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

A/N: Sorry I have been gone so long. It took me awhile to understand what the transitions in this story should be. This is sort of a chapter of transition. Things start to get nuts in the next chapter. I appreciate your patience and hope you can settle in for some more. It's not much of a story if I make it too easy. You know? Thanks again for the feedback I get. It makes a real difference to me.

Thanks to Marlou for her invaluable beta services.

Sheila

Hope Springs

Chapter 11

Sara pulled her carry-on suitcase behind her until she got to the gate. Recently she had discovered back pain, and the ten minute walk to the gate was something of a struggle. She leaned against the counter, and handed her ticket to the agent. The woman smiled at her in sympathy, looking down at Sara's rounded belly.

"Your first?"

Sara nodded, resting a hand on the increasingly growing mound.

"How many weeks?"

"Twenty six." It amazed Sara how many people asked this particular question. She wondered what they could possibly discern from her answer. She waited for the response she almost always got.

"You don't look twenty six weeks." The ticket agent said.

Sara worked to make her involuntary wince into an actual smile. "Yeah, well I imagine I'll pop out any day. My mother didn't get very big until her third trimester." She was making up the last part. She had no idea what her mother's pregnancies were like, but she found that this response tended to satisfy people.

"Would you like to pre-board?"

This surprised Sara. She hadn't considered the possibility that she represented any type of a special population. Her first instinct was to decline the offer, but she remembered her aching back and the exhaustion that seemed to follow her every step. She thanked the agent and followed her onto the plane. She found her window seat near the back and settled in. Outside it was cloudy and windy. This was her home: San Francisco. She had lived in the bay area for the majority of her life, and yet she felt a disconnect. She almost yearned for the bleak landscape of Las Vegas. All of it so fake and plastic in the beginning, and yet by the time she left, it felt rich and vibrant. She missed the excitement and the exotic energy of the desert oasis of dreams.

She felt a pang of longing as she remembered that she wasn't headed for the desert. Instead, she was on her way to the Great Plains. She had never been to the upper Midwest, and she wondered about the aesthetic of some place new.

Her head settled against the cool pane of the window and she watched workers load baggage onto the plane. Mark and the look of hurt on his face came back to her again.

She went in that morning to talk with him about Attica Jones, the little girl from South Dakota. He had listened politely and then outlined how she could send Attica through a special courier set up by a postal delivery service. She was disappointed, and let him know that she felt the body should not travel alone. Mark had nodded, every moment the sensitive supervisor, and explained that, unless they came for her, there was no other option that wasn't cost prohibitive.

She had listened as she knew she should and nodded politely. Then she told him that she would accompany the body to Sioux Falls. She hadn't expected to say it like that. It sounded so willful. He cocked his head and reiterated the budgetary restraints. She nodded slowly and gave him her notice. Mark looked stunned. Sara felt stunned, and yet strangely relieved. Before he could respond, she spilled it all; her inability to commit to the lab, her constant distractions and absences, her need to better focus her life.

Mark interrupted, or tried, several times. It was no good. Sara was too busy vomiting the concerns that she had been feeling for weeks. It was a confession of sorts, and she found it cleansing. He had hired her because of who she was, not because they needed the help. It was easy to take time because she knew they could afford to lose her.

Mark stopped reasoning with her at this point. Finally he sighed and said, "You don't need to give notice if you don't want. Take a leave. Start your maternity early. We'll make it work somehow."

She shook her head. "No, I think this is the right thing. All the files are caught up. But I need one last favor. I need to stay on staff long enough to get Attica to South Dakota."

"Sara—"

She put up a hand. "Listen, Mark. It's on my dime. I want to take her back. She was so disregarded in life, and now, in death, the apathy continues. Let me take her back like she deserves and make sure she is taken care of there."

He chewed on his lip. "This is important to you?"

"It's a test of some sort, Mark. I feel it. I need to take her home for me and my child."

"I think I can find the cash."

"No. I don't need you to fund what is most definitely a personal journey."

He smiled. "But you can't stop me from funding something that is the right thing to do. Let me in. I insist. When are you going?"

"This morning. Thomas got her ready last night. He, of course, wants to come."

Mark snorted. "That is a very strange boy."

"I told him I would do just fine without him." She smiled.

"Are you coming back, Sara?"

She got up. "I don't know."

"Are you going back to Vegas?"

She shrugged.

"Matthew is going to throw a fit."

"Tell him not to get too excited, I still don't know what I'm going to do next."

