AN: Some more Daddy/daughter interaction – hope you enjoy! And thanks for the feedback on the last chapter, I love reading your thoughts on the story and characters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to CSI

Chapter 11

Catherine opts out of the ice cream trip, so it's just the three of them leaving the house and piling into Grissom's car for the short drive to the local Dairy Queen. Sara quickly moves Shelby's car seat into the back and buckles her in with practiced ease.

"I really need to get a new car," she muses when she's claimed the passenger seat for herself. "I looked into getting the old one shipped, but it was way too expensive, and I wasn't going to drive the whole way, so I sold it before we moved. But I hate car dealerships, the salesmen always talk down to you, it makes me feel like I'm some… feeble damsel in distress who can't do anything for myself. Like I don't know more about car engines than all of them put together."

Grissom laughs as he starts the car. "You're far from a damsel."

"What's a dam-sel?" Shelby pipes up from the backseat and she turns to be able to look at her daughter.

"It's an old-fashioned word for girl," she explains before turning back to Grissom with a frown. "At least I think it is. Does it have any further meaning?"

He hums. "I want to say that it's related to social standing as well, but I'm not actually sure about that part."

"I guess that makes sense, most damsels in classic literature are from the upper class."

Shelby seems satisfied with the explanation, and they drive in silence for a while.

"I could go with you, if you want help?" he then offers hesitantly, eyes intent on the road even though they're stopped at a red light. "Or just company."

"Sure," she agrees. "Tomorrow? We're going to the daycare center between one and four, so after that? And we could grab dinner when we're done, if you want?"

She makes herself shut up before she can keep rambling.

"Sounds good," he says, throwing her a smile as the light turns green. "If you give me the address to the daycare center, I can pick you up there."

"As long as Catherine doesn't mind dropping us off, that works."

The Dairy Queen is pretty much deserted, only a couple of teenage girls that should probably be in school in front of them in line, and the girls leave when they've gotten their order. They get their ice creams – chocolate chip cookie dough for Sara and Shelby to share, since she knows her daughter won't finish more than a fourth, at most, and strawberry cheesecake for Grissom – and claim one of the tables in the air conditioned shop.

"Is that strawberry?" Shelby asks around a mouthful of ice cream after a moment, eyeing Grissom's cup curiously.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, baby," Sara tells her gently, and she dutifully swallows.

"It is," he confirms. "Would you like a taste?"

Shelby nods immediately, but remembers to use her words before Sara can remind her. "Yes, please."

Instead of pushing his cup with ice cream over the table to her, like Sara expects, he scoops up some ice cream in his own spoon, careful to get both some strawberry sauce and a few cheesecake pieces, and holds it out for Shelby, who makes short work of the treat.

"Good?" he asks when he pulls the spoon back.

"Mm-hmm. But cookie dough is better."

Sara has to smile at the moment between them, and catches the young woman behind the counter watching them with a similar smile on her face. She knows what they must look like, and, for a moment, it's nice to pretend.

"Can we go to the park, Mommy? Please," Shelby asks as they leave the ice cream place, drawing the 'please' out.

"OK, but just for a little while, alright? It's too hot to stay out too long," Sara tells her, turning to Grissom. "Do you want to come with us, or do you need to head out?"

He checks his watch – only a few minutes to three, plenty of time before shift starts and there's nothing else he needs to do today. More importantly, there's nowhere else he'd rather be. "If you don't mind, I would love to join you."

"Mommy said you would push me on the swings," Shelby informs him on the way to the car.

"She did? Well, then I'd better do that."

"That was not a binding promise," Sara tells him quietly, but there's a smile on her face.

"I'd be happy to."

She gives him directions to get to the park a few blocks from Catherine's house, and soon, they reach a small, shaded playground with a few swings, a climbing structure and a small slide that can only be reached through some sort of plastic pipe. Shelby immediately takes off for the swings while Sara heads towards a bench off to one side. He hesitates for only a moment, but then Shelby turns back. "Come on," she says impatiently, and, well, how can he say no to that?

She climbs onto one of the swings by herself and waits for him.

"Are you holding on tight?"

"Uh-huh."

He starts her off slowly, not sure how high is OK to go, but she's impatient, and after a nod and a smile from Sara, he increases the strength behind each push until Shelby's laughing out loud as she flies through the air.

It might be the best sound he's ever heard.

She grows tired of the swings after a few minutes and jumps off, running over to the plastic pipe leading to the slide, and he follows, unsure of whether she's OK to go down by herself. It's not tall, only four feet or so, and not very steep, but she could still fall and hurt herself getting down from it.

"She's fine," Sara assures him, as if she can read his mind. "Come relax for a while."

So instead, he joins her on the bench with a sheepish smile. "Am I hovering?"

"Just a bit. But I get it."

Shelby emerges from the half-covered slide, stopping a good foot and a half from the edge. She scoots the rest of the way down on her bottom and then hops onto the ground, immediately returning to the opening of the pipe to go again.

"Everything went OK at the daycare center earlier?" he asks after a moment, half turning on the bench to be able to look at Sara and still keep an eye on Shelby.

"It was fine, yeah," Sara replies, mirroring his position. "The staff seems good. I talked to the manager last week about extra developmental stimulation – according to the manager at her daycare in San Francisco, she's way ahead of other kids her age. They seem to be really on top of that here, they already have a program in place and are happy to make any changes needed based on individual situations, so that's good. The group's a little bigger than she's used to, but that might actually be a good thing, and I don't think she'll have any trouble fitting in. We were only there for a couple of hours today, but she seemed to hit it off with several of the other kids, she was off and playing within minutes."

