Title: You Have a What?

Author: Jedi Buttercup

Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: B:tVS, CSI. He was definitely Grissom for the conversation at hand, not Gil, no matter how apologetically he was staring at Sara over the spread pages of a DNA analysis report. 1000 words.

Spoilers: B:tVS post-"Chosen"; vaguely season six-ish for CSI.

Notes: For beatriceotter again, by request.

"You have. A what," Sara said flatly, staring across the cluttered desk at Grissom. He was definitely Grissom for the conversation at hand, not Gil, no matter how apologetically he was staring at her over the spread pages of a DNA analysis report.

"A daughter," he replied, simply. "I know it comes as a surprise. It did to me, too."

"A surprise?" she blurted, trying in vain to imagine her intensely private, deeply feeling, meticulous lover as the knock 'em up and leave 'em type. Casual relationships, maybe. Avoidance of responsibility, though? It seemed even less likely than the first worry that had flashed through her mind: that the XX on that report was another secret he'd been keeping for who knew how long. "Winning the lottery is a surprise. Kids take nine months to arrive; it's kind of difficult not to realize they're coming."

The lines around his eyes drew in a little in a pained wince. "Not when you're twenty-two and the mother announces that it's her fiancé's baby, not yours," he said.

"When you're...?" Sara blinked as the age reference sank in. "Wow. Okay. So she's... not an infant, then."

That was a little easier to wrap her mind around. Everyone went a little wild in college, in her experience; she certainly had no room to throw stones. Their romantic relationship was still fairly new, but she'd been in love with him for years, and the idea of him impregnating another woman after she'd moved to Vegas for him had stung. Even if she was kind of ambivalent about the idea of having children herself, and even though she hadn't had proprietary rights for most of that time-- Sara wasn't a big enough person to accept that without a qualm. She was a little relieved that she wouldn't have to.

"Ah... no." The corner of Grissom's mouth twitched a little. "Perhaps I should have led with that. She's a college student, at Cleveland State. Apparently she's known who I am for some time, but it didn't occur to her until she saw me on the news that I might want to know about her."

"So she just sends you a lock of her hair?" Sara scrunched up her nose. "That seems a little...."

She wasn't sure how to finish the sentence. Presumptuous? Mistrustful? Cowardly? All of the above? A moot point regardless, since he had run the test. But still.

The faint signs of amusement in his expression grew more pronounced at her unfinished objection. "As I said. Apparently, her mother told her who I am."

Sara's face contorted as she tried not to laugh; okay, he'd got her with that one. "So after all this time, she lets you know. What now? I mean, does she want anything? Are you going to meet her? Play penpals? What?"

"I... don't know," he shrugged. "In her letter-- I should have brought it; I'll have to show you later-- she left the degree of contact up to me. I do feel I should share my medical history, but beyond that... well. I never planned on children. I'm not sure what to feel, yet. And I know you haven't had... the best experiences."

No; she hadn't. Her own childhood was still too raw a subject for Sara to discuss casually, but she was touched that he was considering her comfort in the situation. As long as it had taken them to finally get their acts together, it still took her by surprise how much room he had made for her in his life. That came with its own level of responsibility, though. What would be the right thing to say, here?

"I won't lie; I'm a little uncomfortable with the idea," she said, smiling wryly. "She's got to be only, what. Nine years younger than I am?" All kinds of evil trophy stepmother clichés started with that kind of age spread. "She is an adult, though; so it's not like you have to make a decision on whether or not to take her in, or anything. You can meet her once, and never see her again if it doesn't go well."

Grissom furrowed his brow at that, weaving his fingers together atop his desk. "Would it be too much to ask you to be there?"

Sara took a breath, and sat back a little in her chair, resisting the temptation to lean forward and lay her hand atop his. "I... would like to say yes. But given everything...." She gestured vaguely toward the barely-cracked door. They hadn't yet told anyone else that they were together, as he was still her supervisor. Meeting his daughter as a couple would be risky on more than just a personal level.

"Of course. You're right." He sighed, more hesitant than she was used to from him, but still resolved. "I'll contact her, then, and set something up. Somewhere neutral."

"Keep me posted," she smiled crookedly at him. "Hey, what's her name, by the way? You didn't say."

"Didn't I?" He quirked an amused smile: mostly in the eyes, but she'd learned how to read them over the years. "Buffy Summers. Her mother was... an art student."

Sara choked back a laugh, then waved again, vaguely. "I see. Well. I'd probably better...."

He nodded, tucking the report away in a drawer. "Right. Catherine could probably use another pair of hands with her 419. If I don't see you...?"

She nodded as she got up; they'd meet for breakfast as usual. "Sure. And, hey. Gil?"

"Hmmm?" He blinked a little distractedly at her, mind already halfway back into work mode.

"Thanks for not waiting to tell me," she said quietly, one hand on the doorjamb.

His smile softened, warming her clear through. "We've had more than our share of misunderstandings."

And they'd have more, undoubtedly. But he was working on it, now; and she could do no less. She grinned back at him, then slipped out of his office and went to pick up her kit.

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