This is a follow-up to Finding Memories. However, it is a dark time for our favorite CSIs. No need to read making Memories (but do and leave us a review!!) We do not own CSI, or any of these characters. About all we own is a Pat O'Brians Hurricane glass filled with Mardi Gras beads!

Hope and Justice

Chapter 1

Sara had returned twice for a few days, flying into town when Grissom could not leave. She had quiet talks with each of her former co-workers who gave overwhelming support to her; each one saying in their individual way that she was a friend, offering encouragement without asking too many questions.

She had searched for ghosts and found memories, found her mother, found that the man who loved her did so without reservation. He also helped her find a therapist for her haunting dreams and those thoughts that refused to completely free her mind. In hours spent with a professional and in the virtual reality of reliving her past, Sara found her future.

Grissom knew. He had known all along. Her future was with him. This third trip, she would tell him what he already knew.

She had jumped for a standby ticket arriving hours before he expected her. She would be at home when he walked in, smiling, her things scattered from living room to bedroom in the wake of her arrival. He would touch each item until he found her waiting for him.

When the front door yielded to her touch; it was not even snug into its frame—she knew some thing was amiss. The quietness was her second clue. If Grissom was home, music was on. She pushed the door open and softly said his name.

Instead of the man she called, she heard the padding of the dog's paws across the wood floor.

"Hank," she reached to pat his head and rub his ears. If the dog was here so was Grissom.

The dog turned and looked expectantly at the bedroom doorway, then made a hasty retreat in that direction.

Migraine, she thought as she followed the dog. However, passing the kitchen, she detected a smell and noticed broken glass, shards on the floor, a few pieces on the cabinet. She quickened her steps.

Stretched across the bed was who she sought; completely dressed, face down, a white towel wrapped around one hand.

"Gil," she said as she moved around the bed and knelt beside him. Her hand touched his hair. Something was very wrong. She said his name a second time.

Eyelids flickered before coming into focus. "Sara." He rolled to his back, bringing his hand to his face moving it across his mouth before touching her face. "Sara."

She reached for his hand wrapped in a towel. "What's happened, Babe?" She unfolded the cloth seeing red before she found his hand and the wound across his palm. Her eyes found his seconds before she heard the sound he made.

Distress, rage, pain rolled into one lonely unexplained utterance that was stopped as his fist covered his mouth. The look on her face must have stopped him. Seeing his eyes filled with tears, knowing they were not caused by the cut on his hand, the confusion showing in her face silenced the sound coming from him.

He pushed himself up in bed reaching for her. "I couldn't call. I knew you were coming. I didn't want to tell you over the phone." His voice choked off his words. She knew he cried as he pulled her against his chest.

"What? Tell me." Sara thought of Brass. "Is it Brass?" He was the one most often in the path of true danger. She felt the shake of his head against her own. Her hands moved to his face. "Tell me."

Sitting side by side on the bed they shared, he told her what he had kept from her for weeks. Warrick. The murdered dancer in Warrick's car. Gedda, dead. Warrick. Warrick in a drug induced coma, severely wounded. He gasped as the last words were spoken using his uninjured hand to clutch her as he cried against her shoulder.

Sara remained at his side. She had wrapped and rewrapped his cut hand as he spoke. If her silent tears could heal, his bloodied hand would be whole again. She never lifted her hand to her face as he told her the events leading up to his last words. She knew more than anyone how much he loved Warrick—almost as the son he never had. Grissom watched over and complimented him as he did no others. He righted the wrongs; he ignored his misgivings; Warrick was the rock of Grissom's team.

Sara also knew that Warrick was not the person Grissom wanted or believed him to be. She knew Warrick had his own personal demons, gambling first, prescription drug use, his relationships with women, all served as feet of clay in this strong, reliable rock. Years ago she had decided not to point out these characteristics; Grissom knew but wanted to believe that Warrick could and would be a better man.

Be kind; leave a review! Thanks.