll just have to tell her it didn't."
"No, please, Gil, I don't want to make her uncomfortable in her own house."
He paused and turned toward her. Sara had been worried about this visit and he knew she wanted to make a good impression and for his mother to like her – if not approve of her. Now was not the time to rock the boat. A smile breaking across his features, he slowly nodded his head. "Okay. Next time we come I'll tell her."
"I've a feeling you won't need to," she said, cupping his face. "See it from her side. It's the first time she meets me; she didn't know what to expect and she probably edged her bets."
Grissom pulled her to him, kissing her softly on top of the head. "You're right. Thank you." Sara unexpectedly burst out laughing and he pulled back, looking at her suspiciously. "What?" he drew out.
"Or maybe she did it deliberately to test us," she said, giggling. Then she ruffled his hair. "Or rather, to test me. See if I'm a good girl or if I lead her little boy astray."
That raised a grin and wrapping his arms around her he pushed her back onto the bed playfully. Sara gave a startled squeal of delight that quickly turned into full blown laughter. "Shh," she said, coming to her senses and pushing up against him, "she could hear us."
Propping himself on his forearms, he shifted position until his body covered hers and she sank into the thick quilt. He watched her intently for a moment and pushed a tendril of hair out of her eyes. "She can't hear us, Sara," he said smiling before kissing her gently on the mouth.
Feeling Sara's response he deepened the kiss, his right hand finding its way to the side of her face, her throat, down to the edges of her blouse and Sara let out a low moan. Her moan soon turned into mumbled objections and she pushed at him, twisting her face away.
"Gil, stop," she whispered loudly, laughing and craning her neck to check the open door. Firm hands pushed harder against his chest until he had no choice but to raise himself off her. "Your mother's waiting for us."
The grin he beamed at her was pure mischievousness. "I'll just tell her I can't resist your wicked charms."
"And prove her point."
Looking mildly repentant he rolled onto his side. "I could always smuggle you into my room after dark," he mused in all seriousness.
Giggling Sara lightly punched him in the side. "If you carry on like this," she said, "not only will she never let us share a room but she won't ever invite me back."
"And we wouldn't want that, now would we?" He pushed himself up and off the bed. "Come on," he said holding out his hand to her and winking, "let's get back or she'll definitely think you've led me astray."
"The table looks nice," he told his mother as he joined her side in the kitchen.
"Use your hands," she scolded him mildly, signing. "You're rusty." She looked beyond him into the next room. "Sara's okay?"
"She's in the bathroom." He moved to the cooker, lifting a couple of lids, checking on the food. "This looks great, mom. Thank you," he signed.
"It's my pleasure; it's not often I get the chance to spoil you." She fixed him intently, a fond smile breaking. "You look well. Not as tired as last time as I saw you."
He nodded, acknowledging her words awkwardly. "I'm good. Work's been…less hectic than usual."
"You need to look after yourself, Gil."
He nodded distractedly and took a peek into the oven. "You remembered Sara's a vegetarian, didn't you?" he signed a little cautiously.
Betty's face fell and she tapped her temple in thoughtlessness.
"Mother," he signed reproachfully.
Her face creased into a fond smile. "Relax. I may be old but I'm not senile. Of course I remembered Sara's a vegetarian. You only reminded me four times."
Grissom shrugged mildly and turned away. He took a handful of cashew nuts from a small bowl on the tray his mother had prepared and popped one into his mouth.
She tapped him lightly on the shoulder to get his attention. "You're going to spoil your dinner."
He twisted his mouth at the old joke and she smiled indulgently, watching him as he ate another nut. "You like her, don't you?" she asked after a while with tentative hands. "She's special?"
He couldn't help the slight embarrassed flush of his cheeks at his mother's forthrightness and he finished chewing before nodding his head softly. He wondered about mentioning the inaptness of the sleeping arrangements but afraid to alter the mood thought better of it. He touched the tips of his fingers together before throwing them out, replying a shy, "Very."
"I'm glad," Betty said using words.
Grissom pursed his face in surprise; maybe the look that had passed across her eyes on first meeting Sara wasn't one of disappointment after all. "Me too," he replied, smiling. Out of the blue, he kissed her on the cheek.
Betty's grin was one of deep pleasure and she brought her hand to her cheek in surprise, taken aback by his display of affection. "Come on, take the drinks through," quick fingers instructed, her face shining with happiness. "Sara will be wondering what the hold-up is. I'll be along in a minute."
He picked up the tray of drinks and nibbles and took it through to the sitting room. Sara was bent over studying some books on display in a glass cabinet.
"Some of these are very old," he told her softly as he set the tray down, gently pushing aside what he knew was Sara's gift to his mother. "I think most of them were my father's, actually."
Sara turned, nodding her head in acknowledgement of his words, her gaze flicking to Betty as she joined them. He turned, following Sara's eyes.
"Gilbert," Betty signed, "be a good host. Pour Sara a drink; she must be parched after the long drive."
"Yes, mother," he signed back diligently causing his mother to chuckle pleasurably.
Sara startled from watching them, suddenly striding across the room and grabbing the small gift-wrapped box from the table, almost thrusting it in Betty's hands. "This is for you, Mrs Grissom," Sara signed hesitantly.
"You shouldn't have," Betty signed, speaking the words simultaneously.
"It's my pleasure," Sara signed back slowly and Grissom was proud to see she remembered perfectly the crash course in sign language pleasantries he'd taught her. "Thank you for having me."
Betty smiled, nodding and she opened the gift. Her face lit up with surprise on pulling out a long silk scarf in shades of blues and greens with elegantly fraying tassels on the ends. Immediately she draped it around her neck. "It's beautiful," she signed, looking at Sara first and then at her son.
"Don't look at me," he signed and said, "It was all Sara."
"Thank you," she spoke directly to Sara and it was evident that she genuinely meant the compliment.
Grissom felt himself swell with pride and love. He handed each woman a drink and picked up his, thinking that Sara's meeting with his mother couldn't have started any better. Maybe, he thought, they would get on like a house a fire. Okay, maybe like a house on fire was a tad too much to hope for but there was no harm in remaining hopeful, was there?