AN: To anyone who has already read the first six chapters of this fic– I've edited the chapters that had already been posted and updated them here – it's not essential to go back and reread as it's mostly linguistic changes (my style has changed quite a bit since I started this!) but there might be some plot stuff that's been updated as well, so it couldn't hurt ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to CSI

Chapter 7

There's a ringing in his ears that brings back memories of the months before he had surgery, when he worried that life as he knew it would change forever, which he absently notes is appropriate, considering it just has. Sara's still talking, but it feels like her voice is coming from somewhere far away. He tries to focus on her words, but only picks up a few here and there.

Bugs and apple juice.

Not her fault.

Shelby.

He reaches out a hand and picks up the photo in front of him, tries to take it in.

He's never interacted much with children, at least not outside of work, and even then, they were usually either dead or traumatized by watching a loved one die. He does have a basic knowledge of the developmental phases, though, and if pushed, he probably would have been able to put the little girl in the photo at around three.

She has wispy, brown hair that curls slightly at the ends and soft, brown eyes, identical to Sara's. For some reason, she has a crown of what looks like pink construction paper on her head, decorated with colorful little blobs. Tucked under one arm is a worn stuffed lion, and she's smiling at whoever took the photo.

His daughter. His and Sara's daughter.

Pulling his eyes from the photo, he's surprised to find that he's alone in the room and for a moment, the terror that she's gone grips him like a cold hand around his chest. Then he hears a faint sound from the hallway, not quite a sob, more a shaky breath, and he jumps to his feet.

Her back is to him when he finds her at the door, hand reaching out to open it. He has no idea what to say to her, but he knows he can't let her walk out that door. Not now.

"Don't go," he manages to get out, reaching out to grab her by the shoulder. She turns at his touch, and he sees that her eyes are glossy. He made her cry. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have reacted like that. Please, will you stay?"

She just nods silently, and it's only when she moves past him that he realizes his hand is still on her shoulder. He knows he should let her go, but the idea of not touching her is too much in that moment, so instead he slides his hand down to guide her with a gentle touch on the small of her back. She doesn't say anything, and he lets himself hope that she doesn't mind.

She reclaims her earlier spot on the couch, and he hesitates for a moment, but then forgoes the armchair to instead sit next to her, keeping a few inches of space between them. She glances over but doesn't move, and he relaxes a little.

"I'm sorry," he says again, and she shakes her head.

"You don't have to apologize," she says, before he has time to get too worried that she won't forgive him. "I knew you'd be mad at me; I was expecting that. To be honest, I was expecting a lot worse. Or maybe not expecting, I was still hoping, but… preparing for."

He wants to ask what she was hoping for, but they need to take this one step at a time.

"I'm not mad at you," he tells her, continuing at her quirked eyebrow. "If anything, I'm mad at myself. Mad that I put you in a position where you felt you couldn't talk to me."

"I still should have told you."

"I wish you had," he admits, and it's such an understatement that it almost feels like a lie. "But I do understand why you didn't."

She nods thoughtfully, breaking eye contact and instead focusing on her hands, which are wound together in her lap. He realizes they haven't been this close since he left her bed that afternoon almost four years ago.

He aches to reach out, carefully unknot her fingers, push away the errant strand of hair that has escaped from behind her ear, but he holds himself back.

Now is not the time for that. He needs to earn back her trust, prove that he wants her, and Shelby, in his life, and then… then, maybe, they can talk about something more.

It feels like his eyes are burning into her, cracking all the walls of protection she's built up over the last few years. She can't let them crumble, not yet, maybe not ever, but definitely not until she's completely certain that he won't push her away again.

And she's not sure she ever will be.

"So," she says determinedly, putting on a smile to hide the turmoil of feelings inside her. "How have you been?"

He gives her an unimpressed look. "I'm sure Catherine has reported on that."

"She has," she confirms, cocking her head to the side to study him a little more closely. He meets her eyes calmly, something he never used to do, and she's the one to look away first, in the end. "She told me you've been doing mostly paperwork lately. Not much actual investigating."

He sighs and shifts a little on the couch, one arm stretched along the back of it when she looks up at him again, body turned slightly towards her. "There's always been a lot of paperwork associated with the supervisor position," he starts. "I used to pawn a lot of it off on Conrad to get more time out on actual cases, but… I keep up with the advances in the field and I've gone out enough to keep my credentials current but… field work lost a lot of its appeal when you left."

She tries not to read too much into the statement but still feels her heart rate pick up a little. He doesn't say anything else and avoids her eyes, as if embarrassed he gave that much away. She considers apologizing for a second, but there's really no point. "So does that mean I can lure you out into the field again?" she asks instead, making her voice teasing, and is rewarded with a smile.

"I always did love working with you, so you just might."

"Good."

She realizes that they're only a foot or so apart, and her breath catches in her throat. She's sure he notices; he's watching her intently. After another moment, he opens his mouth and…

His phone starts buzzing on the table next to them.

"Sorry," he apologizes, reaching for the phone.

"That's OK."

"Grissom."

She takes the opportunity to move a little further away from him on the couch, just so she's able to think clearly again.

"I'm not working tonight, Conrad."

He glances over at her and rolls his eyes. Ecklie.

"I don't care. Call Greg, he was off yesterday, he's perfectly capable of logging everything and I'll have a look tomorrow. When I'm actually on the clock."

She can hear Ecklie's annoyed voice over the line, but he must relent.

"Goodbye, Conrad."

"If you want to go in you can," Sara says when he's hung up the phone. "Don't let me keep you."

