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

Thanks to everyone for reading. Getting another chapter up soon will be a struggle. I have finals next week. This chapter doesn't have much action, mostly reflection and memories. Tonight is Committed and I am so terribly excited. I hope it will be as good as promised. I appreciate every bit of feedback I get. It helps me stay focused. Thank you.

Sheila

Chapter 5

Hope Springs

Sara lay on her bed and reflected over the last 36 hours. She was surprised to find that knowing wasn't as terrible as she thought. In fact, it was a relief to have the truth out there. Over and over, her thoughts flashed back to Grissom standing there like a statue, people walking around him or brushing past; oblivious to everything around him except for her words. Looking back, she sort of felt sorry that she had told him in such a public place, and that it had been too easy for her run off, leaving him with his paralysis. Running away without even a backward glance was borne out of the frustration of yet another Grissom non-reaction. Yet she knew him too well to believe that he was emotionless. He stood there, helpless almost, unable to process the enormity of her information.

Sara thought about calling him, giving him a chance to talk, letting him ask her the questions he wanted to ask, but she found she wasn't ready. She needed a few more hours herself to contemplate the huge implications of being a single, pregnant woman who knew about nothing but work.

She lay flat on her back, and pulled her shirt up her torso. Softly, she touched the skin around her middle. She was surprised to find that her normally flat stomach boasted something of a small bump. She ran her hands over and around the bump, feeling its incline. It was slight, but was clearly a shape she hadn't had a few weeks ago.

The scientist in her was fascinated. She tried to remember what the development of a fetus was at approximately ten weeks, but found that she couldn't remember very much. She would have to get books, many of them. She wanted to know everything possible about the new direction her life had taken.

She rolled over onto her stomach and propped her head on her elbows. The decision about this pregnancy was a terribly complicated one. She had an appointment at the gynecologist for Friday, but she wasn't sure that having this baby was the right thing. This child was a product of two people who were emotionally removed from their lives. For Grissom and herself, work was everything. There were no thoughts of what to do with the south wall of the living room or what color towels to buy for the bathroom. Those decisions were always utilitarian ones for them. Efforts to engage in a social life were impetuous at best. She doubted that Grissom had ever given children as second thought unless they were the victims of a crime. She certainly hadn't. She breathed in deep, and froze. Quickly she rolled onto her back again. For a moment, it struck her that she might be pressuring the baby by laying on her stomach.

She laughed at herself. Certainly that was ridiculous. Yet she had only ever seen pregnant women lying on their backs. Was it merely comfort or was there an issue of pressure for the fetus; another thing she would have to research.

Another thing that made this ridiculous was that she didn't have one single female friend who had had a baby; no one to talk to regarding these issues. There was Catherine, but calling her a friend seemed to stretch the boundaries of their relationship.

Sara Sidle as a mother. It made her chuckle. She was the girl with the abusive alcoholic parents until her mother killed her father; then she was the girl with the murdered father and the imprisoned mother. She was somebody who forgot birthdays, all of them, even her own on occasion. She could cook a grand total of four different items, each from the "Three Ingredients or Less Cookbook', which she rotated between take out meals.

The only gift she could give to this child was to make sure that he or she didn't have the kind of upbringing she had. She questioned her ability to ensure a future for another human being. She carefully rolled over onto her side and thought about this. She decided that this was the criteria she would use to make this decision.

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Grissom drove north until he couldn't anymore. It was early morning when he stopped by the side of the road. The sun was rising, painting the sky with an amazing array of warm hues. He slammed the door to the cab and began pacing. The SUV was no longer big enough for him. He ran his fingers through his hair as he moved. Mercifully, the migraine had not returned.

He kicked at the dusty, yellow soil as he walked aimlessly about the barren landscape, littered only with tough brush hanging on through deep roots. Thoughts crowded his head and left him frustrated. He was annoyed with the different feelings assaulting him, and how it kept him from adequately analyzing the facts.

Fact #1: Sara Sidle was pregnant. Fact #2: He was the father. The idea that she was not telling the truth about this was beyond his ability to comprehend. Sara was too proud a woman to lie to him about something like this.

