Title: Pride and Prejudice

Disclaimers: Sadly, I do not own anything or anybody related to CSI. Nor the lines I quoted in the story.

Chapter One

"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." - William Shakespeare, "Hamlet"

Sara was walking slowly, almost tentatively toward the briefing room. She could hear Nick, Warrick and Catherine's chat about something but she could hardly get out the words or rather she could not concentrate on the topic. She would know it sooner than she wished anyway. The slight but periodic pain blurred her vision and Sara wondered when she would get used to this. Or more important, she was worried about whether she could keep her "situation" private, and if so, how long. She had spent her free time finding a way out of her desperate circumstances but the more she had tried, the more she had lost hope. What once used to be her greatest pride, now it was her deepest pitfall. Sara closed her eyes and then continued walking. She drank the rest of the water she was carrying in a cup then threw the empty container away. Water was her best friend. It helped to alleviate the pain in the stomach.

"Hello Devon! Have you heard the news?" Greg asked Sara pulling her back to the reality of the Lab.

"Devon? What news anyway?"

"Devon Aoki, the supermodel!" Greg bounced like a little boy at his first school day. "You sure know the lady because you now look like her. Skinny…but beautiful if you ask me."

But Sara did not ask him like she had not yesterday or the day before yesterday. However, it did not slip her attention that it was only Greg who had noticed her obvious loss of weight. She also knew that even though Greg was joking with her, this was his way to express his worry about her. And that fact both caressed her heart and saddened her soul.

"Thanks," she smiled at him. "And the news?"

"Someone ate one of Cath's sandwiches again."

Catching the last chunks of their conversation, Catherine went into details right after the couple entered the room.

"I can imagine it happens once by chance but twice? No way. We have a fridge pirate! I want his head!" she rampaged.

"Why his head? It can be a woman just as easily!" Nick went against the accusation.

"Women never steal food, Nick. We have style!" Catherine stated as if it was a fact that should be known by everybody.

"We might not know the circumstances," Sara cut in.

"Ah, come on! Why would anyone eat someone else's food?"

"Hungry?" Sara tried the most obvious.

"I don't care if that person dies of starvation, my salad is my salad, and my sandwich is my sandwich."

"Cath, calm down, that poor guy left you one of your sandwiches," Warrick tried to lighten her mood with hardly any success.

"Oh, well, thanks so much! I won't touch something that was already contaminated by some beggar," and with a simple fluid motion, she threw the vacuum-wrapped, brand new meal into the dustbin. "I'll buy something on the way to the scene, once, Grissom will be as kind as to give us our damn assignments."

Sara followed Catherine's every move and could not believe what she had just witnessed. In her astonishment, her jaws practically smacked the floor. Life was not fair. Somebody had been compelled by life to steal their colleagues' half lunch while some could throw the other half away just because its wrapper had been touched. Sara feared germs and she paid a great deal of attention not to get in touch with any of them but the unwrapped triangle sandwich was germ free, so she knew what it was all about exactly. It was a show about money and power. One part of her did not blame Catherine for being that angry. Her meal had been "robbed" after all. Robbed. The fridge had been robbed. And she felt it again. This time a sharp pain in the stomach followed by a well-known salty taste in the mouth. Not now, please, not now, she begged soundlessly.

"Sara, you ok?" Greg asked her immediately.

Greg noticed again, no one else, only Greg. "Ah, yeah, I'm fine."

"Have you eaten before shift?"

"I already ate my lunch," she lied.

Before any of them could have asked Sara when she had done it, Grissom stepped into the room with tiny sheets of paper in his hand.

"Sorry, I'm late."

"Yes, but we found a bone to chew on," Catherine said.

"Okay, so," he was about to continue when the senior CSI interrupted again.

"Somebody keeps eating our food."

"Then lock it away, problem's solved. Can I continue?"

"As simple as that? Lock it away? Case's closed?"

"Yes. When murderers are waiting for us to catch them, yes, I'm not too worried about some piteous thief."

"You all are talking about this guy as a rotten felon but you know absolutely nothing about her…or his motivation. Probably she feels as shitty about it or he feels as horrible about stealing as you all think how low she or he is. Maybe there is no other choice for him or her."

"The circumstances can't be an excuse for his or her actions, Sara," Grissom said. "Anyone can ask for help. From friends."

"Yeah, as if you ever…but you're right, stealing is wrong." Sara knew he was right, still she felt bad because no one had asked about the possible reasons behind these thievings. And they all were CSIs after all. And then one of Grissom's sayings hit her. We are not here to ponder on the whys; we are here to analyze the whats. Following his and obviously the others' convictions, no one had the right to explain their actions, the facts would explain for themselves. And everybody could just assume the worst. Sara always loved to know the whys and hated to welcome prejudice.

"We will watch the fridge and will see who it is and then we can help," Warrick suggested.

"Or you can help me to kick his ass," Catherine muttered.

"Or her ass," Nick added.

"Now as we all agreed on morals, maybe we could deal with our real criminals."

"We've been dealing with just one of them," Catherine finished the topic.

Long hours and a solo case –again - later, Sara was sitting on a bench in the park near her apartment complex. She loved that particular place, she called it hers. The funny thing was that just like everything else in her life, that small section of area was not hers either. Still, it felt like one. The dark green paint on the seat was mostly peeled off, the back-rest started to rot. No one visited that bench, it looked abandoned and unfriendly but Sara liked it. That area was her sanctuary from the life she had to live lately. She named every tree around the wooden furniture; every bush got a label, too. Once in a while, one or two sparrows had challenged her. Animals were kind to her. They never judge her; never expect her to be perfect. They loved her the way she was. This morning was quiet, though. No little birds, no insects, only her. Sara pulled her legs up to her chest and was just sitting there thinking about the what-ifs. If she had made another decision, if she had chosen the other way to step on. She wondered why these things happened to her, what she had done to deserve this life. She had just wanted to be happy, to be loved and when it had become clear for her that this dream would never come true here, she had just wanted to move on. Or she had tried to.

