A/N This is much requested sequel to Rumors. I hope you enjoy.

Thanks to Cybro and Danese for the beta work. If you don't like fluff then move along doggies cause Grits is having a flufftastic summer cause WE ARE CANNON BABY!

I own nothing.

Grissom

It's silly really. That my life and my grandson's life are strikingly similar. We are two dark haired, blued eyed, bow legged males at the mercy of the women we sleep with. They dress us and feed us and generally tell us what we are going to do with the rest our lives

Sara is stacking 9 grain pancakes on my plate and muttering about my cholesterol as she doles out blueberry syrup like its K rations. Thandie is doing pretty much the same thing with Jonathon only he gets his cut up and Thandie is making ruminations about being a big boy. Actually, he's getting the better deal.

Jonathan says that I should hurry up because we have to go to the park to practice. I am not quite sure what we are practicing. Whatever it is, we have been doing it for a week and it involves a football and a softball bat and lots of running. The rules are a cross between croquet and baseball. The running meets with my wife's approval.

She and my doctor are in some unholy alliance to turn back the hands of time. I like the hands of time just where they are.

"So how's the job hunt?" Sara asks Thandie, and I hope that my daughter doesn't think we are trying to get rid of her.

"Oh I got an offer, forgot to tell you guys. They were actually looking for a Nurse Practitioner but they decided they would take me instead."

I'd never quite understand what a Physicians Assistant does but she has a prescription pad and a stethoscope so as any parent would be I am proud beyond words.

She seems okay with it. Happy. I think. She's not worked in six months. The deadbeat husband. She finally signed them and overnighted them back to him. She and Sara talked afterwards. Sara said she wanted to make sure Thandie wasn't feeling any pressure from me to sign the papers. I guess my silent disapproval wasn't so silent

Dear old newly found Dad, who had to pack up his depressed daughter and confused grandson to forge a new family unit because Deadbeat wasn't ready for all the responsibility. Deadbeat is a 40 year old hospital administrator who didn't think he was ready for a wife and a child. He said they moved to "fast". I am sure that Deadbeat is banging his secretary or a nurse or someone else cause you don't leave your wife and your two year old kid for no apparent reason. He can run a 20 million dollar healthcare system but he can't take on the responsibility of wife and kid.

Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Sara waves a fork in front of my mouth. "Honey, are you listening?"

"Huh?' I mumble through a bite of food. She knows I wasn't listening. Why do they ask that stuff? Six weeks and the woman has this wife thing down.

A bit of blueberry syrup is resting on her upper lip and I consider licking it but if I do it Jonathan will think he can do it too. He's already a serious rival for Sara's affection.

"Sunday, Brunch, the team. We tell them."

"Sure." What else am I supposed to say? We've been keeping this whole marriage thing a secret. Sara wears her ring on her middle right hand finger. I wear mind on a chain around my neck. Greg asked Sara about the "bling" and she told him her new beau gave it to her. All heads turned to me for reaction but I did what I always do, I pretended not to notice.

I didn't really think the secret thing was a big issue for Sara but that was me being stupid-again. Oh how soon we forget. Didn't we just go through this drill six weeks before when I almost lost her because of my inability or perhaps my unwillingness to communicate with the people I care about?

There we were, sitting in bed, eating pizza and drinking beer while Sara polished her toenails. I was wondering 'why does she polish her toenails when she hardly ever wears sandals?' So there I am watching her paint her toe nails this really, really red color while the Saints are playing. Don't ask why we were watching the Saints. Sara said we must be in solidarity with the Katrina victims. She's always been a Saints fan but this was the most current justification.

Anyway watching her make these damn precise strokes with the polish and I decide that I am going to buy 200 pair of sandals for when she's not at work.

After Sara had finished with the polishing and I was studying the ingredients on the back of the bottle she says, "You think we made a mistake don't you?"

"About the stocks?" We moved some money around for Jonathan's trust fund.

She glared at me. I pretended not to notice. I had no idea what she is talking about.

"About getting married."