Beyond facts, 1 and 2, Grissom was lost. He had never seriously considered having children. They were unpredictable, messy creatures that required every bit of a person's heart. He didn't believe he was capable of being this person who could open up his whole being, giving up his secrets, his privacy for this creature whom he would undoubtedly fail in the end. He would essentially be a prisoner to his love for this child. And then, of course, there was the mother. Gorgeous Sara with her long arms and legs, beautiful brown eyes, with a smile that could send him to his knees. This was the woman whose brilliance, passion, and goodness had captivated him from the moment he first spoke with her. She was a tornado of emotion and energy; both intriguing and plaguing him simultaneously. But it was more than that. She had climbed into his heart uninvited and set up housekeeping. He was used to more control than this. Her mere presence had destroyed the well-orchestrated hold he had on his world, and the idea of Sara bearing his child was more than he knew how to process.

Thinking about himself as a father was the most difficult idea for him to process. Images of his own father spilled over again and again; a man just like himself with no time on his hands for anything but his work. Grissom knew he resembled his father who was a big man with steel gray curls and piercing blue eyes. He had idolized this man who moved about with a sense of authority and purpose. Phone calls followed him home at night, and he had little time for Gil or his mother.

Grissom spied a centipede and knelt down gently, watching it scurry back and forth as purposeful as his father had been. It reminded him of a time when he was 7 years old. He remembered sitting on the cool wood on the front porch of his house waiting for his father to get home. He was excited. His father had promised to play with him tonight, and he had spent all day preparing for it. Meticulously, he had spent hours building a town of sand, dirt, and twigs on the porch. He had gathered up twenty different species of insects and had settled them into his ersatz village. Already he was observing the interesting interactions between the insects as they oriented to their new setting.

Every once in a while, he looked up in hopes of seeing his father's large convertible roll into the driveway. He chewed on his bottom lip a little in concern, but had confidence that his father would show as he had promised, and young Gilbert knew the potency of a promise.

His mother came out to the front porch and looked out every once in a while. Her rich brown hair would drift away with the cool sea air as she craned her neck to see the highway. Then she would smile at him and disappear back into the house. Gilbert idolized his mother. She was kind and patient, and just the type of mother who understood why a person would need to build a bug town on the front porch.

His father's long car pulled into the drive, and his father got out. He was always dressed impeccably in a suit, and he wore a matching hat. He strode up the drive and stopped before the boy. "Does your mother know you dragged all this dirt up onto the porch?"

Gilbert nodded.

His father pursed his lips. "You still want to play tonight?"

Gilbert could do nothing but move his head up and down in reply.

"Well, alright. Let me change my clothes and talk to your mother." He disappeared into the house. Gilbert could hear him scolding his mother for how she coddled her son. It was half an hour before he appeared again, looking stiff and uncomfortable in dungarees and a t-shirt.

"What do you want to do, Gilbert?"

Gilbert gestured to his creation. "I built a town."

"This mess?"

"Yeah. Let me show you. It has a fire station and houses and a school and everything."

Albert Grissom reluctantly lowered himself to the floor. Taking a closer look, he studied the village. Then he shrank back. "Boy, your town in filled with bugs."

Gilbert nodded. "Yes, Dad. They live there."

Albert raised an eyebrow at his son. "Let's go toss a ball."

The boy looked down. "We're playing with the town, Dad. The centipede is the fire chief. Look how he goes in and out of the firehouse. The beetles are going to school."

Albert Grissom sat quietly as his son pointed out the various features of his town. He looked at his watch periodically. Then he stood up. "Gilbert, you are going to have to do better than this if you want to hold my attention." Then he disappeared into the house. Minutes later, he reappeared in his shiny blue suit and headed out to his car. His mother chased after him, yelling with the half formed sounds she used. She reverted to the use of her hands, and angrily flashed signs at the retreating convertible that made Gilbert blush.

Through all of this, Gilbert stayed glued to his spot. He was stunned. He couldn't understand why his project didn't interest his father. He was mad at himself for not working harder to make the houses look real. He couldn't look at his town anymore, and swung his foot through the center of it.

His mother turned around and walked back toward the porch. Gilbert didn't like crying so he frowned and looked away. She knelt on the porch beside him. She reached over in her starched, blue housedress and stroked his hair. She pulled his face in her direction. When she talked, she liked to speak and sign at the same time even though Gilbert was good at interpreting her speech. It was important to her that he was fluent in sign just in case something happened to her verbal skills. "Gil, your father is very busy. He isn't paying attention right now."

Gilbert looked down. "I should have tried harder."

Impatiently, she pulled his chin up and made his repeat it. Then she shook her head violently. "No, Gilbert, this is about your father and his business. He loves you. This is not your fault."

Gilbert bit his lip and looked at the mess he made. She followed his eyes and surveyed the damage. "Gilbert, do you know what a tornado is?"

He shook his head.

