Ok I know you probably really really hate me right now, for not updating my other stories. I can't even claim being busy anymore, it just seems that my other stories really really want to remain unfinished. But I promise you, I'm working on them, and I'm trying to get another chapter finished. In the mean time though, I've written this. I can't guarantee that I won't get writers block with this one, but unlike my others I have a very good idea of where I want this story to go, so I don't anticipate any problems :) Please leave a review and tell me what you think :)

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to people with lots of money and who are much smarter than I. I just enjoy messing with the characters :)

A gust of cold wind pushed it's way through the now open courtroom doors. She shivered as it hit her, her eyes darting around the room, glancing from one person to the next. The prosecutor's victorious smile, her mother's emotionless eyes, locked with her own, the judge's death glare.

Sara Sidle woke just in time to stifle a scream. She was thankful for that, for she did not wish to wake the entire building. She looked at the clock and frowned. It was still a few good hours before she was due at work, but she knew she would not get anymore sleep.

She slid off the bed and shuffled into the bathroom. She pinned her hair up in a small bun before stripping and stepping under the warm spray of the shower. A moan escaped her lips as the water worked out all the tension in her muscles.

The nightmares were becoming more and more frequent and though they had always surfaced around this time of year, they had never been quite this bad before. She knew she was able to function on little to no sleep, but could she do it for two weeks straight? She sighed and turned off the shower.

Work was going to be bearable at best, she thought as she toweled off. The main reason being Gil Grissom's departure to San Francisco just a few days earlier. He was there for a conference, and not scheduled to be back until next week. She chuckled softly as she remembered a time, quite recently in fact, when his presence at work would make it unbearable. But ever since her almost DUI, their friendship seamed to be getting much better. And though it was good that they were on better terms, she knew friendship would never be enough. She'd always want more.

She let her hair out and grabbed her robe. If she was going to stay up she might as well get coffee. She'd try to eat later. Right now liquids were all her stomach could handle. She snuggled further into her warm robe as she walked into the kitchen.

Sara had never been a messy person. Although if she were honest, she was never really home long enough to mess anything up. As she waited for her coffee, she let her eyes wonder around the room.

The counter tops were made to look like marble, which gave the room a nicer feel to it. The cabinets were a burgundy color and didn't contain much. It wasn't that she didn't like to cook, or that she wasn't good at it, because she was, she just didn't like doing it for one person. That and the fact she rarely had time to run to the store and get more than the bare minimum.

A breakfast bar separated the kitchen from the living room, which, like the kitchen, wasn't that cluttered. Instead of magazines, she had forensic journals on her round, wooden coffee table. The sofa was on one side of it, while a rarely used TV was on the other. There were many bookcases around the room, giving it an almost library feel. They were stacked to the brim with books, mostly of the scientific nature. Sara selected a book from one now, and walked over to the sofa. She set it on the coffee table, before blowing on her coffee. She was just about to take a sip when a sudden shrill almost made it end up in her lap. She scrambled to find her cell phone and found it just in time to answer it on the last ring.

"Hello." She winced as she realized how breathless she sounded.

"Sara? Did I wake you?" Sara couldn't stop the smile that was spreading on her face.

"No, Griss. You didn't wake me. I was just trying to find my phone. It seems to take pleasure in hiding from me." That earned her a chuckle. "How's 'Frisco?"

"That's actually why I'm calling."

Sara frowned. "What's up?"

"A woman was found murdered in her home. They've asked me to help, hoping I could make something out of all the insect activity. But, even with my help, they're short handed, as they recently had to fire quite a few after busting up a ring of dirty cops. They have let me call a member of my team in, and I want you."

Sara smiled, letting herself believe, for just a moment, that he wanted her in a way that had nothing to do with crime scene investigation. Her smile started to fade, however, when she remembered where he was. San Francisco. He was calling her to investigate a murder in San Francisco. Of course she had already proved she could work there, as most of the key players in the investigation of her father's death were either retired or no longer working there. But at the time, her nightmares were not this bad. Could she stand to see such familiar settings, with images of her past running through her mind almost constantly? Well, she thought, there was only one way to find out.

"So, are you willing to help me out?" She could tell he was teasing now.

"More than willing," was her reply.

"Good. I'll call Catherine and let her know. How soon can you get here?" Grissom asked.

"How soon do you need me?" She asked back.

"As soon as possible."

"I'll catch the next flight out," She promised.

"Call me from the plane and let me know when you'll be landing. I'll see you when you get here." Even though she couldn't see his face, she would swear he was smiling.

After hanging up, she called to set up her flight. She had just finished working out all the details when Catherine phoned.

"You're going to San Francisco." It was a statement. "Just you and Grissom."