"No," he shakes his head. "It's been a while since I put Conrad in his place, he's gotten complacent. He needs to learn that I won't drop everything whenever he asks."

"Well, good for you."

He offers her a crooked smile. "Besides, we've barely gotten started. I want to know about you. And… Shelby." He hesitates a little over the name, making her heart ache.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

She has to laugh. "That's going to take a while."

"I don't mind. Do you have any more photos?" The excitement in his voice is something she remembers from particularly interesting cases. Experiments they conducted in the lab. He looks so hopeful she hates that she didn't think of bringing more with her.

"Not with me, sorry. I do have about a million on my computer, I'll bring it with me next time, OK?"

He looks disappointed for a moment but then nods. "I'd like that, thank you. And this one." He picks up the photo she gave him earlier. "It's recent?"

"It's from about two weeks ago," she confirms. "Her birthday party. Her best friend from daycare made her the crown, she refused to take it off for the rest of the day. Even wore it to bed."

She has to smile at the memory and sees a similar smile on Grissom's face.

"What are the color blobs on it?" he asks curiously.

"And you call yourself an entomologist? They're butterflies!"

He joins her when she laughs, bringing the photo closer to his eyes to be able to study the insects in question. "Must be a species I'm not familiar with."

"Obviously."

"She likes butterflies?" he then asks, giving her an almost shy look.

"Most bugs, but butterflies are definitely her favorite." She hesitates for a moment but then decides to push forward. "She would have a field day in your office. And here, actually. I thought you had all of them at the lab but there are even more here, looks like."

He nods a little absentmindedly, eyes focused on the photo again, thumb moving over the glossy surface.

"Yeah, there's plenty here as well. So, her birthday's…"

"May sixth."

To her enormous relief, the conversation flows easily after that, and she's reminded of nothing so much as those few days after they first met, when they spent the time between lectures and Q and A's wandering the streets of San Francisco, talking about everything from scientific discoveries to popular culture.

Grissom asks questions that she answers and that, more often than not, lead to asides about something else entirely, covering the first three years of Shelby's life in bits and pieces. She tells him about her first words and first steps, her first day at the daycare center in San Francisco, her first birthday and the first time she found a ladybug on the walk home and spent a week 'looking after' it until it disappeared.

They both jump at the sound of a phone vibrating. This time it's coming from the bag Sara put on the table earlier, and she gives Grissom an apologetic look as she digs it out, but he just motions for her to take the call.

"Hey, Cath," she answers before the call cuts off. "Is everything OK?"

"Everything's fine, I just wanted to check if you changed your mind about dinner?"

She frowns at the other woman's question. "No, why?"

"Because we said six and it's now five forty-nine, and you're not here."

She glances at her watch and finds that it is, in fact, almost six. "Shit, sorry, I must have lost track of time."

"I wonder why…"

"Shut up," she says, ignoring the innuendo in Catherine's voice. "I'll be there soon, you guys get started without me."

"You sure? We're fine on our own if you want to stay longer. Shelby and Lindsey are getting along like a house on fire."

"I'll be there soon," she repeats.

"If you insist."

She hangs up and gives Grissom an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I've got to run, apparently I'm almost late for dinner."

"Of course. You're staying with Catherine?" he asks, getting to his feet and following her into the hallway.

"Until I can find a place," she replies with a shrug. "Cheaper than a hotel, since she won't let me pay for anything aside from groceries, and she somehow roped Lindsey into babysitting while we're at work, which gives me time to find a good nanny."

"Are you sure Lindsey's up for that?" He frowns at her. "I'm sure she's very responsible, but she is still just a child herself."

She can't help but smile at his concern, overprotectiveness coming out already, before he's even met Shelby. "She's almost seventeen, Griss. Catherine says she's been babysitting the neighborhood kids for a couple of years, and it's not like she needs to do much. Ideally, Shelby will be asleep before I leave for work and won't wake up until I'm back. But I have a little over a week before I'm actually starting, I'll be keeping an eye on their interactions and if I don't feel like it's a good idea, I'll figure something else out, OK? I would never leave Shelby in a situation I didn't think was safe."

"Of course, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to question your judgment."

"No, it's fine," she assures him. "If you have opinions, I want them, OK? I promise I'll tell you to butt out if I think you're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

Like she hoped, it makes him laugh quietly.

"Fair enough. You should go, you don't want to face Catherine's wrath if you're late."

She almost tells him that she's sure Catherine would be thrilled if she was late, but doesn't. They don't need to get into any of that right now.

"I should."

She doesn't move, though, trying to figure out how to bring up getting together again, discussing how to move forward.

"Sara, I…" he starts.

"Yeah?"

"I would… I'd very much like to meet her."

"What?"

The question is automatic, and for a moment she thinks he's talking about Catherine, or Lindsey. Then she realizes that he must be talking about Shelby.

"Only if you agree, of course, I wouldn't…"

"Hey!" she cuts him off. "Of course I want you to meet her. Do you really think I would come back here and keep her from you?"

He shrugs, a sheepish look on his face. "I didn't want to… assume."

Suddenly, it's easy. "Why don't I call you tomorrow?" she suggests. "I have no idea how to do this, obviously, but I think I need to talk to Shelby on my own first. I don't want to overwhelm her, it's already been a pretty big week – new city, new people… she's mostly been excited so far, but you never know. Assuming she takes it well, we should be able to get together at some point next week?"

He's nodding before she even finishes speaking, looking so relieved. "That sounds great. Anytime."

"Then I'll call you."

She raises her hand in some sort of lame wave and opens the door, feeling his eyes on her until she's in the car, and even then, she can see him in the doorway, still watching her.

"Well, that could have gone worse."