"It's a rotating column of air that can be very fast and destructive." She used her hands to shape it. "You remember the whirlpool down at McKay's cove. A tornado is like it except with air instead of water." Understand?"

He nodded.

"Let's pretend that a tornado rolled through your town and caused all of this damage." She watched his eyes widen and smiled. "We can have a rescue operation. Didn't you tell me earlier that you had a fire chief? Where is he? We are going to need him."

Gilbert carefully sifted through the debris with his chubby fingers, and eventually pulled up a struggling centipede. He held it up for his mother. "Good," She smiled. "We are going to need him to run the rescue operation."

Gilbert smiled and put the centipede in the middle of the debris. Within minutes, he and his mother were using the centipede to execute a rescue on a mound of buried beetles. They played until fireflies were the brightest thing in the sky.

Grissom finally straightened up. Next his memories would take him to his father's abrupt departure just a few months later, and he had not interest in remembering that particular event. He licked his lips and faced the north. If he kept driving, he would get there in five more hours, but he still didn't know what he would possibly say to her. Then he turned west to the late afternoon sun. This seemed to be a more promising direction. He estimated it would take him seven hours to get there. This direction appealed to him, and so he got in his truck and did a U-turn, picking up gravel and leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

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Sara was drifting in and out of sleep on her bed. Hours of contemplation had brought her nothing but frustration and exhaustion. Her phone rang, and she sat up wildly. She pulled the phone to her ear. "Yes?"

"Sara Sidle?"

This was not his voice, and the electricity in her waned. "Who is this?"

"Thomas, crime lab."

It took her a moment before she could place her recollection of the awkward young man in the morgue.

"Thomas, what time is it?"

"1 a.m."

"Is there an emergency?"

He coughed into the phone. "No, but you haven't been around."

"I've had a few days off." The tone of his questions startled her.

"You just started this job." He sounded whiny.

"Okay, Thomas, what's going on?"

"Have you forgotten about Hope?"

She let out a breath. "No, I haven't."

"Are you aware that the results of your nationwide search are here?"

"No, but how you know?" He was beginning to annoy her.

"I looked in your box. There are five possible matches."

Sara sat up straight. "Would you kindly stay out of my things, Thomas!"

"How would I have been able to tell you that the results came in?"

Sara sighed. "Do you have the results in front of you?"

"I can't interpret them."

She slid off the bed and padded toward the bathroom. "Put them back in my box. I will be there in half an hour."

She pulled a pair of jeans out of her closet and slid them on. As she tugged at the buttons straining at her waist, she realized that, for the first time in her life, Sara Sidle was too big for her clothes.

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It was 1 a.m. and Grissom walked silently up the drive to the porch. He could wake her, but he didn't want to do that. Waking a person with hearing loss was startling at best. The air was warm and gentle and so he settled into the porch swing and listened to the distant sounds of waves crashing on the beach. He closed his eyes and remembered waking up early so he could scramble down to the beach before the tide came in and pounce on the many treasures of the sea. Since his mother didn't drive, she had given him sole use of the garage, and he would store all of his acquisitions in there. He could have been a pack rat, but he wasn't. Rather, he kept a careful accounting of where every item should be stored. He liked the idea of having that sense of control over his kingdom.

The sound of the waves was hypnotizing, and his eyes grew heavy. He let his head rest on his outstretched arm, the swing gently rocking back and forth to the sounds of the seaside.

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Sara could feel him looking over her shoulder as she scanned the results. "Thomas, this is not helping. Go back to the morgue. I will call you if there is something to know."

He scowled at her, but reluctantly left her alone.

She had sent out a list of criteria on missing children to a nationwide data base. Five results came back all matching the characteristics she had labeled in the search. She could tell right away that the first two results were not going to be Hope. The third and the fifth were promising matches. She took her time determining what tests were possible to either to prove or disprove the identity of Hope. It would be a long process, two days of work at least, but it might be just the thing to keep her distracted from her current circumstances.

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He knew his mother was there before he even opened his eyes. The faint scent of gardenia had followed his mother for as long as he could remember. He let his eyes flutter open and pulled his head up. The stiffness in his neck made him wince. She chuckled at him seated in a high-backed wicker chair across from him, raising a cup of tea to her lips.

He smiled at her. She looked as lovely as always. She kept her snowy white hair in a long braid down her back, and her green eyes sparkled with energy. He noticed an entire tea set on a small table between them, and reached for steaming cup already poured for him.

