He found his mother in the kitchen, sitting at the table broody and sullen and nursing a glass of milk. It was a scene he recognised only too well but one he hadn't seen since his childhood. Lost in her own thoughts she didn't see him approach, and she looked up with a start as he entered, registering a look of surprise at his appearance, her gaze lingering a tad too long over his bare chest.

Her stare made him uneasy and he wished he wasn't at such a disadvantage and that he'd stopped by his room to grab a sweatshirt. Still, he didn't avert his eyes as he might have done on previous occasions. His lips pursing in an awkward smile he squared up his shoulders; it was time his mother saw him for more than the quiet, compliant, introspective and mild-mannered son that he'd always been.

She flashed him a tight-lipped smile. "You couldn't sleep either?" quick fingers asked.

He took a few hesitant steps in and shook his head in reply before leaning back against the kitchen counter across from her. "I'm usually awake at this time of night," he signed back.

She nodded her understanding, her eyes flicking toward the doorway as she asked a little cautiously, "Sara's okay? Only I couldn't help noticing the light was on in her room." She waited for him to comment, adding when he didn't, "Maybe you could go check on her? Make sure she's got everything she needs for the night?"

Her concern for Sara's wellbeing seemed genuine enough but Grissom knew that his mother was nothing if not the perfect host. His returning smile was on the strained side. "Sara's fine," he signed quickly. "Don't worry."

Betty gave a small nod and a sigh at his curt manner, and brought the glass of milk to her lips as an awkward silence settled between them. Wishing he'd waited until the morning to talk to his mother, Grissom shifted uncomfortably and looked down to his bare feet. He wasn't in the right frame of mind for a confrontation and sadly he felt one coming, for this time he wasn't going to give in or walk away in return for an easy life.

Before he could broach the subject at hand, Betty made eye contact with him. "Do you want a glass of milk?" she asked with her hands, motioning toward her drink.

His face told her he'd prefer something a little stiffer but without waiting for a reply she got up from her chair, got a tumbler out of the cupboard and poured him a glass. His smirk and wince as he took the glass spoke volume.

"It's good for you, Gil," she signed. "You should start thinking of osteoporosis, at your age."

Ah, there we go, he thought, it didn't take her long to bring that up. Unwilling to get riled up so early on in the proceedings he merely rolled his eyes at her in response, and she smiled at him sweetly, resuming her seat at the table. He brought the glass to his lips and took a small sip, biding his time, happy to let her show her hand.

"Did Sara like the lighthouse?" she asked suddenly.

It wasn't so much showing her hand as throwing him a curveball. "The lighthouse?" he repeated with a frown.

"Fisherman's Village? Did you take her to the top? It's a nice night; the view must have been-"

Grissom's signed "No," came out a little curter than he would have liked. He paused with a sigh. "I did not take Sara to Fisherman's Village."

Registering a look of surprise Betty's mouth formed a perfect "Oh," and her gaze averted to her glass.

Grissom immediately regretted his brusqueness but wasn't willing to back down just yet. He sighed, pulling a chair across from her and sitting down, and watched her intently while she studied her glass as though it held the answers to their differences. He looked up toward the ceiling, thinking of Sara waiting upstairs, Sara that had sent him down so he and his mother could begin to patch up their differences, and anxiously clenched and unclenched his fists a few times.

Mind made up, he reached across the table and tapped his mother lightly on the arm to get her attention. Her head shot up and she met his narrowed gaze with a sad one of her own. He chose his words carefully. "What you did isn't fair on Sara," he began tentatively.

She stared at him for a moment with a look he could only describe as a mixture of uncertainty and puzzlement. He was about to elaborate when she gave him a solemn nod of the head in understanding and he paused.

"You're angry," she stated calmly.

"Yes," he signed briskly. "I'm angry, and disappointed."

Betty's brow rose with surprise. "Disappointed?" she repeated, her face taking on a fearful expression.

He nodded, then pinched his lips in thought and wiped the corners of his mouth. "Tomorrow's going to be awkward enough for all of us without-" his hands stalled, poised mid-air for a moment before he lowered them and let out a short breath.

How could he tell his mother that some things were better left in the past? How could he tell her that Sara was his future? That with her he had learnt to love and trust again? He closed his eyes and ran a weary hand over them before reopening them slowly. His mother was watching him intently, a dark, saddened look on her face.

"I'm sorry, Gil," she signed quickly before he could say more, reaching a tentative hand toward her son's. He drew his hand back. "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"You didn't make me feel uncomfortable," he signed heatedly, struggling to keep his frustrations at bay. "Sara's the one who will feel uncomfortable." He pointed toward himself and signed a sharp, "disappointed."

Betty swallowed and nodded. "I understand; I'll-"

He was on a roll now, the words flowing from him, unbidden. "No, you don't understand," he cut in sharply. He felt sweat bead on his upper lip. "I love Sara. I love her very much and I don't want her to be upset. Not tomorrow, and not by you and Julia. She is my guest here and-"

"You loved Julia once too," Betty signed gravely, stopping him in mid-flow.

Her comment took his breath and he faltered. He gave himself a shake of the head in amazement, and sitting very still lowered his hands to the table. His gaze flicked to them and for the first time he noticed how shaky they were. He clenched them into tight fists and looked up to his mother, staring at him, waiting for his reply.

The silence in the kitchen, the noiselessness and muteness of their fight suddenly felt very oppressive, like a weight slowly bearing down on him, stifling and suffocating. He was finding it hard to breathe and he closed his eyes, taking a moment to compose himself and calm his racing heart. His upbringing was such that he had a tremendous amount of respect for his mother but he would not let her drive a wedge between him and Sara.

