01 – Beware Mothers Bearing Gifts


If many a mother has a sixth sense about them when it comes to the things we think we have most hidden, then why would Gil Grissom’s mother be any different?

Takes place prior to season one, circa August 2000


In memory of Jane, whose gifts of love and kindness will ever be remembered. You will always be the mother of my heart. 


Gil Grissom wrenched open the top two buttons of his polo and let out a long deep sigh as he sank down in front of his computer. While he knew he probably should be spending the short time he had left before having to go back into work again doing something constructive, like sleeping, he just didn’t relish the prospect of lying in bed awake for hours. Besides, he reasoned, it was really already too late to bother. He had gotten off even later than he had anticipated, but it was the middle of August, six weeks into a 100 plus degree days heat wave, and the raging summer temperatures just made the natives more restless, and the tourists were even worse.

As he waited for the machine to boot up, he thumbed through the pile of mail he had brought in with him. There were the usual bills, journals and several very official looking envelopes from the various organizations and associations of which he was a member. As usually was the case, there were few personal letters. He did however unearth a thick padded envelope with a very familiar Southern California postmark and address.

Grissom shook his head in exasperation. As he had never been very fond of birthdays and there was nothing particularly special about turning forty-four, he had hoped that the whole day would pass without any fanfare or real acknowledgement, and for the most part, it had. It seemed, however, that his mother had other ideas.

But before he could open the package, his instant messaging service buzzed.

You’re home rather late, flashed upon his screen.

Speaking of mothers, he chuckled. It wasn’t as if the two of them messaged that often, although the practice had certainly proved a lot more convenient and easier than TTY. Irregardless,  he should have expected her to be waiting for him online today.

He quickly typed, It’s Vegas and summer as if that explained everything and then, How are you?

His mother replied, Fine and you?

Grissom smirked as he retyped, It’s Vegas and summer, which earned him a smile from her. Your package came today, he added.

Have you opened it? she asked.

Not yet.

At her reply of I can wait, he pulled the knife from his pocket and sliced the envelope open. A book with Single after 50: How to Have the Time of Your Life by Adeline McConnell and Beverly Anderson emblazoned on the cover fell onto his desk . More than a bit bewildered, he flipped open the front cover to read the blurb on the dusk jacket:

A widow and a divorcee, both over fifty, offer insight into and advice pertinent to the special problems confronted by persons of their age who have chosen to remain single or who have been left single by death, divorce, or abandonment.

With practical, specific examples that you can use to draw upon in your own life, this is a book about people who have changed their lives, people who have learned to stop worrying and start living.

It wasn’t until his screen flashed, You still there? that Grissom realized he had been sitting there dumbstruck and utterly at a loss.

Yes, he hurriedly replied.

I was going through my old books, his mother explained. And I thought you might find it instructive. I did when I turned fifty.

You do realize it is still six years before I turn fifty? he typed still baffled.

You know what they say

He pursed his lips as he wondered if it was exactly prudent to hazard ask, No what? but did anyway.

Tempus Fugit, she replied.

Time flies? Grissom translated. No wait, time flees, he corrected.

He could picture the amusement on his mother’s face when he read, See all that Latin came in handy for something other than just bugs and was happy that sarcasm wasn’t something that translated well over messenger as he replied, Thanks mom.

Her You’re welcome certainly proved that.

He was about to beg off on the pretense of heading off to bed when her next message stopped him in his tracks: I forgot to ask you how that girl you met at the academy conference two years ago is doing.

Girl? he queried.

Sara, his mother supplied.

Sara? Grissom echoed. Then when she didn’t immediately reply, he typed, Sara, the CSI from San Francisco, Sara?

At her How many girls named Sara do you know, Gilbert? Grissom realized that he might need to revise his previous notions regarding sarcasm, especially when she added, Yes, that one.

Fine as far as I know, he answered. Then as his curiosity having been piqued by his mother’s unexpected display of interest in one Sara Sidle, finally got the better of him, he typed, Why do you ask?

She answered his question with a question of her own. How many of your former seminar participants do you correspond with on a regular basis?

Plenty actually, he supplied.


Yes really, he readily replied, although that wasn’t entirely the truth, but his mother didn’t need to know that. Besides Sara was in San Francisco and he was in Vegas and that wasn’t likely to ever change, even if there had been anything to it, to which he hurriedly appended, there hadn’t.

The more he thought about it, though Grissom realized that while his mother usually stayed out of his personal life, or rather the lack there of, she had in the course of the last year or so displayed an inordinate amount of solicitude when it came to Sara. The thing was he couldn’t remember when or why or how Sara had first come up in their periodic conversations.

It’s purely professional mom, he quickly added. Academic really. Besides she’s twenty-eight and just starting out.

As if she already knew what he was going to say next, she said, And you’re just the mentor.

Yes, he agreed. He had begun to type, Since when are you worried, when he changed his mind about asking that question, but when he went to hit the delete key, it seemed his fingers had other ideas and pressed return instead and sent the message.

He held his breath as he waited for his mother’s response. After a moment, the words I’m not worried. Just concerned filled the message screen. But before he could reply she said, Happy Birthday, Gil and signed off.

Thanks, mom,” Grissom said, this time out loud, and with a bemused shake of the head, shut his computer down and gave the book now sitting on his desk another bewildered glance before picking it up and beginning to examine it in earnest.

It couldn’t hurt, he mused.


A/N: While the way that Grissom acquired this particular book is purely my imagining, this particular book does really exist on Grissom’s book shelf in episode 123 “The Strip Strangler” – it’s presence has perplexed me ever since…


Have a question or want to leave a comment or concern and don’t have a wordpress account? Please feel free to email me at kadhmercer@gmail.com

2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. jenstogner
    Jan 07, 2009 @ 03:19:02

    lol. love it- and I normally HATE anything pre-season 5 gsr-ish!

  2. sarafly
    Apr 09, 2009 @ 23:00:22

    Cute story. I’ved always imagine Grissom’s mother a strong character like this. And as a mom, she knew her son’s feelings for Sara.

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