Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, inc.

A/N: I got this chapter done early. I thank everyone who is still reading. The flashbacks do not seem to be working for people. But I am really feeling okay about this because I have gotten sort of intrigued with this story and I am curious to see what will happen. I really have no idea which is probably not the best strategy for a writer. Anyway, I think you all rock for reading, and I love hearing from you.

Sheila

Chapter 3

Hope Springs

Sara leaned away from the toilet bowl. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and pulled herself up to her feet. She turned the sink on cold, and splashed her face. Holding a towel to her face, she went back to lie down on her bed. It had been almost five weeks of this. Nausea, exhaustion, and a loss of appetite had plagued her since she left Vegas. At first, she chalked it up to stress. A nervous stomach has long been her reaction to stress. She had begun to worry as it plagued her week after week. She wondered about depression. It had always plagued her to some degree, but she had always stayed so busy and active that she was able to stave off a need for medication.

Sara was very aware that she was mimicking signs of a first trimester pregnancy. It was exactly ten weeks earlier that she had stumbled out of his townhouse and out of his life. She remembered enough to know that their clumsy, drunken fumblings had culminated in intercourse, but she never told him. It was one moment; one hungry, sloppy moment of hard fought passion between two people who had checked their brains in the bottom of a liquor bottle. Pregnancy as an option always plagued the back of her mind, but it never made sense. Plus, she continued to have the sporadic bleeding that generally characterized her periods.

In an effort to quell her nausea, she rolled over onto her stomach, burying her head in her arms. The whole idea of pregnancy resulting from that night was terrifying. Bad judgment sent her over to his place with pizza and alcohol to help him drown his pain. She knew that he would probably never forgive himself the destroyed evidence. It was any CSI's nightmare; poor collection or processing resulting in a failed conviction and in Julianne Phillip's case, her death.

Brass had done everything he could to provide Julianne with safe shelter. He had squads keeping tabs on Rogers, but, in the end, nothing kept her from making the same safety errors she always had, and when she did, he was there, waiting.

Grissom had almost refused to let her in his home when she showed up with a twelve pack and large double anchovy extra cheese. She had to push past him to get in. Over and over, she told herself that he shouldn't be alone, and that she was the only one who would understand. So she was patient when he was sullen and non-communicative to her. She didn't argue with him when he wanted another drink. She had worked on Julianne's case too so she matched his scotch with longnecks. They sat in his leather chairs and talked. She didn't remember much of what they said. Mostly, they rehashed the self-loathing they had saddled themselves with over the years. He brought up the conversation that ended with his revealing feelings, and they argued. She remembered the arguing, most of it. She told him that he was controlling and clueless. He told her that she had been rude and heartless. Inhibitions gone, it didn't take much before she was in his face, pointing fingers. Then he grabbed her finger, and she was on top of him. There were no boundaries to stop them. Kissing, touching, grabbing; 8 years of pent up desire erupted. Her memories collided with the base nature of the moment. They said nothing to one another. Instead they focused on need. Sara woke up in the middle of the night in his bed, hopelessly twisted in a bed sheet. He laid beside her, naked, half off the bed, snoring loudly.

In the morning when she woke again, he was gone. Wrapping the sheet tightly around her torso, she dragged her heavy head into the bathroom and splashed water on her face. She could barely focus her blurry eyes as she stumbled into the living room. A pair of bikini underwear with Spongebob Squarepants lay on top of the recliner and she groaned, swiping it up and stuffing it under the bed sheet. Lightheaded and hungover, she carefully surveyed the rest of the room, looking for the rest of her clothing. She found her bra on the kitchen floor and her t-shirt under the coffee table. Somehow, her jeans eluded capture, and she struggled to remember where she shed them. The door behind her opened and Grissom emerged. His hair was wild and tousled, and he wore pajama bottoms. He looked at her out of the slits of his puffy eyes. He tossed her jeans to her. "You spilt beer on them. I ran them through the wash."

She turned and shuffled back into his bedroom, shutting the door soundly. When she returned, he had found a t-shirt to wear over the bottoms and he was sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a cup of coffee. He pointed a steaming cup already on the table for her. She slumped down in the chair, careful to avoid his gaze.