He wasn't done fussing. There was a brief argument about not going alone, and then there were the inevitable concerns about traveling during a pregnancy. She expected all of this, and did her best to assure him that she felt safe and strong.

Now that she accomplished all of that with her best friend, she wondered if she could convince herself.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Grissom had never gotten comfortable with the TDY. He was not used to his mother having a clear(,) speaking voice, and he found it jarring to have her words come out precise and perfect. He was particularly unsettled on one occasion when a male voice did the translating, and did his best to communicate with his mother by e-mail.

However, Olivia Grissom didn't have the patience for much civility at this point. A woman speaking the distinct accent of Southern California did the translating. "Gilbert, I have had it with your cryptic e-mails. I want to know what is going on."

Grissom reached over and turned off the stereo console in front of him. He leaned back on his black leather couch and sighed. "Mom, it's complicated."

"Are you friends with Sara? Are you communicating with her?"

"Ah, yes and no."

"Gilbert, Please!"

"Look, I don't know what to say, Mom. Some days we get along, some days we don't."

"Whose fault is that?"

Grissom swallowed. "I never seem to say the right thing."

There was a pause, and then the woman came back with, "You are aware that her hormones are—"

Grissom interrupted the interpretation. "Yes Mother, I am aware."

Another pause and then, "Can I help?"

Grissom reached under his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I wish you could. I just don't know how."

"I bet she would find me lovely and charming. Might raise your stock a little if I had a chance to meet her."

He chuckled. "There is no doubt about that."

"Set it up, honey. I am dying for a chance to see her."

"I'll call her this week. Maybe she'd be willing to drive down with me to see you."

"You love her, Gilbert, don't you?"

"Yes Mom, I do. I don't know if that is going to be enough, but I do."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The airport in Sioux Falls was almost dead quiet. The only noise was a faint echo of Muzak. The place had none of the energy of a busy terminal; there was (were) only a few people milling about. Her bag was easy to find, but before she could grab it, a large arm reached over and lifted it off the carousel like it was a bag of marshmallows. She turned her head to find a rather large state trooper tipping his hat at her, the suitcase tucked under one burly arm. "Ma'am."

"Can I do something for you?"

"Detective Bellecourt sent me here to get you, Ma'am."

She cocked her head. "You sure you got the right person?"

"I believe so, Ma'am. You are the scientist from San Francisco?"

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and strode down the hallway. She trotted along behind him, wondering if she should remind him of the wheels on the bag, but he was showing no signs of strain so she left it.

"There's a casket with me."

He turned his head to look back at her. "I know. There is a cruiser on the way to pick it up."

She followed him out to a landscape with more sky than she had ever seen before. It was a blue-grey sky filled with angry clouds; lightening flashed in the distance. Wind blew, but there were almost no trees to catch it. Bare, brown hills rolled for miles in every direction, occasionally broken up with what she imagined were old, white farmhouses. The city of Sioux Falls was settled in among these hills, two story buildings and houses dotting the horizon to the west. Sara shivered as lightning began flashing with more frequency. Each bolt cut the sky in half and landed with a loud boom. "Sergeant, looks like you have quite a storm brewing out there."

"Yes, Ma'am, get in. Looks like rain."

Sara slid into the back of the cruiser while the trooper slung her bag into the trunk. Big drops of water hit the windshield as he was climbing into the front. The scent of cheap aftershave wafted back and Sara wrinkled her nose. Within seconds, the drops became torrents, and then it began hailing; chunks of ice banging furiously against the car.

"Seems like a pretty bad storm, Sergeant." All she could see was the back of his thick, sunburned neck.

"Nothing major, Ma'am. Wind's coming out of the south. Should blow over in the next 20 minutes or so."

She sat back and tried to relax as he drove with almost no visibility through the driving rain. The wind blew the rain sideways, and lightening flashed like paparazzi at a premiere. As the trooper so coolly predicted, the rain stopped as suddenly as it started. The trooper pulled into the parking lot of State Patrol headquarters, set alone against a hill, nothing behind it but more hills. She got out and looked around. She felt something lonely and sad in her gut wherever she looked in this quiet land.

"It doesn't look like much, but there's a lot more going on than you might imagine in a place like this."

Startled, she turned to find the trooper smiling at her out of one side of his mouth.

"Miss Sidle!"

She turned to find another man striding toward her. He was tall, his skin was like copper. He was dressed like someone out of a movie, wearing cowboy boots, hair in a long braid down his back, and a sheepskin coat. He extended his hand. "Detective Bellecourt."