"We're not going to be alone there Cath, and you know this isn't exactly vacation."

"Still, you. Him. Away from Vegas …" Catherine paused. "Something's bound to happen."

"And when it doesn't, I have every right to tell you I told you so," Sara said.

"I hope you liked saying it then, because you're not going to get to say those words when you get back."

"I highly doubt that. Look I really need to pack …"

"Of course. I was just calling to let you know that we've got you're cases covered, and not to worry about them. I'll talk to you when you get back. And I expect a full report."

"There won't be anything to report."

"Of course there won't," Catherine said sarcastically. "I'll talk to you later."

"'Bye." Sara hung up the phone before turning around to stare at her closet. The doors were opened to revel that it was a pretty good-sized room, not big enough to be a walk-in, but it was more than enough room for Sara's wardrobe.

Thirty minutes later, the light blue comforter that was on her queen-size bed was no longer visible. Clothes were piled upon it as Sara decided which ones would be the best choice to take. Finally she gave up and threw the ones closest to the suitcase in it.

By the time she hung the other articles of clothing back where they belonged and straightened up her room, it was time to leave for her flight. She paused at the doorway, taking one last look around. After making sure she wasn't leaving anything, she turned off the main light and shut the door.

***

Sara was both joyful and nervous as she stepped off the plane. She had never been that big of a flying fan and was glad to have both feet planted firmly on the ground—literally. On the other hand, this was the first time she and Grissom had worked a case—just them—since her almost DUI. It could be awkward even if they were in Vegas. But he'd wanted her. Of course it was only in the professional sense, but he called her when he could have called anyone else. Maybe he wanted to fix this … thing between them as much as she did. Sara forced her face to conceal any traces of nervousness as she spotted Grissom at the terminal.

"Glad to see you made it safe and sound."

"So am I. One reason to hate traveling for the job: You have to check all this," She lifted her arms to show her kit and other CSI related items, "with security. You would think with all the breakthroughs in technology they'd be able to run your ID card through the system a little bit quicker."

"But where's the fun in that?" Grissom teased, taking her bag from her. He gave her a look that told her not to protest.

"So, when do we start on the case?"

"Well, the autopsy will be preformed within the hour, and since you're here, why don't we go talk to the coroner? Or would you rather go to your hotel first?"

Even though Sara had gotten little sleep, she was awake and ready to work. Not to mention the fact that the nerves from being on the plane had made her anything but sleepy. "The morgue sounds good to me."

She regretted those words a little while later, as she stood beside the autopsy table, looking at a woman who brought back terrible flashbacks. It was not the woman herself that caused them, Sara had never met her, but the color of her hair, her body type, and worst of all, the stab wounds on her chest. Sara didn't know for a fact, having only seen a picture, one that was in the paper no less, but she was pretty sure the stab wounds were in the same place. The same place as her mother's. Now, there were other memories, ones that contained her mother not as the victim, but as a killer. It was all she could do to keep from fainting.

But she held her ground. She was strong. She could handle this. At least that's what she kept telling herself. But she had to keep going. She couldn't let the weight of this break her. Her mother may have been psychotic, but she was a strong woman. And thankfully that was one of the traits Sara had inherited. Sara took a deep, calming breath as the left the autopsy room. I can do this, she said to herself. I have to be able to do this.

Grissom decided to head back to the crime scene so that Sara could get a good look at it. Sara was fine with that, and used the drive collect herself and reread the autopsy file. Grissom seemed to notice something was a little off in the way Sara was behaving, and because he kept glancing over at her as he drove. She knew he must have also picked up on how much time she was spending reading the report and was probably wondering whether she'd even heard what the coroner had said. Of course she hadn't, but she didn't want him to know that.

"We're here," Grissom said, pulling the car into the driveway.

Sara tore her gaze from the autopsy report and looked up at the house. What she saw made her heart stop. No, it couldn't be, she thought physically shaking her head.

The house was made of red bricks and seemed to have an older quality about it. Ivy could be found on certain sides, making the brick barely visible in those areas. It was two stories and the top story had a small balcony off one of the windows. The house was an older one, but not so old that it looked as if I was built in a different time. Considering how many years it had been through, the house looked surprisingly good. Sara figured the new owner must have remolded it.

She hoped Grissom hadn't noticed the change in her, but the questioning glance he sent her way made it obvious that he had. Her frown deepened. This was going to be more difficult than she thought.

Sara drew in a deep breath as Grissom cut the red tape that sealed the door. She had known from the beginning that this wasn't going to be easy, but these turn of events were unexpected. She couldn't believe she was about to step in the house for the first time since she was nine.

