AN: Quick note about the last chapter - I realized I messed up the timeline, I had Grissom shopping for car seats and picking Shelby up on Tuesday, and then some of the events of this chapter on Tuesday as well, so I had to push mama Grissom's return up a day. I've amended this in chapter 20, no need to go back or anything, I just wanted to give a heads-up so nobody's confused!

Dialog in italics in this chapter is ASL. I don't know much about sign language, so I don't know if the syntax is different from spoken language, but for readability purposes, I have decided to follow spoken syntax

And yes, I snuck some Swedish books in there, so sue me!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to CSI

Chapter 21

Grissom got a message on Tuesday afternoon, saying his delivery would arrive between nine and ten AM the following day, and Nick readily offered to help him move the furniture from the office into the guest bedroom when he asked. So come end of shift on Wednesday morning, Nick follows him home from the lab.

"You want help with the new stuff too?" he asks when they've finished. "I don't have any plans apart from sleep, I don't mind hanging around for a while."

Grissom glances over at the younger man. "If you're offering, I would appreciate it. But they're not supposed to be here for a while, let's grab some breakfast in the meantime."

He goes into the kitchen, setting up a simple breakfast on the island, while Nick moves around the living area, stopping to look at something here and there, picking up Shelby's puzzle book from the coffee table.

"So, you two have been spending some time together?" he asks, putting it back down. "I've got to say, the kid stuff doesn't go that well with all your bugs."

Grissom pours coffee into two mugs. "Shelby loves my bugs, thank you very much. Especially the butterflies."

"No paternity test needed there, then," Nick says with a chuckle, then immediately goes serious. "Not that I'm implying you would want to…"

"Nick? Relax."

He visibly deflates and accepts the offered coffee, and they make small talk about work while they eat.

To Grissom's great surprise, the delivery van arrives just a few minutes after nine, and by ten thirty, he's satisfied with the room.

"It's a little bare," Nick notes, leaning against the wall next to the door.

"I know," Grissom agrees, looking between the bed, made with purple bedding, and the rest of the furniture. One of the bookcases is about half full – his own favorites from when he was a child sitting alongside books Sara told him Shelby loves, and a few books about bugs and butterflies he's looking forward to exploring with her. "We agreed to let Shelby pick out most of the decorations, so I'm picking her up later and we're stopping by Target on the way home."

"I hope there's no limit on your credit card," Nick says with a chuckle. "That could get expensive."

"She's worth it."

In the end, though, he does have to say no to a few things – he knows she doesn't actually need a four-foot-long stuffed unicorn, for instance. Left to his own devices, he might still have indulged her, but Sara gave him very strict instructions to not spoil her too much, which he does understand. Still, they return home with enough things to stay busy in Shelby's room until there's a knock on the door, signaling Sara's arrival.

Shelby's focused on arranging the stuffed animals she was allowed to pick out on the bed, so he makes sure to close the security gate at the top of the stairs and goes down to open the door.

"Hi," Sara greets him with a smile, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head, and for a moment, she takes his breath away.

He needs to figure out how to do something about the situation they're in, take things to the next level, because he cannot let her slip through his fingers again. He just hopes his mother won't ruin what chance he actually does think he might have.

"Hi," he finally gets out. "Come on in, we're busy upstairs."

She follows him up the stairs and into Shelby's room, letting out a whistle. "Wow, this looks different."

"It's my room, Mommy," Shelby announces excitedly, apparently happy with the arrangement on the bed. "And look at all the books!"

Sara raises an eyebrow at him at the filled shelves and he shrugs. "I may have gone a little overboard there."

"No kidding."

"I like books," Shelby announces. "What's this one?"

She pulls a book from a shelf and gives it to him.

"This is the story about the children of Noisy Village," he tells her.

"Noisy Village?" Sara asks with a frown. "I've never heard of it."

"My mom ran an art gallery when I was younger," he starts. "For a couple of years, she was focused on Swedish art and spent quite a bit of time there. I went with her a couple of times, it's a beautiful country. When I couldn't go with her, she would came back with books about picturesque archipelago islands, a man with a propeller on his back, and a super strong little girl who lived alone in a crazy house with a horse and a monkey. I always loved them."

