A/N: A new story, several months after the final sail into the sunset. We appreciate hearing from readers!

Hidden Answers

Chapter 1

It was not raining at the moment but the night was filled with a vast uproar of noise of wind and waves that the absence of water falling from the sky was nearly unnoticeable to the man whipped by the storm.

In the usually protected marina, the tide had rolled in, breaking into a confusion of foam and spray. Out in the ocean, there were white caps everywhere. The horizon was dark, disappearing into equally dark water. Docks were beaten by breakers that struck, rose, fell and withdrew, leaving the platforms glinting with pools of water for a few moments before returning in hissing assaults. Boats bucked and rolled even with extra fenders and secure lines.

A weather prediction of fast moving rain had turned into an hours-long gale of high winds, massive waves, and heavy rain and showed no sign of lessening.

Gil Grissom hunched and hurried along the dock in a shambling run, nearly bent double with his load. Reaching his boat, he quickly added two more fenders between boat and dock, adjusted spring lines once again before swinging himself onto the boat. Quickly surveying the deck, checking that everything was tied down or stowed away, he opened the door to the cabin and slammed it shut, sliding the bolt into its lock. Hanging his water slicked jacket over a bucket and removing his boots before he climbed down to the forward berth, he smelled popcorn. Even with the boat securely docked, the wind and crash of waves rocked the boat making him grab for handholds in the small space.

"No wet clothes in bed!"

Laughing, he sat on the bed and stripped off his socks and pants. "It's a gale out there—should pass soon," he said as he dropped a damp sock to the floor; pants followed in a heap. His hand searched under covers for the body belonging to the voice. "You sure you're okay?"

He found a shoulder as dark eyes appeared; then a hand, an arm as his wife shoved covers aside and sat up, a bowl of popcorn held with one arm.

In the soft light of the cabin, with a raging storm pummeling the boat, she took his breath, made him momentarily speechless. Yet his mind raced; raced back to a time he'd thought all was lost, remained there for a few seconds before returning to the present. He grinned.

Her hand reached for his hair, ruffling fingers through it as she said, "It's rough out there—this boat has been like a roller coaster." Pulling his face to hers, she gave him a quick popcorn-tasting kiss and asked, "Did you get another fender?"

"Two—should be enough and everything is tied down." Grissom pulled his legs into bed, his feet seeking warmth. "Weather is unusual—where's your phone? Can you check weather? This system was supposed to pass quickly."

For several minutes, as Sara pulled up current weather conditions, Grissom snuggled into a warm space, hands finding the familiar curves of the woman in bed with him. His head found a favorite resting place as Sara held her phone making little noises as she used her thumb to scroll.

He ate popcorn, waiting for her weather report.

Finally, holding the phone so he could see the screen, she said, "This system has stalled—right on top of us." She groaned, saying, "Two inches of rain. It's—it's like a hurricane."

For several minutes, they listened to a voice giving details of a tropical storm combining with a system moving from the north resulting in the growing monster storm beating against the boat. Reports of flooded roads and fallen trees followed; no marine update.

Suddenly, the phone blinked and 'no service' flashed on the screen.

Sara shrugged, placing the phone in a small compartment beside the bed.

Grissom found the place for his head against her chest. "You sure you are okay? Don't feel seasick?"

Her fingers raked through his hair as she kissed the top of his head. "I'm fine—how are you? How many have you ridden out?"

With a voice muffled by popcorn, he answered, "Several. Once off the coast of Alaska—I thought the boat and I were headed for Davy Jones' locker. Not that Davy Jones was ever near Alaska but that night…" he laughed. "Lots worse than this."

As the boat rolled, Sara scooted into bed, placing the nearly empty bowl in a shelf beneath the bed before pulling covers over both of them. Softly, she giggled as his hand caressed her belly, crossed her hip, and found her back as he pulled her closer.

"Was anyone in the office?"

He knew why she asked and said, "Only the evening manager. He said he'd sent Joey home—wherever that is—several hours ago."

Joey was a young dock hand who, from what they had observed, took care of dock lines and ropes. He didn't talk. He rarely made eye contact with anyone and, from appearances, seemed to be simple minded. He did not assist with docking and launching of boats, he didn't use water hoses or haul supplies; he rolled ropes at the docks

"You don't think he's deaf?" She asked.

Grissom shook his head, saying, "I think he can hear—he doesn't know American sign language—I've tried several times when he was rolling up rope."

"What did he do?"

"Wouldn't look at me for one thing. He made some sounds—grunting but no words. Pointed at the office."