The inside of the house had changed more than the outside. Over time, it had evolved, changing with the times. There was a flat screen where Sara's old living room TV set was. A plush red couch replaced the old ugly one that sat across from it. The blue carpet had been torn up with gray carpet put in its place. The kitchen had been remolded and had new appliances. The house barely resembled the place where Sara had spent the first nine years of her life. But little things still remained.

Even though new owners had tried to paint over it, there were still carved notches in the kitchen wall indicating her height every year. The door leading to the back yard still held her initials in the bottom right hand corner. There was still a dog house in back, where her Boxer puppy Brutus used to live. He had been a gift for her ninth birthday; causing yet another argument between her parents, first on deciding whether to get the dog and then whether it would be inside or outside. Sara had hated that her mother was able to persuade her father to leave Brutus outside. For a brief moment Sara let herself wonder what had ever happened to her cute little puppy, but then she switched to a different topic, telling herself the possible lie that Brutus had been adopted into a loving, caring family.

She followed Grissom to the spot where their victim had been killed, not missing the fact that this was very close to the spot where her own mother died. She could tell Grissom was about to say something but someone spoke first.

"Looks like Crabby Abby's struck again, huh?"

Grissom and Sara whirled around to see a young man dressed in a nice suit with a badge on the right lapel.

"Who?" Grissom asked, not very politely.

"Crabby Abby," The young detective said again, seeming not to notice Grissom's rudeness. "You know? The one who's mother murdered her abusive husband 20 years ago. The little girl always claimed her mother was the abusive one, and would go into a fit if anyone said anything sympathetic about her. The girl hated that woman. My personal opinion, the father brainwashed his own daughter, made her believe he was the victim. Anyway due to her fits, the press named her 'Crabby Abby'. Pretty lame name huh? You would have thought they could've come up with something better, but it stuck any ways."

"And you are?" Grissom asked in the same tone as before, and once again, the detective seemed to not notice.

"Randy Jones," he said, tipping an imaginary hat toward Sara.

"So what's," Grissom paused, "Crabby Abby got to do with this?"

"You really don't know the story?" Grissom shook his head while Sara remained still. "Well, when Abby aged out of the system she went looking for her mom. She found her here and stabbed her. A couple of good times too."

"How do you know it was her?" Sara spoke for the first time.

"She hated Leigha Summers, her mom, every one could tell she'd hated her for killing her father. She had motive and opportunity. Plus there were some things at the house indicating her daughter had been there recently," Randy answered.

"She never confessed?" Grissom asked.

"No one's been able to find her. She disappeared after she killed her mother. If she's smart, though, she'll stay away. Because the minute she sets foot back in San Francisco, she'll be welcomed back with handcuffs and a trip to county." The detective had this smug look on his face.

Sara almost chuckled at the fact that she'd been in San Francisco multiple times since her mothers death, and was only at the jail when her job needed her to be. The reminder of the arrest warrant that was still out for her however, kept the chuckle from her escaping her lips.

If they ever found out about her past, she would have an alibi for this woman's murder, Sara couldn't even remember her name. Sara had been at the lab in Vegas at the time of death. But she had no alibi for the night her mother was murdered. She'd been at Harvard at the time. But no one could vouch for her since she was enrolled under her new name Sara Sidle, instead of Abigail Summers. And even so, she kept to herself a lot that first year, no one would be able to say for certain that she hadn't flown down, killed her mother and flown back. Her mother died on a Saturday, so she didn't have class as an alibi.

She had to keep her secret hidden at all costs. Not even Grissom could afford to know. Because of this stupid cop, her mothers death would be investigated again, and this woman would be believed as her second victim. Even if Grissom thought she was innocent, which he might not if the evidence favored her, he would insist she be off the case. And Sara had to know what happened to her mother. Not just to clear her own name, but to bring the person that killed her, and possibly this woman as well, to justice. Sara may have hated her mother, but she never wished her dead.

"We're going to need a copy of Abby's mother's file. We'll need to make sure that these are indeed related. Also a copy of her father's file and the court transcripts would be most appreciated," Grissom said, looking over at Sara, silently asking if she had anything to add. She gave her head a little shake, indicating that she didn't.

Randy nodded, "Of course, I'll go see what I can do." He turned back around and left the house.

"Well, wasn't he … " Sara paused trying to think of an appropriate word, "something."

Grissom smirked at her. "The upstairs is the only floor that hasn't been searched for evidence yet, would you like to do the honors?"

"Sure," Sara said, before turning around and heading towards the stairs. She stopped at the bottom of them, and looked at the floor. Memories of watching her father die right there bubbled to the surface, but Sara suppressed them. She wiped away a few tears that had wandered down her face and proceeded to climb the stairs, forcing herself to not look back.