Minutes passed, and they sat quietly seeking solace in their cups of coffee. Finally Grissom lifted his head. "I don't know what to say, Sara. I was drunk. I am sorry."

She had been expecting this, but couldn't stem the anger rising up in her. "I didn't expect this either." She mumbled.

"I know." He sighed. "It seems that we're destined to screw this up."

She looked away, struggling to keep her frustration in check.

"Do you remember everything?" He asked gently.

She shook her head and stared down into her cup.

He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the chair. "We didn't…or did we? I…suspect that I might not have been up to the task."

She didn't know what to say. Impatiently, she rubbed at a tear sliding down her cheek.

"God, what's wrong with me?" He growled. "I screw up an investigation and get a woman killed and now this."

She swallowed hard and sat there, unable to move.

"Sara, I have never for a moment wanted to hurt you; especially not you. You have already been through so much this year with the suspension and issues from your past."

"I'm not your child, Grissom!" Her words came hard and low.

"Sara, I'm not trying to—"

"Listen Grissom, you are not responsible for everything that happens in this world."

"Sara, I screwed up. That woman is dead because of me. I forgot to put those samples in the cooler because I was thinking about you."

"You were thinking of me?"

"Yeah. I was. I let my personal emotions invade my work."

"And you must never let that happen again." She said softly

"I can't afford it."

She nodded slowly. "I almost believed we were going to get it right this time."

Grissom let out a big breath. "I'm not in a position to give much of anything right now."

"Yeah, I can see that." She pushed her chair back and got up. "I think we would both be happier right now if we weren't in the same space."

She waited for a reply, but got silence. So she turned and left him alone in his townhouse. Bright sun terrorized her when she opened the front door, but she kept going, keeping her sobs as quiet as possible until she got to her car.

Sara's nausea passed and she pulled herself to a sitting position in her bed. Her new apartment was small. Housing prices in San Francisco were ridiculous, but from her window, she had a view of the Golden Gate. She pulled the curtain back and raised the window. She let the cool air drift in and let it wash over her. She shivered in response, but left the window open, exposing herself to the sensation of loneliness.

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Grissom walked stiffly back to his seat in the courtroom. His testimony had been long. He had recounted every last moment of conversation he had shared with Julianne. Rogers' defense attorney had cross examined him roughly, focused on his ruined samples, suggesting that he had reason to shift attention away from his mistake. Grissom responded dispassionately, unfazed by the man's allegations.

He settled into a seat near the back next to Jim Brass. Jim gave him a nod and then returned his concentration to the proceedings. The incessant throb of his migraine plagued him, but he had stopped fighting it. He let the pain become part of him. Grissom focused his attention on Rogers who fidgeted in his seat next to his attorney. He was a wiry, dark haired man who wore his suit as if it were trying to choke him. His attorney kept thwarting his efforts to take off the jacket or roll up the sleeves. Rogers had a hard time focusing on testimony. He spent a good deal of time craning his head to get a look at the people behind him. Grissom was angry that he had allowed an idiot like this get away with so much.

A tired woman in her late 50's sat across the aisle from him. He recognized her as Julianne's mother. He remembered her wails of grief down in the morgue. A small child sat next to her, squirming in and out of her lap. With a start, he realized that this was probably Julianne's baby. He searched his memory for her name, but could only remember that it started with an L. He wondered why she would bring such a small child to such grim surroundings. A wave of nausea hit and he closed his eyes for a few moments in an effort to settle himself.

Jim touched his arm and told him that the judge had adjourned the proceedings for the day. Startled, Grissom looked around to see people slowly getting up and filing out of the room. Julianne's mother got up and came their direction. She looked worn beyond her years. He remembered Brass telling him that she was a longtime alcoholic, and that Julianne spent most of her childhood in foster care.

Grissom felt compelled to say something to her, an effort to assuage his guilt. He stood up and walked toward her. "Mrs. Phillips. I don't know if you would remember me. My name is Gil Grissom."