"I wonder where he lives. I've been here—three times now—and he's always here. So he must be capable of riding the bus or someone picks him up."

"Someone is taking care of him—his clothes are clean. He appears to be fed."

Sara said, "It's just odd for a boy—he's not a boy—he's in his thirties, I'd say—for a young man not to talk—not to say words of some kind."

"Well," Grissom said, his voice softened by speaking against her chest, "he's—he's developmentally disabled—and sometimes that affects a person's ability to form words. I think."

"Most everyone ignores him and he goes around rolling ropes."

"He seems to have a sense of purpose with what he does." He moved is face so they were facing one another. The only light source was rain softened marina lights. His hand cradled her face; his thumb moved gently across her cheek as he said, "He's been here for several years."

Sara kissed his nose and then they kissed each other, properly.

"Can you sleep?" He asked between several quick kisses. "We have a big day tomorrow."

Laughing, Sara nodded, thinking it might take her a while, but she'd sleep. She reached for the switch for the overhead light, saying, "It's your big day. Instead of being arrested, you're going to speak to the harbor patrol and San Diego law enforcement about shark fin smuggling." She wiggled into a comfortable position, laughing again. "What a difference a few months makes."

Grissom's laughter joined hers. "More ways than one, I'd say."

Outside, waves heaved and broke. Diagonal rain struck the boat with a continuous torrent but tucked into a warm, dry bed, wrapped together, the two slept.

In absolute darkness, a tremendous racket woke them; Sara heard someone calling Grissom's name along with—she realized—banging on the boat above their bed. Grissom groaned, finally coming awake and reaching for the light switch.

"What is going on?" He said as he got out of bed, quickly grabbing for a handhold as the boat rolled.

"Must be this storm," Sara said as she pulled on pants before getting out of bed.

Grissom found the pants he'd tossed to the floor and, after putting them on, he climbed the ladder to the upper cabin. Sara was behind him. By the time Grissom flipped on the boat's lights and unlocked the door, she could see a shadowy figure wearing a dark rain jacket standing—holding onto the dock. Bright reflective letters, familiar to anyone who had worked in law enforcement, were visible even in the torrential rain.

Almost at the same instant, they recognized the voice.

"Nick?"

Grissom pushed the door open. Rain hit his face as he yelled, "Nick!"

The force of the gale was greater, pushing Grissom back even as he held the door open. Nick's flashlight caught their startled faces in the slanting downpour.

Yelling over the storm, he said, "Storm's getting worse! I couldn't get either of you to answer your phones—so I came to get you!"

It took a minute for Grissom to pull on his rain jacket, exit the cabin in bare feet, and extend his hand to Nick. "Come aboard," he yelled into the turbulence of wind and water.

The boat was rolling so viciously that Nick finally tossed his flashlight to Grissom, grabbed the rail with both hands and jumped. A stumbling sprawl and slide on the wet deck got him near the door where Sara was able to grasp his hand and help him inside.

Even with rain jackets, both men were soaking wet. All three were reaching for something to hold on to as the weather assaulted the boat in another rolling pitch.

Greetings were quick as Nick already knew of their arrival in San Diego. He said, "I tried calling but when you didn't answer—I knew I'd need to come—beg you to get off this boat and come to my place! Disasters everywhere—streets flooded, trees down—a couple of cell towers are down; everything has turned into an emergency."

When Grissom started to object, Nick added, "This storm isn't going away—another twelve to fifteen hours before it moves off—and—and our conference starts this afternoon." Pausing for a minute, he looked from Sara to Grissom, back to Sara. "Say you'll come, Sara." He grinned, saying, "If you come, he'll come."

An hour later, Nick's truck pulled into a multi-level parking garage with Sara and Grissom sitting beside him, their duffle stowed behind the seat.

"I'm going to get you inside then head over to the lab. It's a quiet condo—get some sleep and food in the 'frig that's yours to eat."

In the shuffle to get out of the truck, Grissom reached for the duffle, struggling to get it free as Nick got out and Sara scooted over to the driver's side to climb out.

Nick turned, extended his hand to Sara as her legs swung to the paved surface and turned to get her bag. He was talking, saying nothing important as he took her arm. Her rain jacket opened; her shirt was damp, clinging in places. He had known her for years—his eyes traveled from her face downward as she slipped the strap of her bag over her head and across her chest. A glance—two seconds—that's all it took.

A realization hit him so suddenly that he stopped speaking. His mouth dropped open as he stared. Nick had often read the phrase 'a pregnant pause' in novels. This seemed to be one.

A/N: Let us know what you think! More coming...