Shelby has already moved on to the toy chest in the corner and isn't paying attention to them anymore, but Sara steps closer and takes the book from him.

"Astrid Lindgren," she says slowly, trying to hit the right pronunciation. "You know, it rings a bell, but I don't think I've read anything by her."

"Well, I got the whole collection," he admits. "Some of them will definitely have to wait at least a few years… I was going to read them on my own before I read them to her, unless you want to do that? Make sure they're appropriate?"

She shakes her head with a smile. "I trust you. But I am kind of curious."

He goes to put the book back in the bookcase and extracts another one, handing it to her. "This one was my favorite when I was around ten, I think."

"The Brothers Lionheart." She turns the book over in her hand to read the synopsis on the back. "Yeah, you might want to give this one a few years."

"It was listed for eight to eleven-year-olds, so yes," he says. "But I think the Pippi books and a few of the others should be fine for now. Assuming she likes them, of course."

"They're books," Sara says amusedly. "She's going to love them. And since you won't be reading this one for a while, I'll borrow it."

"OK, what crawled up your butt and died?"

Grissom looks up from the tire tracks he's comparing to meet Catherine's eyes. "What?"

"You've been grumpy all night," she continues. "And lucky me, I get to put up with it. So spill."

He sighs, turning his attention back to the table in front of him. "Sorry, I didn't realize."

"I was hoping your grumpiness was a thing of the past," she notes. "You've been in such a good mood the past, oh, week and a half."

He ignores the innuendo in her voice.

"Yes, well, this afternoon, I have to pick up my mother at the airport. She's been on a cruise in the Caribbean for two weeks."

Catherine winces. "Yeah, I can see how that would put a damper on your mood. You haven't told her about Shelby yet?"

"I was putting it off until she got back," he admits.

"I don't blame you. Hey, Mom, hope the Bahamas is nice. Oh, and by the way, you're a grandmother. Not something you reveal over the phone."

"Exactly. So, I'm expecting a less than pleasant afternoon."

"You think she'll be mad?"

He sighs. "You've never met my mother…"

"Which is kind of weird, considering how long we've been friends, don't you think?" she cuts in.

"The only reason I've met your mother is that she's been involved in cases I've worked," he points out. "So, as I was saying – you've never met my mother, but she can be very… opinionated."

Catherine snorts. "Someone related to you, opinionated?"

"Funny. But unless you have any actual helpful advice…"

"Sorry, not my kind of dysfunctional family."

"Then help me with these tire tracks so I can at least get some sleep before I have to face her."

Without any divine intervention as to how to tell his mother, Grissom still makes sure to be at the airport when her flight gets in. Betty Grissom does not like waiting, and he doesn't want to start this conversation with her in a bad mood.

He keeps an eye on the somewhat steady stream of travelers coming through the doors to customs, even though he knows it'll be a while before the luggage arrives.

The reunions around him give him a hope for mankind that most shifts do a good job of destroying.

When he finally spots his mother, he moves into her line of sight, smiling when her face lights up at the sight of him.

"Hello, darling," she signs when she stops in front of him, and he leans down to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Hi, Mom. How was the cruise?"

"Wonderful, I certainly needed the break. You know, it's been too long since you took some time off. You should think about taking a trip yourself. I saw some information on the ship, they do singles cruises now and then. Might be fun."

He sighs and chooses not to address the 'singles cruise' thing. "You know it's not that easy for me to take time off from work, Mom."

"Aren't you the boss? Doesn't that come with any benefits?"

It's an old argument, and not one he's particularly interested in revisiting at the moment.

"Come on, let's get home," he signs instead, grabbing her large suitcase and guiding her towards the exit before she can argue.

Before they leave the airport, she insists on calling in an order to her favorite Italian place, and they pick up the food on the way. They talk about the cruise while they eat, Betty gushing over the beautiful beaches in Barbados, the quaint Old Street in Philipsburg, and the rainforest in Saint Kitts. She asks about work, and he gives her his standard response, avoiding anything too gritty.

When he's put the dishes in the dishwasher and started the coffee maker, he sits back down at the table to finally get to the point.