She put down her tea and used her hands to speak. "Why is my son sacked out on my porch like a homeless person?"

He smiled above his cup. "I didn't want to wake you. Coming to visit was an impulse."

She laughed. "I'll say. Your bi-yearly visit isn't scheduled to happen for another two months."

"There is nothing wrong with a little spontaneity, Mom."

"Well, you'll tell me what's going on when you are ready." She got up and gathered up the set. He watched her disappear into the house. A few minutes later, she came back with a plate of warm cinnamon buns. She started back to the house when he stamped his foot. She turned and he gestured for her to sit. He began to use his hands. "Sit down, Mom. Let's enjoy this beautiful morning together. I have everything I need right here."

"I called Roland. He has everything under control at the gallery. You have me for as long as you want."

He looked out over the lawn, the ocean hidden by a couple of beach houses and some dunes. "I miss the salt air. I miss the ocean. The desert is so dry and quiet.

She sat, her hands folded in her lap, and waited.

He slowly turned back to her. "I made a mistake, Mom. Actually, I made a lot of them. I don't know how to undo them."

She raised her hands. "We don't undo them. We learn from them and move on."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I keep hurting people, someone who I care about…I keep hurting her and I don't know how to stop."

She cocked her head at him as if confused. "You are talking about the woman you work with, Sara?"

He creased his brow. "How do you know that?"

She made a face at him. "I'm your mother. You talk about work when you come. I can tell who is special to you."

He felt a blush rise up his cheeks and he looked away.

"Gilbert, look at me!" she said sharply. He turned his head obediently. "Tell me what you did."

He let out a deep breath. "I…we got drunk and slept together. She's pregnant."

Her eyebrows rose. "I am going to be a grandmother?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Things are not good between us. She's in San Francisco. I don't know what to say to her. You know what a lousy parent I would be."

She stamped the floor hard, her mouth set in a grim line. "I do not know that you would be a lousy parent, Gilbert. I do not know that at all."

"She has had…feelings for me for some time. And I have kept her at arm's length for so many years. It was too much for her. She had to leave. It was hurting her too much."

"And you loved her back." She signed. He started to protest, but she stopped him. "Don't deny it. I know all about you and your silly notions about relationships. When will my ridiculous boy own up to the fact that he is an emotional coward?"

"Mother, what if I make the same mistakes my father did? What if I did that to a child? Children need adults who will be there physically and emotionally."

She waved his words away and got to her feet. "Go take a shower and then a long walk. You are tired and making no sense. We'll talk later." She started to walk away and then stopped. Turning around, she looked at him sternly. "Gilbert, you are not capable of walking away from a child. You don't have it in you. It's as simple as that."

"Mom, this emotional distraction caused me to make a mistake at work; a mistake that resulted in a woman's death."

She froze.

"All of these emotions are so powerful. I can't seem to sort them out. I imagine Sara's face and then I see the young woman who died. I imagine having a child and I see the little girl this woman left behind. I'm lost." He shifted uncomfortably. "I really struggled about bringing this mess to you."

She walked over and stroked his cheek. "You're a good man, Gilbert. We'll work it out. I put out a fresh t-shirt and jeans on your bed." She let go and walked away.

He stared into the wind, blinking away the moisture that gathered in his eyes.

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It was a waiting game now. All the tests were done, and Sara had hours before results would come to her. She liked sitting in the corner. No one seemed to bother her back there. Her hands kept sliding beneath her shirt. She had become fascinated with this thickening around her middle. She knew it was too early for any kicking, but her heart leaped a little every time she felt any movement even though she suspected that she was feeling nothing more than gas traveling through her digestive tract. She smiled softly.

"Got a secret to share?"

Startled, she looked up to see Marc leaning in the doorway.

He walked in. "I didn't realize you had come back to work."

"Yeah, well you can thank Thomas. He called me at 1 a.m. last night to let me know that work was waiting for me."

Marc shook his head. "That boy is weird."

She shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I'm glad to be back. Good to have something to focus on that doesn't tie me in knots."

He looked down to where her hands were splayed protectively around her middle. "So, how's that going for you?"

She pulled her hands away. "What?"

"Your pregnancy."

She looked down. "I'm not…I don't…I'll know more by next week. It could be nothing."

"You know Matthew and I will be there for whatever you need. Any decision you make will be one that we support."

Unable to meet his eyes, she nodded.

He leaned over her desk and whispered into her ear. "You'll be a fabulous mother. I promise you."

She blinked and backed away in her chair. When she finally looked up, he was gone.

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TBC