A/N: This is my first ever fic, so I look forward to seeing what you guys think of it... please read and review!! My deepest thanks to Paulina, my beta/editor/encourager... I couldn't do this without her.

Disclaimer: As with you all, I do not own CSI: Miami... others do and deserve all the props for them! I do however lay claim to Jessica Mitchell, Agent Charles Dewey and Jacob Evans.

Saturday, April 5, 2008; 10:05 AM, San Diego International Airport

'Blast that woman!' She had done it. With all the odds against her, with the help of the blasted FBI agent currently at her side, she had made the one connection he had hoped that she would never find. She had connected him to Miami. 'I suppose it had to happen someday. I'll be seeing you soon; my dear… looks like you will soon be meeting my old friends Caine and Tripp.'

Tuesday, March 18, 2008; 5:45 PM

Crossing her arms, she stared out the window- the view never changed, but that didn't matter. She didn't see the smudge on the glass, nor the bush that partially blocked her view. In fact, she couldn't even describe it to you had you asked, since she had never really seen it in all her years of looking. She didn't notice the newly made water paths on the dirt hill or the chain link fence, the grass of her neighbor's yard or the gardener trimming the fruit trees.

In some ways, this was not particularly odd. She never truly saw this view of her life. This window was her thinking place. She was not there to see the world; she was there to figure it out. Despite the unending futility of the process, she stood there daily, arms crossed as if she could somehow shut out the truth that surrounded her.

Jessica Mitchell, just Jess to her friends and colleagues, was a normally observant person. She knew the ladies that ran her local coffee shop; that one was out on maternity leave with twins – both boys – was not lost on her. She knew where her 'car twin' lived – two miles down Elm St., turn right. She could tell you the way her best friend felt about her sister-in-law's pregnancy though they had never spoken of it. She knew which cars belonged on her street and which ones did not.

But if someone were to ask Jess what was outside that window, she wouldn't have been able to answer. Of course, the answer would not have mattered much, since nobody ever asked. It was always assumed that she was just observing something – and she was always observing something, so it was just taken for granted that the window contained something to be seen.

The artist in her, the side of herself she had so long ignored, should have cried out to take in this view. This window framed the part of herself that Jess should have been most familiar with and still it never truly settled in her mind. This was, after all, her place – her space in time and reality that in her thoughts remained untouched.

Staring out a window for countless hours of her lifetime, Jess's ultimate irony was lost on her. That was her problem with looking, but never seeing – she assumed a certain security in the view, as if an invisible curtain was drawn over her life behind the window. She assumed that what passed before the window didn't matter, it almost did not exist. She was wrong, but still, to her, it was, after all, just a window. And so she thought, as she stared out the window into the cloudless Southern California day.