Disclaimer: I do not own CSI, the characters in this story, or any of the related legal stuff. I don't even know the people who do. They wouldn't talk to me. Network executives are mean.

Author's notes: I am writing this for someone, so maybe it will only make sense for her. Thought I'd post it anyway. I can add to this story upon request, I guess.

~*~*~*~*~

This town thinks I'm crazy
They just think I'm strange
Sometimes they want to own me
Sometimes they wish I'd change
But I can feel the thunder
Underneath my feet
I sold my soul for freedom
It's lonely but it's sweet

~*~*~*~*~

Gil Grissom walked quietly into the break room at the lab. It was only five in the afternoon, and he had a little while before his shift was going to start. So he was surprised to find Sara Sidle already in the room, standing over the sink with a glass of water in one hand and an open prescription bottle in the other.

She heard him come in, and turned to look at him. She slowly closed the bottle and tossed it to him. He caught it and read the label carefully.

"Why?" he asked finally.

"There's a long explanation in my personnel file, I'm sure," she said in an even tone. "Apparently I am a danger to myself. Not to anyone else, but they think I'm -- I don't really know."

He looked at her face from across the room. She looked a little scared but mostly dazed. "Do you have to take them?"

"If I want to keep working here." She sighed and looked up at him, waiting for him to magically make it okay again.

"This is the first time I've ever seen them do anything because of the yearly psych exams," he told her.

"Yeah, it's great to be the first. Apparently, I'm crazy."

"Sara, you're not crazy," he said. "Whatever their reason was, it isn't your fault."

"I know. Emotional problems aren't anything to be ashamed off. Just because I'm the first person they've ever decided to medicate after talking to me for ten minutes. Wish I would have known I had this air around me. That people could just figure out my mental state when filling out routine forms."

"Do you think you really need medication?"

"They'd know better than me," she conceded, leaning back against the counter.

"Is it helping?" he asked, still rolling the bottle between his hands.

"Mostly. Of course, there is this little voice in the back of my head screaming because I can't hear her anymore. But they did such a good job that I barely know."

"Voice?" he asked, wondering what she meant.

"Yeah. I know I'm still in here somewhere. Kind of like...I can't get out but I don't really want to either. Because I don't care. At least I won't be getting angry and screwing up any cases after this. Or making people uncomfortable. Now I'll only be unnerving because I'll be like this. Not because of being too emotional or anything like that."

She smiled at him, slightly, and took the bottle from his hand and put it in her pocket before leaving the room. He watched her walk down the hall. It felt terrible that it came to this. Felt even worse that there was nothing he could do now.

~*~*~*~*~

Don't know what I was getting at with this. I wrote this for somebody. These weren't the right characters to use, maybe. Maybe they were.


(We love you, Cxxxx, and you just get better. Your sister-by-choice, Amber)

April 7, 2002, 1:28 AM