"Nice to meet you, Detective. The sergeant here assures me that Attica is somewhere behind us."

He nodded, then looked up at the departing clouds. "Ms. Sidle, take a walk with me, please."

She followed him down a dirt road snaking up into the hills. He slowed his pace, and waited until she was alongside him. "I wish I could tell you that this ugly business was taken care of."

She groaned and stopped, putting her hands on her hips. "Custody is still at issue?"

"Nope. Judge ruled that the biological mother is responsible for her, only she won't respond. Says the county took her away too long ago. Says Attica was no longer her daughter. So she wants nothing to do with her burial."

"And the investigation?"

Detective Bellecourt shook his head. Strands of long, black hair escaped from his loose braid and gathered about his face. "Dead end. Cousin picked her up on Friday. Says she dropped her off on Sunday. Foster mom says she waited all day Sunday, but no Attica. Mom says she was with a guy all day, says she never saw Attica that weekend. Can't remember the name of the guy. Says he was from out of town."

Wind was whipping hair across her face, and she pulled it back. "This is it? No physical evidence of anything?"

"Ms. Sidle, she was gone two weeks before anyone noticed she was missing. We haven't even determined a crime scene."

"She's been sitting in a morgue for 4 months, Detective. Nobody wants her. Do you have any idea how frustrating this is?" She turned away from him, embarrassed by the emotion on her face.

"I think I do, Ms. Sidle." His voice was low and measured.

"I realize that I am acting nine kinds of rude, coming onto your turf, making demands like I am."

He walked up beside her. "Actually, I appreciate that someone is fighting for this child. This state does not tax its citizens. I don't know if I can even begin to tell you how to express to you how understaffed we are. I am doing my best to keep her on my radar, but she's got some heavy competition."

"What do your instincts tell you, Detective?"

Bellecourt took a deep breath and looked out over the bare hills. "I think she was forgotten. I think these women are unwilling to admit that they forgot about her."

"Then someone snatched her up. Someone who knew she wasn't worth much to anyone."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Call me Sara." She wrapped her arms across her chest. The cold air following the storm was penetrating her thin t-shirt and she gave an involuntary shiver.

He took off his coat and offered it to her. She had known him only a few minutes, but she accepted it gratefully. He gestured with his head, and she followed him back to the building.

"Sara," he said as they were walking. "I find myself increasingly curious about this strange guy from out of town; especially since Attica ended up out of town. Thinking about taking another crack at Attica's mom."

"Mind if I tag along?"

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "I would be happy for the help."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The handcuffed man was protesting loudly. Deputies were attempting to pull him away from the scene as he proclaimed his innocence to the gathered crime scene crew. Grissom looked up as the man passed, and raised an eyebrow at his pleas. Brass came up behind him. "I love it when they can't even remember to be surprised at the cause of death. Seemed like the most natural thing in the world to him that his wife was stabbed nine times in the chest. He got so tongue-tied when I started asking questions that he had no chance of keeping his story together."

"Well, Jim, he claims he's innocent." Grissom said dryly.

"Yeah, and I wear women's flowered nightgowns to bed."

Grissom groaned. "Thanks for the visual."

Brass glared at him. "Let's just say that Mrs. Miller's idiot husband is going to be the only physical evidence we are going to need on this case."

"Looks like you're trying to put the crime lab out of business with your impromptu confessions, Jim. You want to put my guys out of a job?" Grissom knelt down and closed up his kit.

Brass chuckled. "Oh, if it were so easy. We could leave work at five every day, and play golf on Wednesday afternoons."

"I hate golf."

"Really. Then how do you know so much about it?"

"I caddied my way through high school. That was enough to put me off it for life."

"All right, so we'll go bowling and then sing karaoke in the lounge between sets."

Grissom lowered his sunglasses and gave him a look. Brass chuckled.

The rest of the team was already packed up and out at the trucks. Grissom picked up the heavy kit and started off.

Brass took a deep breath and spoke, "Gil, I spoke with Mary Revoy."

Grissom's back stiffened.

"She says that you have decided to rethink your priorities and you don't think you can make time for Lucy Bell."

Without turning, Grissom mumbled, "I thought confidentiality was a basic tenet of social work ethics."

"You are not her client. Confidentiality doesn't extend to you."

Grissom heaved a big sigh and turned. "Both you and Ms. Revoy made it clear that adopting her was a bad idea. It turns out that I came to the same conclusion."

Brass shrugged. "Yeah, but it just seemed like maybe you were starting to bond with her. Mary thought so too."