That one threw me because I don't know what more a man could want. I have got a sports loving, toe nail painting, accepting my long lost daughter and grandson, hot, forensics expert wife. She could not be serious. Which is why I laughed.

Here is where I would like for the man who might be reading this to stop and listen very carefully. Never, ever laugh. Only laugh after they have laughed and then only with extreme caution.

I thought she was going to slap me. Instead she took several deep breaths and sucked on her Heineken.

"Sorry," I mumbled looking as pitiful as I possibly could. "Things are great. Things are wonderful. This was the best thing I ever knowingly did."

"Knowingly?"

"Thandie was the best thing I unknowingly did."

"Oh." Her chocolate eyes softened and she smiled. "Then why won't you tell our friends?"

"Well I-I just thought-I don't' know. You wanna tell them? I thought you wanted to keep it private."

The glare returns. "Marriage is a public deceleration of how you feel about one another but it only serves its purpose if you tell people."

She was right. "Okay, we tell them next shift."

"Hows about we have a thing-you know-a gathering." The mood change surprised me and now I wonder how long she's been thinking about this.

There's also the bit about Thandie and Jonathan. I don't know how I feel about three horny men meeting my daughter. I tried to sidestep the issue but on this I was again overruled. Why do they even ask us?

Every morning Thandie asks Jonathan what he wants to wear. He tells her and she says it's too hot, cold or whatever for him to wear whatever it was he suggested. He has no expectation that he can wear his Spiderman pjs to the park. He now says whatever just to move the process along.

My pancakes are gone. My organic orange juice if finished. My wife is making sure I have on a hat and sunscreen. Jonathan is getting the same drill only he doesn't have to wear his hat. He can just carry it in his backpack.

Jonathan and I push back from the table and gather our sports equipment, kisses all around. We are off to the races.

Sara

The doorknob turns a little but it's locked. This is the second time it's turned in five minutes. I have been married for a little over six weeks and so far locked doors are to be the biggest disruption in the Grissom household.

Jonathan is not used to his grandfather's door being locked. Actually Jonathan is not used to any door being locked.

The first morning we came home, had breakfast and went to our bedroom Jonathan followed some minutes later. The meltdown that followed was like none ever seen before. The child screamed in outrage, flopped like a fish outside on the floor and generally made it be known that we were perpetrating abuse of the worst sort.

I watched forlornly through the old fashioned keyhole.

Grissom and Thandie were firm about me not opening the door. I gotta say it was really, really hard and I bought Jonathan a bag of Skittles later on to make a truce.

There were a few more scenes over the next few weeks but gradually he got used to it as he came to understand that the door would not be locked all the time.

"When you going to your house?" he finally asked one morning after I turned up for the third week in a row.

"This is my house now sweetie."

He was silent for a few minutes as he worked on a strawberry. "Where your toys?"

"I have to pack them up and bring them here."

That's what I did the next day after shift. Griss and I went to my apartment to pack up the rest of my books and clothing. My furniture was going to the local charity.

When Grissom's phone rang he had just finished taping up a box full of old textbooks. Jonathan was freaked, prone in the middle of the living room, refusing to get up, let alone eat his breakfast. Usually his mother would ignore it and he'd be off the floor in five minutes.

He'd been on the floor for 20 minutes. Thandie assumed her son wouldn't eat because his grandfather was missing but when she asked he replied, "Sara said she live here now. Where she at? She gotta eat for her cholesterol."

And that is how Sara Moonbeam Sidle Grissom learned the importance of routine to a child. We paid the Parkinson boy from the down the hall 30 bucks and two old microscopes to pack up the rest of the boxes. Jonathan and I took a walk where I told him that I would always try and be home for breakfast but just because I'm not there doesn't mean I am never coming home.

The knob is turning again and my husband is snoring. I am such a schmuck. In five seconds flat I have the door unlocked and my arms are full of little boy giggles and I admonish him to be quite because Poppop needs his rest.

Grissom opens one eye and then the other as we settle down next to him. "You open the door for every blue eyed bowlegged man that shows up," he mumbles pulling us both close.

I kiss him quickly and say, "Good for you."