"You said you were doing an… introduction?" he remembers. "What does that mean exactly?"

"Starting slow, basically," she replies with a shrug. "When I start working next week, she'll be going eight thirty to five or so, and I obviously won't be there, but this week, we're sort of… ramping up. Today was just two hours, tomorrow will be three, and then five hours the rest of the week, and Thursday and Friday, I'll just drop her off so she's there by herself."

"Getting her used to the new environment," he concludes.

"And me," Sara replies with a crooked smile. "I know it's good for her, and I know she'll love it, but I still… I know it's the genetic protection instincts, or maybe the societal expectations, but I still have a hard time leaving her, sometimes."

"I'm not going to tell you that's irrational," he assures her. "Because it's only been two days, and I…" He trails off, unable to put words to the feelings.

"I know," she says, reaching out to squeeze his hand quickly. "I put your name down on the approved list at the daycare, so I was thinking we could maybe work something out where I drop her off a little later in the mornings and then you can pick her up in the afternoon so you can spend some time together until I get up? That way she won't be doing nine-hour days every day. When she's gotten used to everything, I mean."

"I would love that," he replies. "If you're sure you trust me to do that."

"Of course I trust you with her," she says with a frown, but it morphs into a smirk. "We will probably need to do some kid proofing at your place first, though."

He lets out a chuckle. "I was thinking about that yesterday, as a matter of fact. I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to help me with it, I'm afraid I don't really know much about what kind of trouble a three-year-old might get into."

"Sure. I can stop by on Friday, maybe, while Shelby's at daycare?" she suggests. "I mean, if you don't have plans."

"As long as my court appearance isn't pushed, it should be fine."

"Great. It's a plan, then."

Shelby, apparently growing tired of the slide, comes over and climbs onto the bench next to Sara. "What is it, baby?"

Instead of saying anything, she uses her hands to make the sign for 'swing', making Grissom's eyes widen.

"You want me to push you?" Sara asks, but Shelby shakes her head. "OK, go ahead. But not too high!"

She runs back to the swing set, quickly climbing on and setting the swing in motion. He watches her for a long moment before turning back to Sara. "She knows ASL?"

"Yeah." She nods. "I mean, a little. I didn't know any myself, of course, so we've sort of been learning together over the last few months."

"Why?"

"I just figured, with the genetic aspect, it couldn't hurt. Hopefully she'll never need it, at least not for herself, but better safe than sorry…" She shrugs, eyes on Shelby. "And the daycare manager back in San Francisco was talking about different ways to stimulate her learning, I thought it might be a good option. They actually suggested having her evaluated to maybe start pre-school early, but I just… three seems way too young, you know?"

He follows her gaze to see Shelby jump off the swing only to instead hang from it on her stomach, toes pushing her forward and fingers trailing the ground. She's no doubt much more intelligent than the average three-year-old – he didn't need Sara to tell him that – but she is also just three years old. She should get to enjoy just being a child a little longer.

"I would have made the same decision," he says. "How far have you gotten with the ASL?"

If she thinks his backtracking to their earlier subject is strange, she doesn't say anything.

"Not far, really. I got a couple of books and some other stuff, and there's some pretty useful videos online. We've covered the basics and whatever she's asked to learn, pretty much." She laughs. "Like swing. And ice cream, park, playground, bathroom, her name and a couple of her friends' names, mom, tired, hungry, thirsty. Butterfly. I don't think she remembers everything we've gone through, but she uses some of it pretty regularly."

"She's amazing, Sara." A glance tells him that she's smiling but blushing slightly. "And you… I know it can't have been easy."

She shrugs. "I won't say that it was a walk in the park, there have definitely been days when I've been at the end of my tether but… she's always been an easy kid, even as a baby, so I've been lucky in that respect. Which Jill wouldn't let me forget."

"Jill… Lopez? From the San Francisco crime lab?" he asks, the name ringing a faint bell.

"It's Jill Wilson these days," she corrects. "But yeah, same Jill. She's the day shift supervisor now, and a good friend. She sort of took me under her wing when I got back, when she realized I was on my own."

He doesn't like thinking about that too much, imagining her going through all she's been through alone, because it makes the guilt churn in the pit of his stomach. It's nice, though, to know she had someone, so he holds onto that.

"And she has more troublesome children, I presume?"

"Both her kids had colic, and then the oldest had some sort of night terrors until he was six or something. I know the whole, there's someone who has it worse than you isn't always helpful, but it worked for me, when Shelby was fussy or kept me up at night. To remember that it could be a lot worse."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," he offers, the guilt refusing to be silenced.

"Shouldn't I be the one apologizing for that?" she retorts, giving him a crooked half-smile.

No, he wants to say, because it's my fault that you felt like you had to leave in the first place. But he knows, on a logical level, that she must be feeling guilty for that too, so he refrains.

"We can both be sorry," he says instead, which seems safe enough.

"How about neither of us is sorry?" she suggests, looking hopeful. "Can we just… decide that the past is in the past and move forward from here?"

He can tell that she's half-expecting him to say no, but there's really nothing he wants more.

"I'd like that very much."

AN: I got some feedback on an earlier chapter about how Grissom probably wouldn't be so quick to forgive Sara and I tried to address that a little in this chapter, not sure if it made anything clearer (all of it's so clear in my head it's sometimes hard to remember that I have to actually make it come across on the page too!). There will be some follow up (much) later in the story as well, about his general feelings about their situation and what happened before Sara left Vegas, so don't think I'm just skirting over it or anything!