"There's something I need to talk to you about, Mom," he starts, watching as her eyebrows knit together.

"What's wrong? You're not sick, are you?"

He quickly shakes his head. "No, nothing's wrong, Mom, don't worry."

"Then what is it?"

He takes a breath, not sure where to start. He doesn't really discuss his personal life with his mother, even though she asks pointed questions now and then, but he feels he has to, now – he can't just jump in at this end of the story.

"About four years ago, we had a difficult case," he starts. "Two women found encased in tar at a building site, both what's called mail-order brides. It's when…"

Betty interrupts him with a gesture. "I'm not completely out of touch with reality, dear. I know what a mail-order bride is."

He shakes his head with a smile. "I didn't want to assume. There were suspicions of domestic abuse in relation to one of the women, one of my CSIs…" He pauses, considering his choice of word. It doesn't feel right; Sara has never been just a CSI to him. "A friend. She had a hard time handling it, lashed out at the suspect, and the lab supervisor, got suspended. I was worried about her, so I went over to talk to her, make sure she was OK. We… talked, and… well…"

When he looks at his mother, unable to finish the sentence, she's watching him with a soft smile on her face. "Sara?" she signs, making him frown.

"How did you…"

"I know you, darling. You couldn't stop talking about her after that conference in San Francisco years ago, and then again when you asked her to come here. She was in almost every story you told me about work. But then you stopped…"

He stopped talking about Sara when she left. Stopped talking about work, more or less. Of course his mother noticed. He's surprised she didn't call him on it.

"I still don't understand what you're trying to tell me, though," his mother continues. "Have you two been together for four years? Why didn't you say something?"

He shakes his head. "No. I… panicked. I left while she was asleep."

Betty's eyes flash. "Gilbert Arthur Grissom, I raised you better than that!" she signs angrily, the use of his full name making him wince. He can't remember the last time she used it, but it always makes him feel like he's in trouble.

"I know, Mom, I'm sorry."

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

"I know that." He sighs.

"So that's why you stopped talking about her?"

"No, that's not why. She left a couple of months later. Went back to San Francisco," he explains.

"You drove the poor girl out of the city!" She shakes her head, disapproval radiating off her.

"Yes, Mom, thank you. I don't feel bad enough as it is, a little extra guilt from you is just what I was looking for."

The coffee's been ready for a while, and he takes the excuse to get up from the table and turn his back on her for a moment. It's petty, he knows, something he used to do when he was younger, a clear message – I don't want to talk to you right now.

She respects it, though, waiting with her arms crossed when he turns back around with their coffee.

"I assume there's more?" she asks when he's sat back down.

He takes a sip before answering. "She's back. Started at the lab again on Monday."

"And have you done the proper thing and asked her out?" He can see the excitement in her eyes.

"No. I'm working on it… sort of," he says. "But it's not… it's complicated."

"Because of work?" Betty signs. "Forget work, there are more important things in life, darling."

He's already figured that out. "It's not work, Mom. When Sara left… she was pregnant."

It's been a while since he's rendered his mother speechless, so to speak, but that does the trick. She frowns, raising her hands as if she's about to say something, but then lowers them again. He waits, lets her process in her own time.

"A baby?" she finally asks.

"Not anymore, she just turned three," he explains, pulling the photos he brought out of the front pocket on his shirt. He pushes the first one, the one Sara gave him that first day, across the table. Betty's eyes snap down to it, one hand flying up to her mouth.

"Beautiful," she signs after a long moment, looking up at him and smiling, despite a few tears in her eyes.

"She is," he agrees.

"And you didn't know?"

He shakes his head. "But that's on me, OK, Mom? I don't want you to blame Sara for any of this."

"Of course not," she brushes him off. "I know how you are when you're in one of your moods, I wouldn't have been surprised if that poor girl left the country to get away from you."

"Thanks, Mom. Really."

"The truth hurts, darling. Now, tell me about my granddaughter."

AN: I don't know if Betty came across as too nice here? I always figured the issues in her relationship with Sara on the show was mostly due to the circumstances of her and Grissom's relationship, and while they aren't ideal here either, I decided to not go down the 'pissed mother-in-law' route