Disclaimer: CSI trademarked product, no infringement meant or implied.

Author: GreatnessInTragedy

Title: Kingdom of Heaven

Rating: R for subject matter.

Author's note: This is my first attempt at a fanfic... I truly apologize if it sucks, seems terribly out of character, drags on, or makes you angry/dissatisfied in any way. I'm unsure as to the category, I would like reviews (if any of you are kind enough and can spare a few moments) and I realize that this chapter is kind of redundant as to what has already occurred on the show (Season 5 spoilers in here… warning to any who have not viewed S.5 yet.)
I think that's all for my ramblings for now.
Oh. Wait. (Heh. Sorry!) I'll try to upload every Saturday. No promises, but I'll try.
Thank you, and (hopefully) enjoy!
- 3 Caitlin.

Prologue
Sunday March 6th, 2005
Unidentified Location

Growing up, I was always assured that I should excel at whatever occupation I chose.
I had an average family – mother, father, and older brother – your typical nuclear family.Everything seemed to be going well, my mother and father got along, my brother didn't grudge me too badly after I exposed his secret bag of weed.
My father always told me how intelligent I was, and how pretty – I remember one night, he told me I could be model material. I was naturally slender and unusually tall for my young age. Model material was never what I had pictured for myself – I was self conscious, felt gawky and gangly. Simply graceless. And the unsightly space in my teeth didn't help my self-esteem. But my father made it seem… attractive, somehow. He called it a blessing, a gift, and he made it seem okay.

I'll always remember the night my father's words changed my life. Well, I mean, I suppose he had changed my life long before he said those words, and not necessarily for the better.
My father had a habit. A bad one. And it wasn't long before my mother soon uncovered it.

Every night, before tucking me in, he would tickle me. My sides first. I had always hated how he had uncovered my weakness. I felt that any weakness, even something as simple as being ticklish, was a flaw. A frailty, a sign of vulnerability and helplessness.
But there he was, tickling away, and all of a sudden he seemed to get an idea. As I squirmed and squealed, trying to get him to stop, he did something that stopped me dead in my tracks. Once he had finished, he told me that if I said anything to anyone, he would be taken away and I would be responsible for destroying the family.

And so it became our little secret.

Daddy would tuck me in early, before mother would even think about sending me to bed. But when she did, she would find me already under my blankets, lying there, what she considered soundly sleeping.
But I never was.
No, no. I was huddled underneath that comforter, praying that tomorrow night daddy would overcome his habit, and I could sleep easy.

He never did.
And mother caught on.

She realized that every night, after daddy had drank his fill of brandy and heaved his sigh of contentment, he would meander up the stairs, and then the halls would be filled with the sound of giggles and squeals and protests for him to stop.
And then silence.
Guilty silence, that seemed to ooze and drip and squelch from the rafters.
Embarrassed silence that could nearly choke one with its depth.

Needless to say, she was curious.
So she took matters into her own hands.
She took it upon herself to hide in my closet, and watch just what occurred after he got shit-faced on brandy and sluggishly moseyed up the carpeted staircase towards my bedroom.
And when she saw what he had done, she made plans to punish him herself.

That was the night that my entire life was changed.
While mother sat fuming and plotting, taking in the scene from behind the slatted, white-washed doors of my closet, father sat on my bed, stroking my cheek with his calloused fingertips.
He had called me his princess, his little lady. He knew that I was insecure with myself. He had noticed that, more and more lately, I refused to smile my bright, wide, tooth-exposing smile that I had previously. He told me that I should have nothing to be ashamed of. I was pretty enough to become a model, and if I did, my diastema would be my special trait. Like Cindy Crawfords' mole, it would be the infamous 'Sara Sidle Smile'.
Somehow, those stupid words had managed to warm my heart, and I never forgot them.
My insecurities were slipping away, releasing me, like the bitter cold melts away when the sun shines high above.

That night, my father was the sun in his princess' kingdom of heaven.
And the next day, he was dead.