Grissom shook his head and started off to the trucks again, but then suddenly wheeled around and strode at Brass until he was inches from his face. "This is not a game. Do you understand? I am doing the best I can. Every move I make is roundly critiqued by just about everybody I know. Even Judy wants to know why I don't bring the little girl in anymore. I am sick and I am tired of wandering through this maze of othe people's expectations. I am doing the best that I can."

"How's Sara?" Brass said despite the color rising in his friend's face.

Grissom exploded. "She's pregnant, Jim, with my child, and I can't seem to stay on her good side for more than a few hours at a time. She thinks Lucy Bell is my way of disengaging from her and the child. Who knows? With me, it's always a possibility. I have no clue. Everything between us is a minefield, and I can't seem to negotiate it without an explosion every other step."

"Whoa, buddy, I didn't know. Sorry. Anything I can do?" Brass backed away a step and the look on his face softened.

Grissom closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Just give me a little space, okay. I gotta figure this out on my own." He picked up the kit without another word, and headed out to his truck. Brass started after him, but Grissom raised a hand without even looking back. It suddenly struck Brass that Gil Grissom was probably the loneliest man he had ever known.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

The house sat alone at the end of a dirt road. It was an old house with worn shingles and peeling paint. The front porch was a mosaic of missing clapboards. Sara gingerly stepped onto the boards following Bellecourt up the stairs. The sounds of a TV could be heard inside. Bellecourt knocked on the door. No one came. He knocked again, and gave Sara a grim smile. The sound of TV was silenced, but there was still no answer. Heaving a deep sigh, Bellecourt knocked again loudly. "Marianne, open this door. I know you are in there. I am not leaving."

Again there was silence, and then finally the door opened slowly to reveal Attica's mother. Bellecourt shook his head at her, and pushed by her into the house. She was a petite woman with small blue eyes. Her blonde hair was tightly permed and stiff with hair products. Sara wrinkled her nose as she entered the house behind the detective. There was the stench of stale cigarette smoke. Two large men sat on a battered couch in the living room and glared at them. The room was dim, the only light coming from one single lamp in a corner. A large screen TV sat in the corner, pictures flashing silently.

Bellecourt smiled at the men. "I didn't know you got out, Gerald. How long has it been? We must have locked you up, I don't know, four years ago?"

One of the large men shifted in his seat. "I got just as much right to be here as anybody."

"Absolutely, you do. As long as you keep your nose clean. Who's your friend?"

Gerald shook his head. "None of your business, Bellecourt." Then he turned to his friend. "Don't say nothing to him."

Bellecourt's smile grew. "That's right, buddy. Don't say a single word to me. You never know what could happen. I am the law."

For a moment, the three of them glared at one another. Sara could feel the testosterone floating in the air. Bellecourt turned away from them. "Marianne, where do you want to talk?"

The tiny blonde rolled her eyes and disappeared into the kitchen. Bellecourt nodded at Sara and followed. The kitchen was small and dank. Dirty dishes filled the sink. Sara lowered herself into an ancient kitchen chair. The woman took note of Sara's belly and looked away.

"Marianne, this is Sara Sidle. She brought Attica home from San Francisco."

The woman wandered over to the sink and leaned over it. "Well then, I hope she doesn't mind taking her back there."

"Mrs. Jones, please. Attica needs a proper burial. She has been neglected for so long. You're her mother."

She started laughing into the sink. "I haven't been that child's mother since they snatched her from me 3 ½ years ago. I was barely even allowed visitation."

Sara licked her lips. "Did you try to get her back?"

The woman whirled in her direction. "Who the hell are you? You don't know a damn thing about what I went through with this child."

Sara's eyes watered. "She needs you now."

"Forget it. Let the county take care of her. They're the ones who wanted her so badly."

"Mrs. Jones, if this is about money, I—"

The tiny woman slammed her hands down on the table. "It's not. I don't give a shit about your money. I don't want to hear another thing about that child. Do you understand?"

Sara sat back, blinking in surprise. Her hand fell onto her belly as if in protection. Bellecourt leaned forward. "Marianne, you haven't lost any of your charm, you know that?"

She turned her head. "Shut up, Bellecourt."

He chuckled. "All right, let's get down to business. We're still aiming to find out what happened to Attica. Let's talk about that weekend."

She closed her eyes and dropped into a chair. "I didn't see her that weekend."

"You had a guest that weekend. Correct?" Sara asked.