She gave him a thin smile. "I just spent two hours listening to you talk about how you screwed up my daughter's case. I doubt that I will ever forget you."

Shame flooded through his body and left him paralyzed. Jim stepped up beside him. "Is this Julianne's little girl?"

The woman looked down at the child she was holding tightly by her arm. "This is Lucy Bell."

The child had light mocha skin and piercing blue eyes. Her dusty brown hair was tied into knots around her head. A few kinky tendrils escaped giving her something of a wild look.

"You taking care of her?" Brass asked.

The woman shrugged. "Lucy's father was never in the picture. Don't know his family either. My own kids are more screwed up than I am."

"Perhaps, social services would be able to place her."

Mrs. Phillips screwed up her face. "They raised all my kids, and did a damn poor job. I'm not moving that direction. I'm not much but I am kin."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Grissom's voice surprised them all.

"You want to raise her? Seems like you should, you know."

Grissom rubbed his forehead and looked away.

"Mistakes happen, Mrs. Phillips. Rogers is only here today because of Dr. Grissom's work." Brass said.

"Look, Julianne was playing a risky game. The girl was always this way. She's just as responsible for what happened as anyone. But I am not interested in being part of your penance. This child needs a lot. You want to give me money to take care of her? Great. But I gotta warn you. I get just enough right now to live on, but not enough to drink myself to death. So be careful of asking too much of me. I'm not making any kind of promises about what kind of life I can give her."

"Mrs. Phillips, we're not offering to raise your granddaughter. And I don't see anyone with a checkbook out. But maybe there are resources that we can help you with. Here's my card. If there is something you can think of, please call me." Brass took over the conversation. He gave her the card and physically steered Grissom away from her. Taking his arm, he pulled him toward the parking lot.

"How about some dinner, Grissom?"

"I still haven't slept. I should probably get a couple of hours before I go in."

"You're not going in, Grissom. I talked to Ecklie."

Grissom stopped and creased his brow. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're tired. He knew you were going to be in court most of the afternoon. Clearly you have a migraine…and a couple of job applicants are going to shadow Sophia tonight."

Grissom snorted. "I'm past that. He can hire in peace."

"You could use the night off. Come on. I'm buying. You need to eat before you sleep." Without waiting for an answer, Brass pushed him toward his car.

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Sara and Thomas named her Hope. When Sara came to see her next, Thomas had wrapped a teddy bear in plastic tightly to protect Hope from contamination, and put it in the drawer with her. It was clearly a breach of protocol, but Sara found that she was touched. They both knew that no one else was looking in that drawer so the teddy bear stayed.

After going through the files carefully, Sara was able to kick back some of them to the original investigators for follow-up. Hope she kept. Abandoned by the side of the road, malnourished, abused sexually and physically, Sara felt a deep anger for this child's life and death. For Sara, an inevitable need to avenge her death took hold, and she protected the case fiercely.

Marc found her in a quiet corner; the only light a small table lamp, furiously scribbling pages of notes on the case. He leaned over to see what she was working on, and then stood back, letting out a deep sigh. "Not going to stop until you find her justice, are you?"

She looked up. "Isn't that what you want?"

"Your ability to be so single minded has always amazed me." He sat down in a chair across from her. "If I ever kill someone, I'll make sure it is outside of your jurisdiction."

She smiled. "Don't worry, Marc. All of my close friends get a pass on their first murder."

"Sometimes you worry me. You work so hard. I'm always having to tell you to go home. You feel so much. You throw up when I bring you mock duck lo mein, and refuse to listen to me when I tell you to go to the doctor."

She put her pen down and looked at him. "I'm not pregnant, Marc."

"Great!" He clapped his hands. "So I'll get an over the counter test just to confirm that so that I can begin sleeping at night."

"No!"

"Did you think you were pregnant when that suspect pulled a gun on you, told you to get on the floor, and you refused to comply?" He looked at her intensely.

She swallowed hard and her eyes couldn't meet his.

"Sara, answer me."

"He was going to take evidence away from me. He was going to destroy my samples."