.

"Why did it happen to me?" the fourteen-year-old Sara Sidle asked her foster mother.

"Don't judge as good or bad, accept it how it is," the old lady said to Sara caressing her tear washed little cheeks.

"I can't, it is bad, I wish…," she tried to suppress her threatening sobbing.

"When we see something we don't like, we wish it could be different, we cry out for something better. The root of the unhappiness, little Sara, isn't necessarily that we want our lives to be different; however, it's that we decided we didn't like it in the first place. But you have to know that there is always worse. So embrace the things the way they are, and just say, 'It's not bad or good, it just is'. Repeat it, Sara."

"It's not bad or good, it just is," she formed the words. She was not convinced or was not sure what the meaning of this woman's words was but this old lady was the only one she trusted, so she followed her instructions or advice without question. And all of a sudden, she found it easier to accept that some cruel boy tore her beloved books into pieces. What was his reason? He said 'why not'. He said she sure had tons of books at home and that she was a bookworm.

.

Sara still remembered the scent of those special books, the sense of feeling of the pages was as vivid in her memory as if she held them right now. And that boy had been wrong. The family Sara at least could call hers was poor but respectable. They had never had any children, so they had given all their love to Sara. They had known how much Sara had loved reading, so they had bought two books for her. She had brought them with her everywhere. These books had been her treasure. And that boy had taken them away from her. The memory still stung. When her heart hurt less than her stomach, she welcomed the feeling. She tried to convince herself that she could handle heart matter. But when the stomach-ache eased up a little and her heart hurt more, she wished the physical pain instead. She had taken so much from Grissom. I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it. She could have done it but Grissom still could not. His fateful words had been like a lethal injection, numbed her slowly but surely.

After that day, she finally had understood. He could not do "it" as he had said but the saddest part in their story was that he had never ever tried. Grissom had decided their fate, not only his but theirs; however, Sara doubted he had taken her into consideration. That gloomy day, she had decided her own fate. She had made the determination of letting both of them free. She would not force him to take the risk and love her.

So here she was, alone on a wooden seat in a park, still in Las Vegas. She had created a trap that seemed she was unable to climb out. Just as the weather would have sensed her dark thoughts, it started to rain. Sara did not mind. Not until the pain rudely reminded her of the situation she got into. Not that she needed to be reminded. The young woman was about to go home, to the only place she had in her life organized, when a faint cry surprised her. She looked left then right but saw nothing. Perhaps it was just her imagination as a result of her condition. But the voice came again. She tried to follow the source of the voice that led her to a tree. Sara looked up and saw a tiny kitten soaking in the rain. It rather looked like a nestling than a kitten. Sara reached her hands toward the poor thing and the fragile animal stepped onto her palms. It had to be older than it looked like but Sara guessed this poor animal was homeless for a while now. It was horribly skin-and-bone and most of all, unloved.

"Oh, darling, how did you get there? What should I do with you? I can't take care of you. I can hardly take care of myself," she told the little cat that listened to her carefully as if it knew what Sara tried to tell. The kitten started to cry again.

"Are you hungry? Me too, but I don't have food on me, sweetheart."

Huge green eyes explored sad brown ones. And it was too late, the connection was made. Sara sighed deeply, she did not know how she would take care of them but she was determined to provide a home for this baby. She spooned her under her jacket and ran home.

Within minutes, both of them were bathed and dried. Sara placed the grateful kitten in her bed when her phone went off.

"Sidle."

"It's Grissom. Um…I'm calling to ask if you wanna join us at Fred's. We're all here."

Tears pooled into her eyes. I want to but I can't. "I'm sorry, Griss. I'm not alone and I can't leave. Next time?"

"Oh, I didn't know you have company, sorry for the interruption," he said surprise and hurt evident in his voice. I am trying Sara, can't you see that? But..but. Just as I thought. You could easily find a guy who loves you the way you deserve.

"No-no," do not apologize Sidle, you're not his pet anymore, he wanted it that way. He didn't want you to love him. He couldn't risk anything for you while you risked everything to make his wish true and you lost. "You didn't interrupt anything. But right now, I really can't leave him alone."

Him? Who is him? I don't know why I am feeling this pain; I wanted her to have a life, right? "It's okay, Sara…um…next time. It's just the guys insisted on calling you, so…"

The guys. I bet it was Greg. I should have known better. "Tell them hi."

"See you tonight," and he hang up without waiting for her to say anything.

Sara stayed sitting there for a while holding her phone. The little guy went right into her lap forming a furry ball and started his unique symphony. He glanced up once to make sure his performance took its effect. And it did. Sara smiled at him but inside she was sobbing. It was her specialty. No one would ever tell that she was crying. No tears, no puffy eyes. But instead of setting her free, she realized that Grissom became a part of her. And that part of her just did not function. She grieved her never-will-be relationship with Grissom. And the now ripping ache greeted her again. She looked down at the miniature tiger and he looked up at her.

"Herbie, are you still hungry?" she asked but knew the answer already because she also felt it all day.

She climbed off the bed and went to the kitchen where her purse had been left. She wanted to save it for tomorrow but she was no longer alone. So she retrieved the vacuum-wrapped triangle sandwich from her bag and carefully served it for the two of them. She took the slice of ham out of it and sliced it into tiny pieces, then took them onto a white plate and gave it to Herbie who jumped on it hungrily. Sara watched him eating while she swallowed the rest of the food along with her self-respect.

"I'll pay back everything, guys! I'm so sorry," she whispered sniffling. "I'll pay back everything."

TBC