At last he opened his eyes, meeting his mother's gaze dead on. "Not like I love Sara," he said out loud, quietly, confidently, accompanying his spoken words with the corresponding signs. How could he put it to his mother in a way she'd understand? "Sara's my future," he added. "She-"

"But she's so young," Betty cut in, looking pained and sad. Her lips were pinched in a thin, downward line and she looked as though she felt sorry for him, as though she wished he could see the truth of her words for what it was. "I thought she'd be closer to your age, a divorcee maybe, someone with the same outlook on life. How can she be your future, Gil? How can she-" The dark look he threw her silenced her immediately.

Her words were like a stab in the back, cutting deep and raw. He thought about walking away and had the argument not been about Sara he most certainly would have done. "Can you not see the changes in me?" he asked beseechingly. His mother could only watch him, silently, helplessly. "Why can't you just be happy for me?" he continued with rapid, angry hand movements, rising to his feet so suddenly that his chair almost fell back. "Why can't you see that Sara makes me happy? She makes me feel young and carefree and…"

Breathless, he paused and turned away, hiding his distress, his pain and feelings of betrayal, amazed at the candour and vehemence of his words. He had never dared to speak to his mother the way he was doing now and struggling to contain his anger he ran a shaky hand over his face. He took a deep, calming breath and then met his mother in the eye. His face was dark, closed-off and uncompromising. "Sara is everything to me," he said, thinking it strange how signing such words rather than saying them aloud came to him more easily, less censored. "She doesn't judge me, she accepts me for what I am – loves me for who I am. She's the one for me, mom, and nothing you and Julia can do will change that."

Overcoming her evident shock at such uncharacteristically passionate and forceful display from her son, Betty calmly nodded at his words and took a moment to think about her answer. "What about children and marriage?" she signed quietly. "You've always maintained you didn't want any of that. Surely she wants that, doesn't she?" Her question came out of left field and he swallowed. "Does she know about your…our condition? That it's hereditary?"

Grissom wasn't seeing care and concern in his mother's words, but rather hurtful reproach and judgement. "That's none of your business," he retorted quickly, and began pacing the room.

Betty's brow rose but she didn't pry further. "Of course it's my business. I care about you. You're my son."

He stopped pacing, turning sharply toward his mother. "I'm fifty years old!"

She sighed, opening her hands out in acknowledgement of his point. "Have you told Sara about Julia?" she then asked him out of the blue. "Is that why you're so upset?"

He slumped down onto his chair and covered his face with his hands. He was shaking. Looking up he shook his head, adding to his mother's insistent stare, "Not everything, no." He sighed, remembering that his mother had never been told the whole truth about what had happened either, and looked away. "I couldn't." Betty gave a solemn nod of the head in understanding. "And somehow," he continued with slow, resigned hands, "I don't think Julia will brag about it either."

Betty let out a drawn-out sigh and got to her feet. She walked round to his side of the table and gently put her hand on his shoulder. He didn't pull away. "I'm sorry, Gil," she said, shrugging sadly. "I'll call Julia first thing tomorrow and cancel, and I'll apologise to Sara. Don't misunderstand me, I like her," she said dipping her head and catching his eye. "I like her a lot. She seems a very nice and smart young woman and I'm sure you're right; she makes you happy." She pursed her lips into a tight smile. "I didn't mean to make you, or Sara, uncomfortable. I was just―you took me by surprise, that's all. She's not what―who I was expecting."

He gave her a small nod, closing his eyes with a sigh, and she lifted her hand to his cheek, brushing the back of her hand to it softly. She waited until he reopened his eyes to sign, "Inviting Julia had nothing to do with your relationship with Sara. You've got to believe that. She called to say she was in town and that she wanted to speak to me and you were already on your way, and I didn't stop to think. So much time has passed, Gil, I thought you two had mended your fences."

He shrugged; the anger had all but left him now, replaced by overwhelming sadness and a sense of betrayal. "Some scars take longer to fade."

Betty nodded with a sad smile. "I know, and I truly am sorry."

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, acknowledging her apology with a nod.

"I was so excited meeting Sara at long last and when Julia told me that-" she stopped signing abruptly, her gaze dropping to the floor.

His ears pricked, his eyes narrowing with interest as he waited for her to continue. She looked up, and stared at him cautiously, almost fearfully. "What is it, mom?" he asked with a flash of hands.

He heard a short muffled scraping sound coming from upstairs, then another longer one, as though someone was moving furniture around. He bit his bottom lip, his brow furrowing deeper with bewilderment. Suddenly a loud thump resonated down through the ceiling, causing Grissom to flinch slightly. His mother seemed none the wiser. A rogue, sad smiled escaped. Could Sara be doing what he thought she was doing? Resisting the temptation to look up and alert his mother to Sara's doings, he focused his attention back onto his mother, asking instead, "What is it you need Julia here to tell me?"

Another muffled sound and he was finding it harder and harder to keep a straight face but he soldiered on, keeping one eye on his mother's hands, the other darting to the ceiling at regular interval as he wondered what Sara was up to.

Noticing Grissom's growing distraction Betty signed, "It can wait until tomorrow. Why don't you go and check on Sara?"

He nodded his head, wondering whether his mother had picked up on what was happening upstairs. Then he looked up and noticing the still swinging light fitting suppressed a wider smile. "Don't call Julia," he signed, walking backwards toward the door, suddenly in a hurry to get back to Sara. "I think it's time I faced my demons."