"He was going to destroy you. I don't care if you had the Green River Killer's taped confession in your hands. A man with a gun asks you to do something and you do it, Sara."

"I'm mixed up right now. I don't know if I am angry, sad, scared or what half the time. I think I am all of those things simultaneously, and it makes it hard." She nervously played with the pen in her hand.

"And I can't put you out there again until you understand what's going on inside you?"

She nodded, staring down at the pen as she twirled it around her fingers.

"Sara, did you care what would happen to you? Did you care that he was going to shoot you?"

He sat for a while waiting for a response, but she sat there silently, unable to look up at him. Finally he got up and walked around the table. He stroked the back of her hair and then hugged her around her neck and whispered in her ear. "Sara, I will always remember that you loved me when I was just a geeky kid in the physics department. We did everything together. Studied. Took classes. You were always smarter." He chuckled. "We chased the same boys. You stayed with me all night after I told my parents I was gay and my mom told me I would burn in hell. You were there when I met Matthew. And you were there when my mom decided to come visit me and learn for herself what my life was all about. And there was a time that I wouldn't have laid down either if a man was pointing a gun in my face. But I was lucky because I had you there. So now you have me, Sara. And I'm going to be there until you feel strong again." He lingered for another moment, and then gently let go. She watched him walk away. The pen slipped from her shaking fingers.

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"Do you need me to cut your meat for you?" Brass asked as he watched Grissom push a piece of top sirloin around on his plate.

Grissom ignored him, switching his attention to the mashed potatoes.

"Why don't you tell me about what's going on?"

Grissom lifted an eyebrow. "I'm tired. I have a migraine. And you won't leave me alone."

Elbows on the table, Brass pointed his fork at Grissom. "Tell me what happened with Sara."

"No." Grissom took a sip of his scotch.

"Gil, do you know how many friends you have?"

Grissom shrugged.

"Well, I'll tell you. You don't have many."

Grissom sighed. "And the point of this?"

"I am your friend. You are supposed to share information with me. I am supposed to give you bad advice.

You aren't holding up your part of the deal." Brass pulled his napkin out of his collar and dropped it on his plate.

"Jim, I don't need any advice. There is nothing to be done."

Brass folded his arms across his chest and relaxed.

"What?" Grissom said, dropping his knife onto his plate.

"I'll show you mine, if you show me yours."

Grissom arched an eyebrow. "You know something?"

Brass grinned. "Got your attention, didn't I?"

"Tell me."

"Once again, you are not understanding the reciprocal nature of this relationship." Brass reached over and sipped his beer.

Grissom licked his lips. "All right. I gave Sara the idea that I was thinking about her in a personal way. When Julianne Phillips died, she reached out to me, and I didn't handle it well."

Brass shook his head. "Somehow I suspect that it was a little less civilized than you make it sound, but it's a start."

Grissom leaned forward. "I heard you were looking for Sara's number the other day. I heard you were pretty upset. What's going on?"

"I got a call from a friend in the department up in San Francisco. He was pretty heated about an incident involving at a crime scene. Needed to find out what he was dealing with."

"What happened?"

"She was lifting finger prints from a paperweight at a scene. Officers were questioning family members in the room. She picked up the paperweight, saying to the lieutenant that it was probably the murder weapon, and the dead man's brother reacted. He pulled a gun."

"You're kidding?"

"Desperate people are idiots. What can I say?"

"He trained the gun on Sara and told her to give him the paperweight. And she wouldn't."

Grissom's mouth dropped.

"She stood there, talking to him as if she was having a conversation with him. He got agitated. Detectives were trying to control the situation, guns drawn, yelling at her to give him the paperweight. But she didn't."

Grissom shook his head. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"Officers had to take him from behind. It was a risk. He still had the gun pointed at her. They got him. Sara was okay, but she was suspended, and they aren't going to let her back into the field until she retakes the recruit safety class."

"Why would she do this? I don't understand."

"I tried to talk to her, but she's avoiding me. I think she's going to need more than I can offer."

"I don't know what to do. What should I do?" Grissom took his glasses off and looked at Jim.

"Now you are starting to understand this friendship thing."

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TBC