Marianne screwed up her face. "You think you can come in here to my home like you're better than me."

Sara snorted. "Knock it off, Marianne. Looks to me like you know all about making choices. You are going to answer these questions here or I am sure the detective here can drive us down to headquarters."

Bellecourt grinned. "You go, Sara. How would you like that, Marianne?"

She slumped in her chair. "What do you want to know?"

"Tell us about your guest."

She shrugged. "What do you want to know? He was a cute guy. Met him at the Cattlemen's. Don't remember his name."

"Really. Sort of a one night stand." Sara said.

"No. I really thought I…cared about him. He was special. It just didn't work out."

"What color were his eyes?"

"I don't remember."

"Come on, Marianne. Tell us more. Give us a name."

"Aw, okay. His name was Gary…something…Hanson, I think. Yeah, that's it."

Bellecourt wrote it down and asked a few more questions, but Sara was done. After a couple of minutes, she stood up and told Bellecourt she would wait for him in the car. She walked past the two burly men sitting sullenly on the couch, and walked out into the night. The sky sparkled with stars. It took her breath for a moment. There were stars everywhere and the sky stretched forever. The air was crisp, but she couldn't bring herself to climb into the cab. She leaned against the truck door and looked at it all. There were dreams in every single twinkle, and in moments like these, she could remind herself that anything was possible.

Her reverie was interrupted by the tall detective walking toward her. "You lost interest back there, Sara."

"She was lying. A woman doesn't call a man special and then not remember the color of his eyes. My guess is that he was nothing more than a figment of her imagination."

He pushed his black hair behind his ears. "You think she's lying about seeing Attica."

Sara shrugged. "Who knows? Let's go see the cousin. Maybe she can shed some light."

His eyes widened. "Now?"

"Yeah, you got something better to do."

"Well, my wife and four kids might think so."

She clapped a hand to her forehead. "I didn't even think. I'm so sorry."

"Well, you'll know soon enough." He gestured at her protruding abdomen.

A shiver ran through her as she was reminded of the enormous changes coming her way. She turned her attention back to the night sky. "The sky is so clear here, and there are no tall buildings. I can see constellations in this sky that I haven't seen since I was a child. It's really quite amazing."

He glanced up. "Really? I guess I just take it for granted."

"She's not going to bury this child, is she?"

He snorted. "Would you want her to?"

She looked away for a moment.

"Hey Sara, let's get you set up in a hotel. The Holiday Inn off highway I-90 is the best in town. We'll get up bright and early and go talk to the cousin. I know her pretty well. We went to school together. She was a couple of years ahead of me. Even dated my brother for a couple of months back in their senior year. She might still harbor a tiny bit of goodwill toward me."

She nodded and opened the truck door.

"By the way, Sara. My name is Maurice. My friends call me Mo."

……………………………………………………………………………………

Grissom waited impatiently for his call to be answered. Then a distinct voice sounded in his ear. "Is this Gil?"

"Hi Matthew."

"It is! Well, it's nice to hear from you."

"Actually I was looking for Sara. She doesn't answer at home or at work. She is not picking up her cell."

There was a pause. "Well, you know she quit."

Grissom sucked in some breath. "I did not know that."

"Yes sir, she did. Mark didn't even call and give me a chance to talk with her before he accepted her resignation. I could have reasoned with her. He is out in the living room right now, trying to make the couch into a bed. He should have known there would be consequences."

"I don't understand."

"She isn't feeling connected. He said she reminded him of when she first came back. Sad. Distracted. But she assured him that she was all right."

Grissom was building a visual in his mind of Sara defying the suspect with the gun. Echoes of her confession, 'I don't know that I even cared' pounded in his head. "Where is she, Matthew?"

"She went to South Dakota of all places. Said she needed to take that poor murdered child back home before she was through."

"She's not answering her phone."

He heard Matthew having a muffled conversation with Mark. "Ah Gil, Mark says he talked to her earlier this evening. She says that she is going over the case with a detective, and should only be gone a couple more days."

"She sounded okay?"

"Mark says she sounds okay. A little sad, but okay."

"I don't like this." Grissom whispered to himself.

More muffled conversation, this time with a decidedly sharp tone. Then Matthew returned. "I put Mark on notice. He needs to keep me updated at all times, and I will call you with anything he tells me."

"Do you think he will tell you everything?"

"I'm a prosecutor, Gil. He knows better than to cross a man who punishes people for a living. Sleeping on the couch is only the beginning if my man doesn't get with the program."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

TBC